Tragedies: God & Family

I traveled by night train to Jodhpur, about 370 miles southwest from Delhi, India's capital. Within two hours of my arrival I had checked into a small guest house, set out for a street-side omelet and while writing in my daily journal, attracted enough attention that someone called the state newspaper, the Rajasthan Patrika...

The next day, this appeared...

(Full Article)

I ended up staying an extra day in the charming city. I loved it- despite a few people with fearful looks in response to my Hindi (slowly growing in vocabulary, quicker in confidence- but apparently not competence). The article attracted enough interest that a few families tracked me down at the guest house and invited me for meals, tea, city tours... I assumed the gist of the article would be the journal, but the author focused on a few things I said about Indian families, especially the family in Gujarat that I was heading to see. It was wonderful being in Jodhpur and it is a place I will definitely return to, but I moved on.



Tragically, just two days after I left, over 220 people died outside a small temple in one of Rajasthan's most famous landmarks, Jodhpur's majestic Mehrangarh Fort.



In an early morning rush to send regards to God, rumors of a wall collapse caused a frenzy and 224 lives of mostly young men were lost.

Next stop was Pushkar, the grossly touristic and mildly charming home to insistent priests, sovereign cows and dozens of shopkeeps who I put in their place when they assumed I am Israeli (this is another story, but Israelis are known and widely disliked in India for being drug-abusing, loud, and promiscuous- among other things). Pushkar is one of their hangouts. Note: I have met many kind and non-drug-abusing, quiet and non-promiscuous Israelis. Pushkar is where the universe began- again, another story.




Next, Jaisalmer, the "Golden City" (read: sandy, dusty, sweltering) in far west Rajasthan when I heard the news. It was my second visit and I managed to mostly avoid the affections and hustles of commission-wrangling camel-safari sellers. I learned long ago that more than a couple hours on a camel is one of a long list of things that is better in theory than practice... However, I have been told that a good saddle and ample quilts make a big difference.







Enjoyed my time there and cut out my next destination so I could see my "family" in Gujarat sooner, who I first met New Year's Eve 2005 and visited this past March.

From Jaisalmer I took a long and hot night bus to Ahmedabad, squished into a hot cell of a sleeper pod above the regular seats... I arrived just after 4am and enjoy a cup of chai as I waited in the dark outside Bus Station No. 6 for the first possible bus to Kapadvanj. I arrived at 7am, thrilled to be there with the anticipation of spending the holiday with my family...

This is the point in the story when things start to make no sense- at least not at first...

I got to their house not long after arriving, a little worried that Rama, her husband Hitendra, and their family might be away visiting relatives to celebrate. When I walked up to the house it appeared that they were home- I saw people in the small courtyard outside the house. But it was Hitendra's mother, who I had met at a wedding when I last saw them in March... She looked tired, half draped over a low concrete wall. "Rama?" I said to her, hopeful. She started to cry.

Interlude:
In the Ramayana, one of India's great epics, Rama, a form of the god Vishnu, is saved by the monkey god Hanuman. This Rama is a male, and my Rama is actually Ramala, but I have always thought of Hanuman being associated with her. Hanuman saved Rama in the epic...

A neighbor I know well came over to me. He looked concerned, sad. "Rama..." he said, as he waved his hand, upturning his palm. Immediately I interpreted this as meaning she was gone, as in dead gone. Moments later:

"Rama... suicide."

Three weeks before Hitendra had woken up at 6am and his wife was gone. While searching for her, a man on the road said he'd seen a woman hanging not too far down a main road near their house. It was her. Rama had hung herself.

I don't know what I can say. I love her. She called me her sister and I felt a rare closeness and comfort with her. Of course the day I found out was very hard. I spoke to the children on the phone and visited Hitendra, but left town right after, as to not be a burden.

Her suicide makes sense to me. In Gujarat, the norm is arranged marriages and Rama was unhappy in hers. She was just unable to accept her role. She wanted more education and when I saw her in March she had taken on a part-time job and told me of her modest political aspirations. We spoke at great length about her marriage and family. Outside of big cities (and rare liberal families) in Gujarat, "love" marriages are largely unheard of. Children that marry for love cause great shame to their families. Additionally, parents with divorced children often disown them and have been known to commit suicide themselves because of the shame. Understanding (at least in part) the role of a dutiful wife and daughter in India, I understand why Rama hung herself.

If she had found a way to leave her town, even her state, she could very well (and most likely) end up destitute and branded a dirty, unwanted woman. After we first met on 31 December, 2005 I fantasized about "saving" her, somehow bringing her to the United States. Even if it were possible, she would probably not be allowed to bring her children and suffer being in a place where she would have little understanding and support. Her family would undoubtedly disown her, and probably prevent her children from ever seeing her again. In order to escape the next 3 or 4 decades in wifely servitude to a man she could never be connected to, she did the only possible thing she could. I'm not angry at her, and I do not think she was selfish. Strangely, I find myself angry at a god I've never believed in, Hanuman...

The greatest sadness I have is in imagining her in despair, walking to the road in the dark early morning, finding a tree, hanging herself with her dupatta (scarf). What was she thinking? That they would be better off? Was she apologizing to her children, to god? I selfishly wonder when she last thought of me. I talked to her two weeks before the suicide- told her I was coming soon, sometime. I'm sorry, Ramala. I love you.

Photos from their home...