Tumultuous Silence

By Siupatie Harding

TUMULTUOUS SILENCE is the story of a girl who is trapped in a culture that is a microcosm of a distant world - a world that is alien and stultifying. TUMULTUOUS SILENCE delves not only into the harsh realities of the suppression of women but also, particularly, into their silent suffering. It underscores the devastating

• Language: English
• Publisher: Authors' Tranquility Press
• Release date: Apr 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960675569

Siupatie Harding

Siupatie Harding lives in St. George/Brant with her husband Dr. Douglas Harding. She enjoys composing poems, writing stories for children, and has written her biography (lulu publishing) and two novels. Her hobbies include reading, writing, quilting, embroidering and gardening.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Iwonder now, if I knew then, what great fortitude would have been required of me, to endure the perils into which I was going to engulf myself, whether I would have altered my course. I had embarked on a journey with innocence of a child who extends a delicate finger to touch the flame of a birthday candle not knowing it to be hot.

Driven by an instinct so compelling, I became a soldier with the automaticity of a robot. The force that guided me to action appeared as natural as life itself. Sometimes I listened with my mind, other times I listened with my heart, but I always knew in which direction I wanted to go. No doubt, others have traveled the same road as I have, but their footprints have imprinted differently. My inimitable journey plunged me into a struggle so fierce that, in an ironic twist, while it may have cleared the pathway for some, the debris it created, obstructed mine. As a pioneer, the bushwhacking I indulged in also wreaked the greatest injury to myself. It drained my blood and quelled my spirit—the very essence of my life. I have become eviscerated, a burnt-out rocket, an empty casing, a spent force.

Thoughts seminal to my contact with the world are a grab bag of historical trivia. My world has been snatched from me. My memory is shattered like a broken mirror on a concrete floor. I cannot find the pieces. Those that I find, keep getting misplaced. Large pieces are missing. Some pieces reflect light but no images. Others are transformed into dust, never to achieve form again. My life comes into focus like disjointed scenes in a horror movie. This is unendurable torment because I cannot find the switch to flick it off.

For the moment, I exist. No one takes the time to listen to me now. One person did but she is gone now. Her grave alone bears the truth. I sense that I am an embarrassment to my family for they rarely ever visit me. They have their lives in full focus and in complete scenes. Their mirrors are intact.

For me, the living are dead and the dead are living. I am a living dead. Sometimes, I see an image of a beautiful girl. It is soon transformed into a face and body that have seen the ravages of a fierce battle. That other girl could have won a beauty contest but that superficial pleasure does not exist for my transfigured form.

My face twitches like a fluorescent light but not so bright and pleasant. I see no light in my face. I expose myself for all to see. Their surprised expressions forestall my efforts.

I ask the same questions again and again. I was used to asking questions. I do not remember the answers. I like things in works in mysterious ways. I don’t believe it’s the brain I used to have. Dead memories, dead people, dead life. Such is my existence, but I don’t know how old I am.

People call me Mindi.

Chapter 2

It was 1960, the year that ushered in a wave of excitement that was to last for a decade, and the memory of it to continue till the end of the century and beyond.

Emotions ran high all over the world. In the village of Langara, on a small tropical island, thirteen-year-old Mindi Sankar was inspired by the times. She harbored great hopes and dreams-dreams of reaping the rewards of the courageous soldiers who fought for a free world and the freedom of people—her freedom. She was not alone. Post-world war energy was coming alive in teenagers everywhere.

As she sat in her parents’ garden watching two green lizards chase each other, she yearned for personal freedom that many people took for granted. The lizards were free to run and scamper as they wished—she was forbidden to leave her house. The emerald hummingbird, which darted in and out of the bird-of-paradise flowers, could choose a mate freely. She returned to the book she was reading but couldn’t concentrate.

Her thoughts traveled to her early years living with her aged grandfather, Ram Sankar, and the account he gave of his adventure. He told her he had arrived on Paradise Island in 1860 when he was eighteen years old. Were you sorry to leave your parents? she had questioned him.

He was sorry to leave. He told her, but he was tired of working on the farm. He did not feel fulfilled. He wanted to see not only what lay beyond the trees on his father’s farm, but also what existed beyond that borders of his country. He had not yet seen his own vast country with its imposing mountains, numerous rivers, deserts, plain and people. What language did they speak? What clothes did they wear? Questions, questions and more questions. He wanted answers. She remembered sitting on his knee fascinated by his story that he loved to tell because it helped him relive the moments of his youth.

