A Beautiful Story

By Eliza Rose

Manjula is the eldest daughter of a middle-class family in Kerala. Her father is in the army, and they move to a city in North India. She finds it difficult to adjust to the new place. After 3 years, they come back to their native place.

Manjula’s dad decides to leave the job to be with the family. There is a financial crisis, and they have to sell their land. They move to northern Kerala, but Manjula is destined to be separated from her family.

After the schooling, she is forced to join nursing against her wish. She meets a handsome boy and they fall in love. They get married and are gifted with two kids. Manjula is disturbed by the poor living conditions of the people around her. She detests the rampant corruption, and feels helpless.

This is the story of a girl who tries to find answer to the most difficult questions in life. Hard work, sincerity, and enthusiasm—these are the tools she has. With love, she tries to conquer the world.

Manjula has a beautiful story to share.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Singapore
• Release date: Oct 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543754421

Eliza Rose

Eliza Rose finds writing as her passion. She worked as a nurse for 33 years and is now settled in Kerala. She writes candidly about what it is really like working in a hospital. She is married and lives with her husband. The couple is blessed with two sons and a daughter.

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CHAPTER 2

M y new school was half an hour’s walk from my uncle’s house. There were many kids from the neighbourhood who attended the school. Two girls were in my class. The school was near the marketplace. This town was very famous for its big fish market.

Our house was situated on a small piece of land with coconut trees. Uncle planted some tapioca plants. We had a big jackfruit tree in our courtyard. Uncle bought a goat. I was very fond of all animals, so that made me very happy. We fed the goat with jackfruit leaves. I collected the leaves by using a spike taken from an old umbrella.

There were vast areas of paddy field all around the property. In the evening I used to go out to the paddy fields with my classmates, to collect grass for the goat. The Backwaters of Kerala, which is a network of canals, extended to this place, and here seemed to come to a blind end. It was called Manackachira. According to our history, the place had been occupied by Brahmins who got converted to Christianity by St Thomas. There were many paddy fields. The national highway separated the paddy fields into two areas.

The south-west monsoon arrives in Kerala in the month of June. Our school reopened after the annual vacation in the same month. The system of school buses had not yet started. We all walked to the school. Many of us did not have school bags. We bound our books together using an elastic band and carried them in the crook of our left elbows, as if holding a child.

Many households got a biweekly publication called Soviet Union, which was very cheap. The pages were glossy and showed colourful pictures. It was published in Russia and was full of praises for the communist USSR. Later, when it dissolved, we were greatly surprised. It was proof of how propaganda can be used to create imaginary utopias. Our textbooks were black-and-white, with very few pictures. We used the glossy, colourful pages of the biweekly to cover and protect our books.

Due to the heavy monsoon rains, there was flooding. It was dangerous to walk the road, as the whole area was covered with water. We kids were exhilarated by the beauty of the place. We would be all wet by the time we reached the school. We folded our skirts high and tried not to wet our dresses. But keeping them dry was impossible. We stood in class, as we were drenched.

Umbrellas, dripping with water, were kept in the front row. Umbrellas were special, and not all of us could afford one. We had to depend on our friends to share. Great care was taken to protect them from getting lost. Names were stitched on them with coloured thread for safety.

Another precious item was a steel or aluminium tiffin box. Lunch was carried to school in these and eaten in the classrooms. The wooden benches and desks created the perfect ambience. Some, who could not afford a tiffin box, brought lunch in banana leaves. The blanched banana leaves emanated a special odour when opened. It was partly from the brown rice inside, cooked with curd or chutney. A small piece of fried fish or egg omelettes would make it special.

When the water receded after the rainy season, we would catch hold of lotus seeds using our umbrellas, and eat the seeds. There were lots of lotus plants in the paddy fields. Lotus seeds were very tasty. We plucked lotus flowers and brought them to classes. The big pink flowers were very beautiful.

It was a big school with lots of children. The headmistress was Sr Gilbert, very strict and powerful. Even the teachers were afraid of her. She sometimes referred to the people in the area as marketplace people, as if they were uncouth. Sr Gilbert had the feeling that it was her duty to civilize the children of the area.

