Be the Voice

By Shyama Kumari Rajan

Descriptive and colorful, Be the Voice captures northern Indian political situations in the latter half of the twentieth century.- Foreword Clarion Reviews

It is 1947 and the Radcliffe Line is being drawn between India and Pakistan. In northern India, anti-Pakistan sentiment is at an emotional peak. Kamla is just one of the babies born during this time who are hearing freedom songs instead of lullabies.

Kamla is just a few months old when India gains independence from British rule. Though born and raised free among riches, Kamla's life soon transforms at the crossroads of her teen years. As her behavior turns slightly rebellious, several of Kamla's friends are married off as teenage brides, leaving her lonely at times. While engaged in muddy traditions, Kamla remains determined to excel in school and become a teacher. Even when she realizes existing social norms of independent India contrast with her dreams of freedom, Kamla still does not give up on achieving a fulfilled life. But will it be enough as suffering begins to overshadow everything?

In this story inspired by true events, a girl born at the dawn of India's independence must battle to achieve a bright future and a life free of oppression, despite the odds stacked against her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Apr 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546290988

Shyama Kumari Rajan

Shyama Kumari Rajan was born in Bhagalpur, Bihar, India. She earned a B. Tech in civil engineering from the Indian Institute of Technology in Kharagpur, India, and a MSE and PhD from the School of Aeronautics and Astronautics at Purdue University in the United States. Rajan is a passionate aerospace engineer who currently resides in Connecticut. Be the Voice is her debut novel.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Kamla, an Indian girl, was born in the spring of 1947, at the time when the Radcliffe Line was being drawn between India and Pakistan. In northern India, anti-Pakistan sentiment was at an emotional peak; even children on the street were singing anti-Jinnah slogans in protest, including in remote areas where the line had no physical impact on their lives. Babies born at the time heard more freedom songs as lullabies than during any other era in the recent history of India, and many grew up as avid seekers of the meaning of the freedom in their lives.

Kamla was a few months old on the day India gained independence from British rule. Most revolutionaries and political figures became overweening and did not choose to pursue solutions for the internal challenges that India faced. The lives of millions of citizens continued to be dangerously impacted due to their tendency to favour social stagnation over the rights and liberty of the minority and underprivileged at various levels. Micro despotism was omnipresent in the society, and in most cases, it was present within the structure of the family. Religious rivalries never completely ended in India, even after its painful, disheartening division during independence. Additionally, caste rivalries in rural India surfaced even more.

Though born and raised free amongst riches, Kamla’s life transformed on the crossroads of her teen years. The existing social norms of independent India didn’t accord with her dreams of freedom; however, her personal setbacks never stopped her efforts towards a just path of life.

Life is a synthesis of numerous happy adventures and sad, horrific moments, but all that counts are the ones that make an everlasting impact. This story presents those moments of Kamla’s life amidst the rituals and customs of the community at large.

SINHA

Kamla …

"Yes, Master¹ Jee!" Kamla quickly responded to Sinha’s call.

Twinkly, big, welcoming eyes peered from under her softly angled, sublime eyebrows. The broad, convex forehead; rounded nose; and perfect lips were beautifully suited for the high cheekbones, oval face, and medium skin colour of four-year-old Kamla, who was studying in the flickering light of a kerosene lamp at the end of the courtyard shed a few yards from the entrance of the house. A lock of silky straight hair was gently blown from Kamla’s face by the wind coming across the paddy field from the Kamla River in the north. Adjacent to the courtyard in the west was a large banyan tree, and in the south were rows of jasmine flower bushes that bloomed in the twilight. The sweet fragrance lingered for hours, which gave some relief from the stench that came from the cowshed under the tree.

Nearby, her tutor, Sinha, who was addressed by all as Master Jee, was clad in a white kurta and dhoti. He was sitting in his chair in front of his quarters just off the courtyard, with one leg on his black rubber slippers, which were still wet from his evening wash, and his other leg on the wooden stool. Seeking relief from the heat, a few ants were crawling around the wet pair of slippers. At his side on the desk rested his radio, his watch, an inkpot with a feather pen, a khadi travel pouch, and a covered jug of water.

