Peacocks No Longer Dance In Sarojnagar

Beneath the scorching sun, a girl headed  towards  home with a smile on her face.  Meethi, the eldest daughter of Munshilal (Pradhan of Sarojnagar) was smiling even in this parching weather.

She had a reason to smile that tens of scorching suns could hardly destroy.  After all, she had topped in the entire K S Mishra Memorial Girls College. Her father would proudly spend hours under that banyan tree telling about her achievement; her mother would prepare her  favourite  sooji- halwa; her uncle would lend her some new clothes. It was really difficult to stop this gentle smile on Meethi’s face.

Rajtilak, the grocer’s  son in the village too smiled in his shop.  He was the only son of Sukhiram, the short height grocer of Sarojnagar.  Rajtilak would hardly get time from his shop. He longed for two things all day - rich merchants and a glimpse of the eldest daughter of Pradhan. He could never know things like public administration, sociology, home science. Neither could he know the reason behind her smile. Yet a smile was seen on his face for he always wished to see her happy. Villagers say he was very restless the night Meethi  suffered a snakebite.

Unaware, she kept heading home. One could easily notice a desire to reach home as early as possible in her. She even encountered a group of vandals in the next street. Like any other day, they threw a few humiliating cheap words at her. But today none of those words could hurt her.

She was dancing like a peacock in the monsoon of her dreams, with feathers purple and green. A faith was restored in her. An ambition had  grown in her. She had to go miles. She had to conquer this world. She could see herself  very close to that ambassador car with a blinking red light on it. Yes, she always aspired to be like Rakhi Di, the collector in the next village.

The world’s biggest happiness is reaching home, be it that lost sparrow or the girl here. For a girl, the dream of her life is to make her parents proud. She would shed tears the moment her parents regret pouring their energy into raising her. She would lose each and everything  just  to see a smile on their faces. She would make friends. She would fall in love if not once, twice.  She may cry for new clothes too. She could bear the tantrums of those vandals in the street but could never see her parents being humiliated. For a girl, father is always her first love that she never wants to lose.

And finally, Meethi reached home. With the mark sheet  in her hands and a big smile on her face, she rushed towards the verandah where her pradhan father used to sit with others villagers and have hukkaah. Before she could tell anything, she noticed some really good flowers kept on the table in the verandah. Father had been wearing a neat white kurta with his hairs painted black. He was looking good that day. Mother too was clad in a silk saree that she wore on special occasions.

“Perhaps all are going to celebrate my success,” she thought for a while.

But she got the reason behind these painted doors and silk saree the moment  she  heard her father negotiating with Basuki Kaka of her village. He was negotiating money, the money to be given to Basuki  Kaka’s  family as dowry. Yes, Meethi was getting married. She was twenty- two now. Basuki Kaka’ s  son Manohar owned a garment shop in the town. He would keep her happy as he had  got enormous wealth. He would take her to the town after marriage and they would live happily.

An invitation was sent to all villagers. They were happy as they were expecting a good feast. The tent provider promised to arrange the best decoration ever. Why not? Meethi was no less. She was the most beautiful girl in Sarojnagar.

It was the evening before marriage. The village looked really astonishing. There  were fancy lights all around. The fragrance of sweet dishes could be smelt from a considerable distance. Basuki bought an expensive safari suit (a tailored suit that people wear on special occasions in rural India) for his son.  All were happy.

Nobody cared about Meethi, the bright girl of K S Mishra Memorial Girls College. Though she got expensive silk sarees. She put her mark sheet and certificates in an old suitcase. In her childhood days, Meethi would store money in this suitcase and could often be seen counting them. She had no desire to carry that suitcase to her new home in the town. She chose to leave each and everything here that could hurt her. Monsoon would very soon leave. Green feathers would be shed. Meethi would be married. She cried, urged, shouted but nobody came. It was a noisy environment all around. Pradhan’s daughter was getting married. All were happy.

It’s been years since Meethi visited Sarojnagar. She no longer aspires to be like Rakhi Di. That white ambassador does not fascinate her anymore. She is even expecting a baby this monsoon.

Rajtilak no longer waits for a glimpse of Pradhan’s daughter. He focuses on rich merchants all day. He is doing well in his business.

Monsoon has never been so pleasing since then. Peacocks have never danced in it like then.

We have somehow found a letter that Meethi wrote the evening before marriage. Would you like to read?

"Let me dance in this monsoon
Let me be a peacock once again  
I do not want to shed my feathers now
Let me remain in my dreams once again
Do not wake me up, I beg
Let me rise, Let me fall
I do not want to stop now
I  gave up everything for you
Never looked at that grocer’s son
You will never find me a burden
I ask for nothing, but a few more years
That ambassador car doesn’t let me sleep
Comes in my dreams
Let me get into that
I know I am a girl
Let me forget that
Let me dance in this monsoon
Let me be a peacock once again."

Epilogue:
In my story, this peacock was forced to shed feathers. Does this make you sad?

If you have ever known of any such peacock, anywhere; let nothing clip her wings, let no one make her shed those wonderful feathers. Let her dance, Let her dance. If you do so, the peacock in my story will also start dancing. Let all the peacocks dance, everywhere!