CHAPTER 19
“Baba !baba ! Where are you?”
“I am here my child.”
“Look at this baba, a letter from the place.”
“Indeed, what does it say.”
“It directs me to attend a ceremony in the temple at Antara, where a new oracle will be chosen. I will not go.”
“Of course you will go my dear. All unmarried Brahmin girls between fifteen and twenty five have to attend. That is the custom.”
But Sunanda looked doubtful. Her eyes were stormy and her chin had a decidedly pugnacious look. “It may be the custom, but it is not a custom that is in keeping with spirit of this age. Mr Bradley at the College says the oracle is a survival from the dark ages, an anachronism he calls it.”
“Tut..... tut, child, child, you are not going to let some Englishman who knows nothing about our culture lay down the law in these matters. What does he know about our ways. His ancestors were living in caves long after we were a civilized race. Forget his fancy notions. Custom must be honoured. And if you don’t go I will give up food and keep a fast for seven days.”
This alarmed the girl, “Oh come, baba, I will go if you feel so strongly about it. But please don’t talk of fasting.”
So there she was, along with a hundred other girls between the ages of fifteen and twenty five in the large hall of the temple at Antara. On one side of the hall sat the king with his nobles and ministers and on the other the British Resident from Indore along with Mr. Cartwright, the Assistant Collector of Hoshangabad, who was supposed to be here as observer. Between the king and the British notables was the central area which was used as a stage during religious ceremonies. A statue of the goddess Kali, a replica of the statue that was enshrined in the inner sanctum of the temple, had been erected in a niche in the wall at the back of the stage had been erected in a niche in the wall at the back of the stage and on both sides of the niche sat a party of musicians. The musicians formed the temple orchestra and were armed with trumpets and kettledrums and bassoons and oboes and cymbals and a host of exotic instruments.
“What a place,” said Colonel Duncan Smith, “more like a place than a temple.”
Cartwright looked about the magnificent hall and agreed with the Colonel. It was a hall dominated by massive pillars with lotus capitals, the entire entablature supported by caryatids representing yakshis, apsaras, warriors and demons. Torches burned in alcoves along the wall, casting a lurid light on the scene.
“An impressive scene, eh!”
“A scene of barbaric splendour. More like ..............”
“Yes, Cartwright?”
“More like Satan’s court in Paradise Lost. All these demons and Goddesses.”
“You have to admit they are rather will done.”
Cartwright looked at the figures, all slightly larger than life, the draperies clinging sensuously to perfectly rounded contours, their numerous arms holding aloft an assortment of weapons, their bodies bedecked in magnificent armour and jewellery, their heads splendidly crowned, and agreed. You it was well done. But it was all so alien, so different from what he was used to.
The trumpeter sounded a brief fanfare and the oracle herself now entered the hall. She was accompanied by her maids-of-honour and she proceeded along with the votive lamps and garlands and other offering carried by her minions, to worship the goddess. The Brahmin who was the chief priest of the state- a distant relative of Dubey clan, now blew on a conch shell and a group of Brahmins, young acolytes with tonsured heads, recited the kalikaSutra as the Aarti began.
The orchestra now struck up. The gong sounded, the drums began a deep booming cadence, the cymbals clashed and the choir came to life, singing the devotional anthem with full-throated vigour that filled the hall with uplifting emotion. The king and the nobles joined in the singing, as did the young women in the hall, to most of whom the devotional song was as familiar as a well-loved nursery rhyme.
Once the Aarti was over a hush fell over the hall. Then the oracle knelt before the goddess in solitary prayer and others left the stage. The whispered words of her prayer, some strange invocation that seemed to slowly rise in pitch and urgency, could be heard clearly in the absolute silence that seemed almost palpable. When the prayer ended a single flute played a long drawn out cadenza, that was taken up, alternately by the trumpets and clarinets. The oracle swayed slowly with the rhythm of the music which seemed to ebb and swell in keeping with motion of her dance. It was clear that she was going into some kind of trance. Then the oracle, who had upto now been facing away from the audience, with her face towards the goddess, suddenly turned to face the gathering. The music ceased abruptly and at a gesture from her the gathered assemblage of girls rose from their seats and starting filing past the oracle and making a simple oblation before the idol while leaving the stage. The selection of the new oracle had begun.
As each girl filed past the shrine the audience waited in anticipation. Would this be it. Would the next girl be the chosen one. To many of the girls the oracle spoke a few words, at many others she merely smiled. Some others she completely ignored. And all the time she watched the idol, waiting for a sign that might reinforce her own intuition.
“Ah, now the fun starts,” said the Colonel.
“My dear Colonel, you sound positively gleeful. Do you find the spectacle so enjoyable.”
“I do, I do. To tell you the truth I have been rather looking forward to this ceremony. Can you see old Preddy whispering frenetically with his courtiers. Does he not look worried”
“He does indeed. But why?”
“Perhaps, because he and his cohorts will not be able to influence the choice of the new oracle. Not this time.”
“I have heard you say that before. You obviously know somethings that I do not. What can that be.”
“Only that this time the choice will fall on someone who really deserves the honour.”
“How can you be so sure of that.”
“Privileged information, Cartwright. But just watch the fun.”
Then a strange thing happened. As one of the girls stood before the idol in silent supplication a large marigold fell from the mass of flowers that bedecked the statue and rolled down to the feet of the supplicant. The oracle raised the girl to her feet and stared deeply into her eyes. Her body seemed to shake all over. Then she raised one trembling hand over the head of the flustered girl in benediction. The goddess had given the portent that everyone had been waiting for a servant rushed forward with a garland which was immediately put around her neck. The new oracle of Antara had been chosen.
It was none other then our friend Sunanda.
“Is that all?” Asked Cartwright.
“So it would seem. What do you think of the new girl.”
“Well she certainly is beautiful.”
“She is also educated and high,-spirited.”
Do you mean, you already know her.”
“I can’t deny it.”
“But how on earth! How could anyone have foreseen all this, the flower falling down. Surely that was a portent.”
“My dear fellow, don’t forget that the idol is placed along the wall. A well timed push from behind could do the trick. I am not suggesting that this is what was done. But we can’t rule it out. Anyhow, as an observer I am satisfied, we have had a fair election to all appearances and the best candidate chosen. Lt us go and offer our felicitations to the lady.”
But they had to wait as the new oracle was formally anointed by the King himself. They were finally able to meet the lady in a little ante-chamber adjoining the hall. She accepted their congratulations with a grave, sweet face that showed no sign of elation.
“You are pleased at your elevation, I trust, madam,” said the Colonel.
“I don’t know. I suppose I should be,” said the girl. “But it means leaving home and living here, and I have never been away from home. It means new responsibilities and I am not sure, I am cut out for them. It means strange customs, strange people, and unfamiliar ceremonial, all of which I find a little daunting.”
“Oh, I am sure you will more than measure up to your responsibilities. After all you are the first oracle, with the benefit of modern education.”
“I hope so.”
“I am sure of it. I only want you to know that you will find the Government of India on your side, should you ever need to call upon our help. After all we both stand for progress.”
She gave a shy half-smile at this as the Resident took his leave. Cartwright found the smile enchanting. But Sunanda was only wondering what the Resident meant by his strange words.
“What are you grinning about?” Asked the Colonel.
“Don’t you see it Colonel. Here you are, talking to lady who represents an institution that is completely at odds with everything that the British Raj stands for, and yet both of you end up talking of progress as though it were the most natural thing under the sun.”
“True. India, my dear boy, is very old and set in her ways, but the beauty of it that she has an open mind about what we have to offer her. So we must take our chances where we find them.”