Vivid in his memory was the morning he said goodbye to his family and village—a remote village nestled in the foothills of the soaring Himalayan Mountains. He awoke early that day in order to have time to survey for one last time his father’s farm, with its verdant pastures and expansive rows of peanuts surrounded by corn and wheat. The cows were busy grazing. The morning sun was already bright, and as he looked up at the Himalayas, which of him. He tilted his head back in order to capture the snow-covered peaks reaching up to the sky and disappearing into the clouds.

He said his morning prayers facing the sun. It was the last time he would see these awe-inspiring monuments and his devoted parents. He picked up his belongings and when he finally said, I have to go now, his mother clung to him like a drowning person to a floating log. Don’t, baita (son), she cried!

He didn’t reply but returned his mother’s embrace. An instinctive silence emerged to deal with his deep emotions. His father embraced him and stood stoically aside. He knew what his father was thinking—his oldest son, inheritor of his farm, his life and his blood, was abandoning him. His father had no words to describe feelings so deep. His silence, however, spoke volumes. The only words his father managed to utter as Ram was walking away were, Take care of yourself and come back when you have finished your contract.

Grandfather told Mindi that he knew his father was hopeful of his return but also that he was prepared for the inevitable. His mother had only released him physically. With tears flooding her eyes and unbearable pain tearing away at her heart, she had waved goodbye to Ram, her first born and lifeblood. As he took one last look at his mother, father and younger brothers, he straightened his youthful six-foot frame, held his head erect and slipped past the pipal tree. He never looked back. He headed straight for the waiting boat.

***

Ram Sankar had departed from his homeland with aspirations, just like his mountains that reached as far as the eye could see. His hopes and dreams would enable him to reach for the stars in a faraway place. The British plan to colonize their conquered lands was an answer to his prayers. He, together with many other teenagers, left his birthplace for this magical place of his dreams—Paradise Island. They did not know where this place was or how far away it was. It didn’t matter. They were as young and innocent as the calves they tended. They left Bharat by the boatloads.

***

Ram and his fellow travelers were the boat people of yesteryear, different from the boat people of today by virtue of being wanted and needed. They had contracts to work in the sugarcane fields.

During the late eighteen and early nineteen hundreds, an Indian Diaspora occurred From India, the people were taken to the east Indies, the West Indies, South Africa, West Africa, East Africa and to many other distant lands and islands. Had Columbus arrived four centuries later, he would have been correct in identifying true Indians in the West Indies. His mistake in misnaming the people of North America would have been less likely. In the social hierarchy of the day, these East Indians were one rung above the slaves. They were called indentured laborers but were not taken to England for they were considered unsophisticated. The boat on which Ram Sankar had embarked for his teenage adventure landed at Paradise Island half full. It was half empty to the passengers who had endured the ordeal of their lives and who knew painfully well that tragedies that had befallen their fellow passengers. If their companions had not contracted typhoid fever and later succumbed to that malady, then they had become delirious for a variety of reasons compelling them to seek watery graves.

Mindi recalled another time when she listened to her grandfather as he sat in his hammock, relaxing. It was during these quiet moments that Ram’s thoughts transformed into full-blown dramas on the high seas. He saw mountainous waves rushing to swallow their puny ship. When they reached the Cape of Good Hope, he had given up living. The waves were most treacherous and unrelenting. He frequently felt the sacred thread around his neck and believed it had saved him. He thanked his parents for blessing him with it. How did you manage to stay alive? Mindi recalled asking him. I just made up my mind to live, he replied. Everyone was seasick, even the crew. You don’t want to know what the boat looked like inside.

Grandfather was sometimes reluctant to relate his story, but he did anyway. His ambivalent attitude emanated from the anguish he suffered when requested to describe his ordeal. Sometimes he questioned his decision to pursue his quest but at the end of it all he said he was happy he took the chance. Will you return to Bharat since you say that you have a free passage back? she had asked him. I couldn’t endure that journey again. Was his reply.

Though his indomitable spirit had defied the enemy in a struggle for his life, he would decline the offer of returning, even if it were free. Mindi recalled hugging her grandfather and telling him how happy she was because of his decision to remain on Paradise Island. She didn’t want to lose him.

***

Grandfather learned to speak English, but he usually conversed in Hindi with his boat brothers. He avoided speaking English at work. It was a secret weapon against his overlords. The survivors of that horrific boat trip stuck together. They were never far apart in spirit. They called each other brother and sister and it was often said that they were closer than blood relatives. Joyfulness marked their meetings and camaraderie helped ease their pain. Loneliness for the motherland united them while the common experience of the journey cemented that bond.