Sinha’s most noticeable feature was his bushy, long eyebrows, which provided shade for his gentle eyes. His Greek nose was guarded by a partially grey, long moustache, which curved up at his cheeks and over thin, tight lips that rarely turned upwards for a smile. A slight bend in his upper back showed years spent studying at a desk.

Kamla, are you dozing off again? Sinha asked, turning his nose up and momentarily fixing his gaze on Kamla.

Kamla, did you finish writing your Pahara?² Sinha asked, this time a little louder while pointing with a long palm stick towards the writing slate pad that Kamla was holding in her hand.

Yes, Master Jee. Kamla looked at Sinha, pouting her lips and closing her eyebrows together near her glabella; it showed her unwillingness to acknowledge her sleepiness. She turned the written side of the slate pad towards Sinha while rubbing her eyes vehemently with a strong will to shake off sleepiness.

Well, then, come here and show it to me, Sinha commanded.

Kamla got up from the bench with her writing slate and walked up to Sinha.

Sinha checked the clear and round handwriting of the Pahara digits, and then he looked at Kamla with his eyebrows raised, pushing his eyeglasses up his nose. Excellent! I am going to tell Nana that you are making progress. Now, go on and finish the rest of your homework without delay, if you want to go to the village fair with Nana, he told Kamla in an encouraging voice.

Master Jee, how soon are we going to the village fair? Kamla asked in anticipation of impending fun, meeting her friends, running around the fairground, and eating a variety of sweets.

We will wait for Nana to come over. Now, go on, Sinha instructed.

Kamla cleaned chalk off the slate with a wet wipe to make it ready for the next problem. She was excited, and her drowsiness had disappeared after hearing about the village fair. She sang aloud, Egrets, egrets, fly away. Dry off my slate on the way. She went back to the seat.

Then Sinha called, Manu …

Manu was Kamla’s aunt and was a few months older than Kamla. Manu always carried a mischievous smile on her truffle lips, and she was always looking for an excuse to skip her studies. Her facial features were similar to Kamla’s, except that Manu had very fair olive skin that made people mention how beautiful she looked. The girls were childhood companions.

Manu was at her bench, watching the army of ants march on the ground and diagonally climb up the brick pillar. Manu put her chalk in the way of one ant to separate it from the crowd, but the ants kept marching, some climbing the chalk and some going around it. Upon hearing Sinha’s call, Manu left the ants alone and walked towards Sinha to show him the Pahara she’d written.

Both girls had come to tutoring daily before their dinner for the last six months, and they had learned quite a lot by now. They were reading and writing words and making small sentences along with basic mathematics, like addition and subtraction. Nana was very happy to see the girls getting an education because it was still a taboo for girls in many parts of India.

Nana arrived in the courtyard along with his assistant, Harwaha. Both greeted Sinha and turned towards Kamla and Manu to remind them that it was time to go to the fair. Nana was Kamla’s maternal granduncle and Manu’s father. Harwaha was Nana’s childhood friend and his personal assistant. The village of Icharua³ was where Nana and his extended family lived.

Kamla, Manu, hurry up. People are waiting to begin the feast at the fair. Nana extended both arms towards Kamla as a welcome sign.

Kamla ran to where Nana and Harwaha were standing, and Harwaha picked up little Kamla and put her on his broad right shoulder. All of them, including Sinha, started walking towards the fairground. Manu walked along holding her father’s hand.

Nana, hurry up. Everyone will be waiting for us, so we must reach there at once! Kamla stated in her fruity voice.

Oh, yes, yes. You are a very important guest in the inauguration ceremony at the fair, Nana said with a smile as he looked to Sinha. They all joined in a joyous laugh.

Kamla chuckled shyly at that comment. She was the dearest grandchild to Nana. After all, she was the first grandchild in the whole extended family.

