This is an imagined retelling of the events of Ja 62 from the woman’s perspective.
I really don’t remember at all, but she told me I was brought here as a baby. Too young to remember. I’ve been here ever since. This room is all I’ve ever known.
It was comfortable enough, some nice cloth and patterns we wove, and cushions we made. You know how it is, you never really think about it too much.
I saw him, the brahmin, only rarely, and others never. Only her, my matron, she took care of me. We had food to eat, water to drink and bathe. And she’d tell me stories and teach me things. I’d always ask about the stories, they were so wonderful, but it was something out there, not my life.
Why was I here? I guess I didn’t really understand. My matron told me I’d been bought by the brahmin. I thought that was normal: I was the kind of thing that could be bought. Funny, though, he put me up in this tower with the matron and these women standing guard out the door, but he never really seemed interested in me. Every now and then he just poked in his head, his funny head with white hair and bald middle.
When I turned sixteen, the brahmin seemed excited about something and there was all this fuss. I was to be wed. To him. Matron dressed me up and got me ready. The brahmin came in, we said some words, all was done, then he left, looking very happy. That was it.
Matron said that when you got married you had union with a man. I didn’t understand too much. But in the stories the man was always a dashing prince, a hero, brave and handsome. The brahmin wasn’t like that, just small and twitchy. I never learned what “union” was like, and when I asked, matron just said, “He’s old, dear.”
One day matron came in with a new story, not one of the old tales. She had met her son! It seems there was a shop that she used to pass and buy flowers and perfumes. And the shopkeeper, a young man, had recognized her. Somehow, she must have had a son when younger. Everyone was so happy, she said, they all said how much she looked just like the handsome fellow. They embraced and talked about their lives all day.
From then on, she’d always go there and come back with a big bunch of flowers, talking about how kind and sweet her son was, how strong and handsome. I couldn’t help but be interested. I’d only ever seen the brahmin, so I had no idea what a handsome man might look like.
One day, matron came in and sat me down for a serious talk. She had told her son about me. And hearing of my beauty, he wanted to meet. Was I beautiful? How do you even know that? I’d never seen my face, except a glimpse in a basin of water. But how could I not be intrigued?
It would not be easy. The tower was locked and isolated, and there were guards, female guards, always. But matron said she’d find a way. At least we knew the brahmin was unlikely to be around; I’d not even seen him once since the wedding.
How she did it I cannot say, but she did: matron brought her son into my room. Oh my! I blushed so red! He really was handsome, with his dark skin and broad shoulders, and he held a perfect spray of jasmine just for me.
We sat together and talked, as the matron excused herself. He was so gentle and kind. And when he took my hands and declared his love, at last I began to understand the stories. He took me to my bed and we had union. The stories could never describe it, so how could I? It was just wonderful!
As the evening grew late we lay together on my bed, talking. He told me that the brahmin was an important man, high priest to the king, which is why he could afford this tower and all the things around me. I guess I’d never thought they were anything special. He said the brahmin liked to gamble. He played dice with the king. And that was why he bought me. I didn’t understand, and he laughed.
“My sweetling,” he said, “there is nothing to understand. Just the superstitions of vain men. Your husband cares not for you, nor wastes a moment’s thought in your direction. His mind is consumed by the dice. He is supposed to be the king’s adviser, a wise voice of counsel in the proper management of the nation. But the king ignores his duties. He is given over to his vice and the brahmin is his handmaid. The king, it seems, has a way of winning, one by which he swears.”
“Oh, and what is that?”
My man smiled gently, “It is not very nice, my heart. He swears that all women are wicked and faithless; and by the force of that truth, or so he believes, he wins the game.”
“Oh! How can this be? Is it true? Are women so wicked?”
“Darling, how can it be? For here are you yourself, the sweetest, most innocent of creatures. You see, that is why the brahmin bought you. Why he owns you. Why he married you. To keep you locked up here away from all temptation, pure as a lotus in the lake. Now, when the king swears by the wickedness of all women, all he need say is, ‘Except my wife’ and the game is his.”
“But sir, if the brahmin wins by my purity … what is he to do now?”
The man laughed like honey, his teeth shining white. “Hush my darling! For has this been anything but sweet and good for you? Do you feel you have been wicked at all?”
“No!”
“Then let us keep our secret. The vows of gamblers are nonsense, just superstition. Think no more of it.”
Their intercourse was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She knew that tread, rarely though it came: it was her husband. Quickly she hid the paramour in the closet.