We wore uniforms of blue skirts and white blouses. As if that were not enough, we had to wear white pearl necklaces and white pearl earrings. No bangles could be worn, and we were not allowed to wear gold ornaments. It was the local custom for girls to wear gold chains. Those who could not afford pure gold wore gold-plated ornaments.

The idea of banning gold was good. The custom put too much pressure on girls who could not afford to wear gold. But we longed to wear bangles made of glass or plastic, and that too was forbidden. Even applying kajal (kohl) to one’s eyes was not permitted.

It was a school exclusively for girls. How we wished it were a co-educational school. There was a co-educational school near ours, run by the Hindus. But our school got better results.

It is a truth that the nuns were very sincere in their commitment to education. They were very devoted. Children were persuaded to maintain high standards in their personal behaviour too. They were taught how to talk politely and how to stand and sit properly. There were moral education and catechism classes. Christian students attended catechism classes, and the rest attended moral studies.

Once a week there was Sahitya Samaj meeting. It was cultural activity, run entirely by the students. A student was the presiding officer. She sat on the teacher’s chair. The meeting would begin with a welcome speech by a student. That was followed by reciting poems, singing film songs, dancing, and giving speeches on various subjects. At the time, we didn’t understand the importance of it, but it gave us a valuable platform to conquer our stage fright. We prepared and gave speeches on moral values, with titles like Honesty and Hard Work.

One of the students in the class would be elected as the monitor. She was the leader, directly controlling the students. She supervised the class in the absence of the teacher. Usually there was a few minutes’ gap between the ringing of the bell, denoting the period beginning, and the arrival of the teacher. Sometimes the teacher would be late, perhaps with official work. On such occasions, the children often made too much noise. It was difficult for the monitor to control the class. Then our headmistress would come and shout at us. Her way of speaking was enough to make us feel ashamed.

Once I got the opportunity to be the monitor. I was very strict. I wrote the names of all the students who disturbed the silence. I gave it to the teacher, and the girls were punished. My classmates hated me for it. The monitors were elected by the students, and they never chose me again. But the class lacked discipline when others were monitors.

I was very good at my studies. I listened to the teacher very intensely, and thus was able to get the highest score. There was not much competition; my classmates could only score very low marks compared to me. My father’s upbringing and guidance were among the reasons behind it. Daddy encouraged us to ask questions and was patient when answering them. Also, many of my relatives were brilliant and were in good positions.

After classes, I never spent much time on studies. I was very fond of playing and reading stories. I never missed an opportunity to read a storybook. We could borrow books from the school library. It was a small library and there were not many books. Books were my best friends. Some books offered guidance. There was a Christian weekly, Snehasena, which was very cheap. It was colourful and retold Bible stories.

My teachers had a very good opinion of me. My class teacher, Sr Clemens, was my favourite teacher. Once, she advised me to learn to write my signature in a proper way. She said, Manjula, you are very clever. One day, you may become a minister. So learn to put proper signature. This gave me some hope to carry on. I was feeling miserable, as I was away from home and very lonely.

I was indeed selected the education minister of our school. Every year, the students selected a prime minister and three other ministers: education, health, and sports. It made me very happy and proud to be selected. In a few months, I became very popular. Though I could not be monitor in my class, I could become a school leader.

Sr Clemens encouraged me to write a scholarship exam, and luckily I passed. Though the scholarship sum was small, it helped me to further increase my popularity. By this time, I had started to be known as a scholar among my relatives too. But my classmates who were my neighbours ignored me, as they felt jealous. They would not speak to me. It made me feel sad and lonely.

Every class had an English storybook to read. Once I borrowed a storybook from my cousin Asha. She was junior to me. Somehow I lost the book. I felt very guilty. I did not know what to do. Soon it was exam time, and I avoided meeting her. I was afraid to inform Baby uncle. He did not have much money, and I thought he would scold me. I was entirely dependent on him financially too. We did not have to pay school fees. I was aware of the fact that Uncle’s situation was not economically sound and I was an additional burden.

On exam day, Asha’s mother came to the school. She stood on the veranda in front of my class and started to shout at me. She called me a thief who had stolen her daughter’s book. I was humiliated. It made a deep wound in my mind. I cried aloud. The exam was yet to start when she shouted at me, and even while I took the exam, I was still crying. The whole school came to know about it. I kept on repeating, She called me a thief. When Sr Clemens asked me, I told her the whole story. There was a discussion among the teachers, and they all felt sorry for me. Sr Clemens offered me the money to repay Asha. But I did not accept it.