Manu sometimes got jealous for her father’s affection, and she used to occasionally tell Kamla to go back to her father’s place. Kamla would cry and go to Nana, complaining about that. In return, Nana would advise Kamla not to cry, and he would suggest Kamla ask Manu go to her own maternal grandfather’s place in response. Manu was also very dear to her maternal grandparents, and she spent most festive occasions there. But when Kamla and Manu were together, they joined adventures and rivalry hand in hand.

Moments later, they joined everyone else at the fairground. Kamla and Manu had their share of sweets at the sweet shop. Kamla’s favourite sweet was rasagolla, which she ate in uncountable numbers until she was full. Both competed to eat the most rasagolla. Afterwards, they ran to join their party of munchkins.

Children were going around and around in a circle, throwing their little hands in the air with one of the popular rhymes of that era. Hail to Bharat, hail to Hindustan. Down with Jinnah, won’t give you Pakistan.

Kamla and Manu picked up tiny branches and, pretending they were flags, joined the protest game, repeating after other children in the circle. India was divided by then, but the children had learned many such slogans and rhymes from their older siblings, who had seen the actual protests during the struggle for India’s independence. Later, Manu and Kamla rode ponies and camels, pet the goat kids and calves, and then spent the rest of the evening running around the fairground.

On the way back home, Kamla fell asleep on Harwaha’s shoulder. Sinha started speaking about the importance of education for everyone, stating that education was the basis of a successful civilization. Nana and Harwaha nodded in agreement. Although Harwaha was himself uneducated, he understood the value of education and knowledge because he accompanied Nana everywhere, from business dealings to hospital visits to pleasure tours.

Amidst wealth, happiness, and the adventures of childhood, Kamla was growing. Time ticks at the same speed, but in retrospect, it always appears exponentially faster. Now, Kamla was going to middle school in Icharua. She had proven to be an intelligent student; she had skills and a great interest in a variety of extracurricular activities. Besides academia, Kamla also excelled in arts and crafts. She wanted to be a good person like her Nana and a great teacher like Sinha. Kamla was a bright and ambitious at that young age, and every evening she would wait for Nana to ask her to help in accounting to close the day. Nana was very proud of Kamla and would boast about her reading and mathematics skills to his friends and business guests on many occasions.

On summer days, Kamla and Manu would often wander off after school and explore nature. Despite being a trooper, Kamla had one big fear, and that was deep water. Manu and Kamla would head down for a swim in the Kamla River and take cool dips in the water to ward off the afternoon heat. Afraid of the river’s depth, Kamla never ventured more than a few yards from the bank of the river. Manu would go deeper and farther in the river with great speed, and then she’d tease Kamla from afar. Kamla would keep her feet planted in the mud, afraid of leaving the ground under her feet. Besides being scared of drowning, she was also afraid of creatures in the river that might pull her underwater.

It was Sunday, and school was closed. Manu and Kamla went to the Kamla River to swim. Manu dove in and stayed underwater, holding her breath for a few moments. After a few seconds passed, Kamla started looking around while keeping her feet firmly planted in the muddy water. Manu was nowhere to be seen except for a few bubbles that were popping out of the water’s surface. Kamla started crying, and soon she started backing towards the bank, crying louder and louder. When Manu could no longer hold her breath, she jumped up from the water to surprise her.

Kamla was now hysterically crying as she realised that she was being teased again.

Manu came close, hugged Kamla, and consoled her. You’re silly. I was right here behind you, swimming underwater. You need to start diving and swimming in the deep water to let go of your fear of water. At least you could have held your breath and looked for me underwater.

Kamla wiped her tears and said, What if you really drowned? What I am supposed to do?

I won’t drown. Don’t you know that I am an expert swimmer? said Manu while hugging Kamla’s shoulder to console her.

"I know, but what about Panduba?⁴ It can pull your leg and take you deep under the water," Kamla said between sobs.

No, silly. Pandubas are harmless. You can interact with them easily; they are like pets, and they even like to play along if you are friendly with them. Now, stop crying and don’t tell Nana that I teased you—and that you cried. Manu tried to convince her with a