Gathering under the shade of the mango tree, the warmth radiated by these people for each other was only matched by the heat of the tropical sun. Mindi, on another occasion, had engaged her grandfather in his storytelling. How did you get so much property Ajah? (Grandfather) I worked hard my dear child. I also saved my money.

Did you bring lots of money when you came on the boat?

No, baitee (daughter or child). I had no money; I only had courage.

What is courage?

Being brave enough to do what you want to do especially when it is difficult.

Do I have courage?

Yes, very definitely. You show a lot of courage when you ask me all these difficult questions.

When I grow up, I want to be brave and travel far away from this island, like you did.

You may very well do that

What else did you bring with you?

"My sacred books, clothes and a special lota (vessel) for water to do my Puja (prayers).

May I have the lota when you die? she asked innocently.

Of course. It’s yours. Use it when you pray. Grandfather did not mind his granddaughter’s comment about dying. He had already prepared himself for the event. Two days later, he died of a stroke and didn’t need the lota anymore.

***

Ram Sankar had labored from sunrise to sunset under the watchful eyes of his British bosses. Fettered by his five-year contract as an indentured laborer, he yearned to own his own land. With the courage he displayed when he had decided to board a boat to an unknown destination, and the burning desire to get ahead, his dream once again became a reality. After his five-year contract had expired, he used the money he had saved to buy his house, vacant land and farms. By economizing, he was able to establish himself on firmer ground.

Mindi’s story begins one hundred years after the birth of Ram Sankar, or eighty-two years after his arrival on Paradise Island. His two sons and his grandchildren were reaping the benefits of his industriousness—benefits of a teenage daredevil whim to pursue his quest. Her family was now very wealthy by local standards. But, while profiting from Ram Sankar’s efforts, her family would also inherit such intangibles that would wreak havoc on the women of the ensuing generation—the custom of child marriage, domination of women by men, no education for women, rigid dress code, arranged marriages, domination among the members of various castes, religious indoctrination, and strict adherence to a comprehensive system of duties. It was a bittersweet legacy that Ram Sankar and his fellow travelers would leave behind.

Mindi would need all the courage that her grandfather said she possessed, but it would not be sufficient to overcome all the obstacles in her struggle for freedom.

Chapter 3

Mindi was the most beautiful of the Sankar children. She drew her audience to her like a magnet with her penetrating chestnut eyes. Her long black hair descended to her waist in silky softness. It shimmered, as she stood in the morning light, which streamed through the bay window.

Full lips in rosy redness arched gently in the middle. Sculpted in perfect symmetry, two dimples graced her cheeks when she smiled. One of five children, Mindi held no place of importance in the birth order of her siblings.

You can’t tell me what to do. I am older than you, her brother Darsan would often say to her. He was sixteen years old and never did more than was required of him. His parents never insisted. His clothes lay on the floor if he wasn’t wearing them, his footballs remained in the yard, rainstorm after rainstorm and his report card repeatedly stated, More effort required. Darsan’s tall bony frame towered over Mindi, giving him an air of superiority over her five-foot four stature. In addition, Darsan’s charm and handsomeness enabled him to escape the strict discipline and harsh punishment that his other siblings received from his parents.

Mindi was neither the first nor the last of her siblings. Her two sisters held thus coveted positions. Her older sister, Ambika, enjoyed her special status of being the first born, though not having the benefits of primo geniture—that right went to Basant. Ambika also had no hand-me-downs to wear; she did not have to share the love of her parents and she did not have to share toys that her parents bought for her alone. Ambika, however, was not spoilt by this attention. She treated Mindi with consideration and sisterly love. Mindi’s younger sister, Yasoda, wallowed in her standing as the family’s pet; there were no more children to follow, so her parents overindulged in their affection for their baby, resulting in an over extended babyhood. The Sankars allowed Yasoda to bring friends’ home, a privilege that they had denied her older sisters. Yasoda had the path cleared for her to go to school while Mindi had to fight for that privilege. Yasoda took her privileges for granted.

The two boys, Basant and Darsan, were the pride and joy of the family. They were boys, a fact that, no matter whatever position they held in the birth order, procured them a special place in a Hindu family.

At eighteen years old, Basant who was the oldest bullied his way around the rest of the children. He spent hours listening to his radio, drawing, and playing his records. He showed very little consideration or interest in the activities of the rest of the family.

I am trying to read, Basant, Mindi would often call out from her room. He would turn down the music but only slightly.

Go outside and read, he would reply.

Mindi preferred to lie on her bed reading. She did her homework on her bed. She couldn’t think when she sat at her desk. Her bed was her haven. Reading, sleeping, writing, thinking—all these activities found a home on her bed.