After the exam, when I reached home, I was too afraid to talk to my uncle. So I talked to Reji auntie. She was compassionate. She reported it to Baby uncle, and he went to Asha’s house. Appachan uncle, her father, was not aware of what had happened at the school. He became angry with his wife for the incident. Later he tried to talk to me. But I remained silent. I had felt it very deeply. I was depressed and wanted to go home.

There is a story titled Homecoming by Rabindranath Tagore. It tells a similar story about a young boy of fourteen. He was separated from his parents and he longed to be with them. But he died without seeing them again, because of fever. I felt it was better to die than to be in such mental pain.

After that incident, I was able to come back to normal life. I was very friendly with all the people in our locality. Most of the old people had known my grandparents. Some of them had been their friends. I wished my grandparents were there too. They would have shared old stories of the family with me.

I used to sleep with my uncle and auntie. I would fall asleep as soon as I hit the bed. My classmates asked me if I ever saw scenes between my uncle and auntie. Though I was twelve, I was totally unaware of sex.

One of my classmates, who was older than me, asked whether I knew how babies were born. I told her that babies came from the blessing of the priest. Till then I had believed the rituals performed on one’s wedding day were enough to bring kids. Then she asked me from where the baby was born. I could not think of any suitable place but the umbilicus.

She then tried to give me some sex education. It was new knowledge to me. She told me that girls had some bleeding once they attained puberty. She further explained that the intimacy between boy and girl caused pregnancy.

For some time after that, I was afraid to play with boys. When I played with boys, I thought it might have caused pregnancy. We girls were afraid of the bleeding too.

Later I was given a book by my friend. It was a nice book written by a nun. It gave basic information about sex. Sex education had not yet started in schools. It was a taboo to discuss sex. Girls and boys discussed it secretly.

Reji auntie was pregnant, and we were very happy. She had some marks on her skin which seemed to be due to scratching. But they said the marks were due to a ghost called énam peechi. It was a special ghost which scratched on the shadows of pregnant women at night and caused these marks. The idea was so funny that I could not suppress my laugh.

Ammachi came to the house for the delivery. A cute little girl was born. The little girl brought us much happiness. There was a change in Baby uncle too. I saw him genuinely happy for the first time. I wanted to name the child Jomol. As all of them loved me deeply, they agreed to it.

A broom or weapon made of iron had to be kept at the baby’s side to ward off evil spirits. Once I put two brooms on two sides and two iron knives on the other two sides. When the elders saw it, they were amused. I explained that I wanted to protect Jomol from all the sides. I held her when she cried. I even washed the nappies.

Old, white linen clothes were used as nappies. I would go to the Manackachira to wash the nappies, soiled with urine and stool. Ammachi would not allow me to wash them, so I had to do it without her notice. The nappies smelt very bad. The baby was only taking breast milk, and still the nappies smelt bad. Yet I felt it was an honour to wash the nappies. After all, she was my younger sister.

Reji auntie and Ammachi gave me lot of attention, which I enjoyed. Even so, I wanted to go back to my village.

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CHAPTER 3

A fter a year of staying at my mom’s home village, I went back to my parents’ home in Anapara when the school vacation started. I told my parents that I wanted to stay with them and join the local school. But when Daddy went to get my transfer certificate, Sr Gilbert would not allow the transfer. She wanted me to stay in the boarding school. As I was not there with Daddy, he succumbed to the pressure, making me very sad.

I had never liked the headmistress. She was a terror. I didn’t know why she wanted me to stay at her school. Daddy could not afford to pay the boarding fee, and she offered me free accommodation. She said that she had been given free education by somebody else. So she found this a perfect way to repay.

My stay in the boarding school was not at all pleasant. The warden, Sr Emil, did not like me. She was an old lady and we rarely saw her smile. She could not establish any rapport with the girls. It was as if the nuns lived in a separate world.

There were strict rules to be kept. We had a rule book, neatly covered and kept in the study hall. The whole place was like a prison. Regina auntie was in another convent in a nearby village, and she was the Mother Superior there. She used to visit me, which was a great relief. At times, I was scared of her, as she too was a nun. I felt some of the nuns were even jealous of her, as she was very talented. I had once had a desire to be a nun. But after watching them closely, I abandoned the idea. Sr Emil always made me remember that I did not pay the boarding fee.

