Daughter Of Midnight - The Child Bride of Gandhi. Arun Gandhi
I will ever live devoted to you, speaking words of love and praying for your happiness.
Take the fifth step, that we may serve the people.
I will follow close behind you always, and help you to keep your vow of serving the people.
Take the sixth step, that we may follow our religious vows in life.
I will follow you in observing our religious vows and duties.
Take the seventh step, that we may ever live as friends.
It is the fruit of my good deeds that I have you as my husband.
You are my best friend, my highest guru, and my sovereign lord.
The words of the Saptapadi were traditional. They probably had no more special meaning to the young bride and groom than did any of the other strange and solemn words that had been spoken. But some of those vows my grandparents recited on their wedding day would take on an extraordinary significance for them in their 62 years of married life.
“And oh! That first night. Two innocent children all unwittingly hurled themselves into the ocean of life.”
With those words, written almost half a century later, my grandfather began the account of his wedding night that appears in his autobiography The Story of My Experiments with Truth. “We were too nervous to face each other,” he reported. “And we were certainly too shy. How was I to talk to her and what was I to say?”
Mohandas was 13 and, by his own confession, knew very little about sex beyond a few whispered hints he had recently received from his considerate sister-in-law Nandkunwarben, the wife of his older brother Lakshimidas (there is reason to wonder, given the strict taboo in sexual matters between men and women in Indian families, just how explicit his sister-in-law could have been).
“The coaching couldn’t carry me far,” he wrote, adding that he never knew and never inquired whether or not Kastur had been given any helpful information or instruction. “But no coaching really is necessary on such matters. We gradually began to know each other and to speak freely,” writes Grandfather.
There will always be much that is unknown about the intimate relationship of Kasturba and Mohandas Gandhi. My grandmother left no written records and, in later life she never confided her innermost feelings or personal reminiscences to anyone. But we can, by conjecture, arrive at some understanding of what Ba’s experiences may have been.
My grandmother belonged to a generation of Indian women who were schooled to be patient and passive. But at that moment, with the silence between them growing ever more oppressive, young Kastur must have suspected that Mohan knew even less than she did about what was supposed to happen next. She waited, wondering what she should do — if anything.
And then, as was his habit in moments of crisis, Mohan smiled. It was a smile that in future years would delight his comrades, confound his critics and disarm his enemies. On this night, it dispelled all his bride’s uncertainties.
A good Hindu wife follows her husband’s lead in all things. Kastur smiled at Mohan. They began to speak. Together, they embarked on the adventure of marriage.
Kastur took little notice of the weather on the cool sunny morning she set out for Rajkot with her new family. In all of her 13 years, Kastur had never been beyond the borders of Porbandar. Going to Rajkot was like going to another universe. Kastur found the idea exciting. She had always been fearless, undaunted by the usual terrors of childhood: insects, serpents, wild animals, or the dark of night. Why should she find a strange city intimidating?
Hindu men and women usually travelled separately. Thus, the bridegrooms, Mohandas and Karsandas, rode in one carriage with their older brother Lakshimidas and their father Karamchand, still on the mend from his injuries, while the brides, Kastur and Ganga, travelled in another coach with the older sister-in-law Nandkunwarben and their new mother-in-law Putliba. It was a good opportunity for all these Gandhi women to become acquainted.
When the carriages pulled up in front of the Gandhi home in Rajkot, the travellers found Mohan’s sister, Raliatben, waiting. There were two final Hindu marriage customs to be observed. Before the newlyweds were allowed to enter, Raliatben stopped them with the traditional request — each of her brothers had to present her with a suitable gift to gain entry. Mohandas and Karsandas complied.
Then came the mother-in-law’s traditional greeting to new daughters-in-law, somewhat akin to the Western custom of carrying the bride across the threshold of her new house for good luck.
Putliba put down a measure of rice at the front door and then invited the older couple, Ganga and Karsandas, to come in first, as was their due. Ganga was actually a few months younger than Kastur, but she had married the older brother making her higher in status. As they entered, Ganga tilted the measure with her toe, spilling the rice out onto the floor and stepping on it — this, it was said, would bring prosperity to the newlyweds. Now, it was the younger couple’s turn; Putliba set out another measure of rice. Mohandas and Kastur entered, and Kastur, repeating the ritual, was welcomed to her new home.
A new home, a new life, even a new name: Kasturbai Gandhi. The suffix “-bai” would usually be added to her name Kastur now that she was an adult married woman. And it all took some getting used to. In the days that followed, Kasturbai was often homesick for her old home in Porbandar. Her life as youngest daughter-in-law in the busy Gandhi household was very different from her former life as favourite daughter in the ease and comfort of the Kapadia house.
A regional version of secluding females — what my grandfather called Kathiawar’s “own peculiar, useless and barbarous purdah”, decreed that young husbands and wives must ignore each other during daylight hours. Any show of affection, even the exchange of a few casual words, was considered indecent. Young married women were not to be seen by older men in the family or visiting strangers.
Though Hindu women were not required to hide their bodies with the tent-like chador worn by Muslim women, they were expected to cover their heads and faces with their saris in the presence of elders of either sex.
Mohandas had returned to high school so that their only time together was late at night, in their own small bedroom just above the main gate of the house.
Kasturbai was not idle during the day. As the youngest daughter-in-law in a joint family, it was her duty to perform without a murmur of protest whatever tasks the older women might assign to her. This was another accepted fact of life. Kasturbai knew that by right, all her in-laws, not just her mother-in-law Putliba, but also Nandkunwarba, even Ganga, could order her around. But she was lucky. Unlike many young brides, she was never treated like a chattel in her new home. Putliba was kind, discerning, wise — not at all the tyrannical mother-in-law of stories. In assigning daily tasks to the younger women, Putliba played no favourites and she liked to instruct by example rather than command. She was usually the last person to go to bed at night and the last to take her meals. What kept all of them busy was the amount of work that had to be done in the bustling Gandhi household.
As the dewan of Rajkot, Karamchand Gandhi had a daily stream of visitors who had to be properly entertained: tea, snacks, or full meals, depending on what time they came to visit. Karamchand had never been one to worry about money, and had never accumulated enough resources for his family to live lavishly. As a result, the Gandhis did not have the army of servants and cooks that one might have expected to find in the home of a minister of state; not even the usual staff of servants found in the homes of successful merchants (men like Gokaldas Kapadia).
In the Gandhi household, everyone was expected to participate in household chores. The dewan himself, it was said, had sometimes been seen sitting under a tree in the courtyard, peeling vegetables for his wife while receiving official visitors.
Kasturbai’s mother-in-law was a cheerfully devout woman who took little interest in fine clothes and jewellery,