As a child, Mindi was never concerned about her position in the family. She accepted her life with the innocence of youth and the naiveté of the country girl she was. She knew nothing else—she went with the flow. She also felt that her parents loved her. She dealt with any sibling rivalry as a child deal with other children—she applied schoolyard ethics, asserting herself sometimes but knowing when to ignore injustice. This approach had served her well up until the age of twelve. As she matured, she became increasingly aware of being a nonentity in her family.

One July morning, as she stood, dressed for school, daydreaming in front of the mirror, in her bedroom, Mindi noticed her piercing chestnut eyes staring at her. They aren’t have bad, she mused. Her facial features reflected an image of artistic beauty. They reminded her of Elizabeth Taylor and she tried to find a mole, but none appeared.

Holding her long black hair in a bundle, in front of her, she brushed away. She longed to cut her hair because it was too tedious job to wash, and dry—it never dried. But Mama would not allow her to cut it. Long hair was a woman’s beauty, Mama had declared—a Victorian ideal, which she held firmly. Though Mama and Papa did not live in the Victorian era, their love of the old queen was a bit of history, inherited from grandfather and grandmother Sankar, who were now long gone to meet Her Majesty.

Mindi punctuated her narcissistic reverie by chewing her already worn-out fingernails, a habit which she had developed as a child.

Mindi was now thirteen years old. She had reached womanhood. As she took one last look admiring her reflection, she heard her mother calling.

Hurry up. You’ll be late for school. Her mother was standing at the bottom of the stairs. This sudden intrusion into her self-intimacy jarred her back to reality. She rubbed some cream onto her dry hands. The cream soothed her chewed fingernails and had the pleasant smell of the gardenias that she enjoyed.

Mama did not approve of young girls preening themselves. She wanted them to be plain and simple. A girl did not need to attract a man’s attention—that was not a girl’s responsibility. Mama and Papa would find a suitable husband for Mindi when the time was right.

Mindi was next in line for marriage for her parents had already parceled off her older sister, Ambika, with a generous dowry and an expensive wedding. The parents would give her two dowry and an expensive wedding. The parents would give her two older brothers, Basant and Darsan, more time before they found wives for them. Since the boys would have family responsibilities, they would have to become financially secure before they could marry. Higher education would also be a priority for the boys.

Yasoda, who was twelve years old, was still in training. She would have to learn to cook a decent meal. The rice she cooked was too soggy and the dhal was tasteless, her mother had said.

Give her more time, Mama had decided. She will have to improve if she is going to find a good husband.

Yasoda often balked at any comment about her cooking she had no desire to cook and made no effort to improve. She had other ideas about her future.

It was Mindi’s last day at elementary school. Skipping two steps at a time, she raced down the stairs. She grabbed her lunch from the kitchen counter and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. I must not be late, she said to herself.

Goodbye Mama.

Be careful walking on the busy road. I will mama.

You know how crazy some drivers are. They drive with blinders on.

For the first time Mindi felt over-protected. Her mother’s caring and admonishing had somehow been transformed into demands.

You tell me that every day, mama.

I need to remind you every day.

I am not deaf you know.

Enough of your back-talk.

Mindi was silent. She had never spoken to her mother like that before.

Get going, you don’t want to be late on the last day of school to spoil your perfect attendance record.

Mindi slammed the door behind her. She felt relieved from the shackles of restrained anger, which she had controlled until now. She walked out into the busy street to endure the blazing July sun.

The cloudless sky hovered in blueness, like a canopy over the island. The sudden breeze from passing cars created a rustling sound, as Mindi’s full skirt swayed back and forth. The smell of melting tar violated her nostrils. She was already perspiring in her close-fitting blouse, wishing that she had chosen something loose fitting and cooler—not pants or shorts which her parents did not allow because they revealed too much of a woman’s body. Also, custom dictated that only men wore pants.

The street bustled with children, all heading to school on this last day before they gained their freedom. Boys jostled each other in friendly encounters, girls chatted, all at the same time and an atmosphere of joviality reigned.

Men in speeding cars slowed down, rudely honking their horns at Mindi who walked alone, her slender ankles exposed below the hemline of her colorful cotton skirt. Surrounded by the dissonant sounds of honking horns, chattering children and shouting vendors, Mindi recoiled into a pensive mood, thinking of what she would do when she didn’t have to attend school. She rejoiced at the thought of being free from the drudgery of homework, but a dejected feeling overcame her when she realized that she wouldn’t be able to see her friends. Though