The girl greeted the husband and they exchanged the usual civilities. Then, shyly, she made an odd request.
“My dear husband,” she said. “May I ask a favor of you? I would like to dance, and I beg you to play the lute for me. You do play so sweetly!”
He agreed and took up the lute. But when he began to strum, she feigned shyness again. “I am not used to having a man’s eyes on me while I dance. Might I ask you to wear a blindfold for me, my dear?” Charmed, he obliged and played a light dance while the paramour crept out of the closet. Before he made his escape, however, she had a daring thought.
“My dear,” she said. “I know this is odd, but while you are blindfolded, might I slap you on the head? Just a little!” He agreed, so much did he trust his wife’s innate goodness. But instead, the paramour gave him a sound slap on the head and the brahmin was knocked down! Oh, he was so startled, his eyes near as popped out his head! But the paramour snuck out before he could recover.
The brahmin was so dazed, and so convinced of my purity, that after a few minutes and an apology from myself, he made his excuses and left. I sat alone in my room, the only space I had ever known, and thrilled to what the future might bring. Well, I did not have to wait long.
The next day I heard the brahmin’s steps once more, this time fast and heavy. He slammed open my door.
“What did you do!” he roared.
Protest as I might, I could not attest my innocence; for the brahmin, it seems, had gambled his whole fortune that day on the dice, and lost. The king, somehow, had learned that I had taken a man, and had laughed pitilessly at his adversary’s discomfort. Oh, how wicked these gamblers are!
I conceived a plan and quickly pleaded it to my husband, lest he subject me to some horrid fate.
“Sir, let me prove my innocence. You know well the power of Truth, for both you and the king have won by it. Let me prove my innocence in the flames.”
And it was agreed. Meanwhile, however, I told my matron what was to ensue, and we hatched a plan together. Next day, I descended the stairs for the very first time, uncertain and trembling. Out into the bright sunshine I stepped, overwhelmed by the dazzle and the chatter of people who had come. But I breathed deeply and approached the blazing bonfire, declaring for all to hear:
“No man has ever touched me, except my beloved husband—by the power of this Truth, may the fires harm me not!”
At that, matron had arranged that her son, my paramour, was to step forward and take my hand, saying, “See! What sort of man treats so a woman so innocent!” Then, since he would have touched me in full sight of the assembly, my asseveration of Truth would not longer be effective and the brahmin would have no choice but to accept.
But at the crucial moment, as I stepped forward towards the fire and looked to my paramour, he just smiled and showed me his bag of coin.
“Sorry babe,” he said.
I was broken. He was no sweet man, no long lost son, no friend of mine. It was all a ruse to bring down my husband, and I was just in the way. I was nothing, with no more meaning to him than to the brahmin. And matron, when she saw him do that, realized that she too had been deceived, and she hid her face and fled the crowd in tears.
I screamed and shrank back from the fires, and in doing so I exposed my shame for all to see. The brahmin was furious, calling me a whore and a hussy, saying that all women were the same, that they would without doubt betray a man like a black snake.
Then, with the approval and roaring applause of the crowd, he beat me. Once, twice, he smacked me down. Crying, “Bitch! Slut!” he kicked me, in my head, my legs, my belly. I was bleeding and crying, but he would not stop. He grabbed me by the hair and smashed my face into the ground, again and again. Everyone cheered. He punched me and kicked me, over and over again, until I could do no more than sob and writhe in the dirt. Then he abjured me, condemning me to hell, cursing me and my children to the seventh generation. He had men pick me up and carry me to the outskirts of town, where they tossed me away in a refuse pile, buried in filth. Then they went home.
I lay there a long time, unable to move, my thoughts whirling about. I thought of who he was, this man who was my husband. Of how he purchased me as a thing, an object of little value. Of how he kept me imprisoned my whole life. How he kept everyone from me. How his life was dedicated to the dice, his duties neglected in service of his addiction. How he and his so-called friend, the king, perverted the sacred notion of Truth for the sake of a game. How the king hired a knave to seduce me and take my virtue. How the knave gave me one night of pleasure, then betrayed me for a bag of coin. And how I was beaten bloody by my own husband, jeered on by townsfolk I had never met, then tossed for dead on the scrapheap.
And how the lesson the men took from all this was that women were not to be trusted.
I picked myself up and in a nearby stream bathed away the blood and the filth. I did not know anything and could not say where I was to go or what I was to do. But there was a road before me. I took my first steps upon it, and a smile burst forth from my heart like morning glory kissed by the sun.