The nuns left their families at a very young age to devote their lives to the service of God. We respected them for their sacrifice. But I could not sense any nobility in their day-to-day life. It was said that convent life was based on three principles: poverty, obedience, and chastity.

We heard that the nuns shaved their heads. We were very inquisitive and wanted to watch it. Many a time, we were caught red-handed, standing behind the windows of their rooms, ready to watch a scene. Once, we were about to watch when somebody shouted, Run, Sr Gilbert is coming. The nuns’ heads were covered with black veils pinned to another head cover. Sometimes, the outer veil would accidentally fly up, making the inner one visible.

A nun’s entire body was covered by a heavily starched black-and-brown gown. A short white piece of cloth covered the neck and part of the chest. Nuns looked very different from normal people. Convent life was a closely guarded secret.

Though the food we got in the boarding school lacked quality, the food in the convent was superb. At times when our food ran short, we were served food from the convent, and it tasted very good. The neat, freshly ironed dresses of the nuns typically had a mild flowery smell. Owing to a heavy starch made from tapioca, their cotton clothes looked very stiff and tidy.

The compound was protected by a wall. Buildings were spread across a large area, and there were lots of trees. We could not see any signs of poverty. On the contrary, some of the nuns were fond of kids from wealthy and influential families.

I saw more poverty in the households of the village people. I saw mothers who went hungry to feed their kids. I saw women toiling in their kitchens from sunrise to sunset. The convents had cooks and servants to do chores. If the nuns were obedient, the housewives were obedient too. About chastity there were controversies as well.

So I decided it was better not to be a nun. Later in my life, when I came to know about Mother Teresa, I became a great admirer of hers, and had thoughts of joining her congregation.

I was unable to sit and study for long hours at a stretch. There was no motivation to do so. As I was away from home, I was homesick. When I sat for studies, images of my parents and siblings came to my mind. It made me feel depressed. I spent a lot of time imagining what they were doing. Every week I sent them letters by post. As these letters were scrutinized by the warden before sending, I could not write much. The warden read the letters we received too.

Our life in the boarding school was controlled by the bells. We had to get up at 5 a.m. There was a bell to wake us up. We were supposed to do the morning chores in complete silence and be at the study hall before five thirty. At five thirty we had morning prayers. After morning prayers, we were supposed to study for half an hour. At six we went to morning Mass. After Mass, we returned to the study hall and were given a cup of black coffee. We were supposed to study again till the eight o’clock bell. Then it was time to take breakfast. Till this time, we were to maintain silence. We could talk during breakfast from 8 to 9 a.m. We were very happy to break our silence. This period was called ullasam. That meant entertainment in Malayalam. We were supposed to talk only during ullasam time.

After ullasam, we went to classes, which were in the compound. As there was more freedom there, we loved school hours. We could meet day scholars, the lucky ones who came from home.

There was a big mango tree on our school grounds. The tree was like a grandma. Lots of flowering plants were also in the compound, tempting us to pluck the flowers. Many fruit trees adorned the place. We used to steal guavas and mangoes to eat, as we were not permitted to pluck them. Sometimes we were caught and punished.

Our day at the school started with assembly. All the girls from the different classes would stand in lines in the courtyard. The headmistress and teachers stood on a higher platform. There would be a prayer song, a short speech, and cultural activities by the kids. In my previous school, we had had daily calisthenics. Here, instead of exercise, kids were given opportunity to show their talent.

One day, a Hindu girl sang a Hindu devotional song, and our headmistress appreciated it very much. It was a meaningful song, as she explained it. The poet implored Lord Krishna to come and take his life, stained with worldly desires and sin. That was the first time I felt a liking for my headmistress. Even if she was a nun, she could appreciate the goodness in other religions.

Our school curriculum was very extensive. We studied three languages: English, Hindi, and Malayalam. We were introduced to the literary works of all three. Literature was my favourite subject. I had some difficulty in Hindi, as in this language, even the verbs and non-living objects belong to male and female genders. I could not find the logic behind it.

We had a lesson about karma. It was based on Bhaghwat Gita, the Hindu holy book. Don’t think about the result. Do good karma without expecting anything in return. We should enjoy whatever we are doing. Karma is the act and the reward. This was the main idea we got. Hinduism emphasized living according to ethics and values. I started believing in the karma theory. If our deeds were good, we would receive good.

Apart from daily catechism class in school, we had catechism class after morning Mass on Sunday. It was boring with repetition. Daddy told me that the main teachings of Christ were based on the principle, Love your neighbour as yourself. If we practiced that principle, it was enough. He would say, Manjula, instead of wasting time on reciting long prayers, we should spend time helping others. That is what really pleases God. All these rules were made by his followers. Daddy emphasized the saying work is worship. I liked what Daddy taught me.

Dad said that the Lord’s Prayer was the most meaningful prayer. It is a very short prayer. The words as we said them went like this: Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass us. Do not bring us to test. But deliver us from evil. This was the prayer taught by Christ to his followers.

It is a beautiful prayer. In the first part, we address God as our Father. So we all are his children. As children of God, we all are equals and dignified. The kingdom of God is the ideal world. We want that ideal world to come true. We invoke a world free from violence, inequality, and injustice. In the second part, we ask for satisfaction of our bodily needs. And finally we ask for forgiveness, which is conditional upon our forgiving our fellow human beings. What a beautiful prayer it is.

The rules of the church made lengthy prayers mandatory. There were many intellectuals who objected. They were looked down upon rather than supported. Christ had been born in cattle shed in utter poverty. But his followers built expensive churches and lived in modern comfort. Was it not contradictory? Very few had the courage to question it.

I wanted to know the rules of good living. There was a lesson, One Day, taken from a book written by an eminent Malayalam writer, K. P. Keshava Menon. In it he explained how time had to be utilized effectively. He explained the importance of taking care of one’s family and friends. It was necessary to spend time on hobbies too. Time is wealth, we were taught. The success or failure of a man depends on effective utilization of time.

Much emphasis was given by our society on earning good marks, so that we could get good jobs and become rich. Two professions, medicine and engineering, were considered the best. To become an engineer or a doctor was the dream of most intelligent students. The idea was given to them by their elders.

Some of the nuns who taught me were very good. There was Sr Emerit, who taught me Malayalam, and Sr Clemens, who was my class teacher. From them I learned the importance of self-control. They taught us to do asha adakkams, or to delay gratification. If I was thirsty and wanted to drink water, I had to delay it. I learnt to eat things which I did not like. I learned to do things which I did not like. They told to make small sacrifices and offer those as gifts to God. I could offer my sacrifice to God and ask for blessings in return. I often ate a bitter gourd curry and offered it as a sacrifice to earn good marks. I felt it worked for me.

I wanted to be a saint when I was taught about saints. I wanted to be a great man like Mahatma Gandhi when I learned his story. I wanted to write books. I was good in drawing and painting. I wanted to be a painter like Michelangelo, but that ambition was greatly discouraged. I was scolded whenever I tried to draw or paint. The nuns considered it a waste of time. I wanted to learn to dance, but I could not afford lessons. I had multiple interests but lacked opportunity, which brought frustration. Money was a great problem.

Mark Twain’s Adventures of Tom Sawyer was taught in school, and it was my favourite story. I imagined being with Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.

We had social science class, which covered Indian history, world history, and geography. We could not understand why we had to mug up all these. Once we were asked to mug up an essay on the French Revolution. None of us did it. So we were given a punishment to write the essay twenty-five times. Such punishment was called imposition. We hated writing impositions. When we were caught talking in the class, we were given imposition to write one hundred times, I will not talk in the class in future. Some teachers were infamous for their impositions, and we hated them.

We had a lunch break and two other short breaks during the school day, one in the morning and one in the evening. In the evening, we could finally relax. After tea and snacks, we were given an hour of playtime in the school compound. We were not allowed to go outside of the compound wall. Sometimes we felt we were imprisoned in a jail. We longed to go out and see the world.

Then the bell rang again, to make us remember evening study time. We all sat in the study hall, doing our homework. The warden sat at the centre. Again we had to keep silence. Before dinner, we had evening prayers, and we had to kneel on the floor. After dinner, we were given another hour of ullasam time. There was a time for introspection before sleep. We would kneel down and go through the activities of our whole day. Then