stops.
You have heard, no doubt, of the famous Lao Tzu, who lived fifteen hundred years ago in our neighboring kingdom of China. He said: “Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habit. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.” Because most Hindus believe this is true, you can see why they also think that Dalits deserve their desperate situations. Their past actions have shaped their characters, which now shape their current destinies.
Of course, some people believe this is nonsense. The Rani of Jhansi was one of them. When I came to know her, I learned that she thought dividing society into differing castes was the same asdividing a tree into different parts and pretending that the leaf is better than the trunk. How can the leaf exist without the trunk, or the other way around? “Certainly, there is karma,” I once heard her say, “and Lao Tzu was right. But our punishments for bad acts in previous lives are created internally, not externally. We punish ourselves with bad choices.”
At the time I was sitting with Jhalkari, however, I had never heard of Lao Tzu, much less talked of spiritual matters with the rani. I was simply stunned that no one else in the queen’s room seemed appalled that Jhalkari and I were sharing the same cushion.
“I’m the first Dalit you’ve ever spoken to,” Jhalkari said.
“Yes,” I said truthfully. “But I did very little speaking to anyone, so that’s not so unusual.”
Nothing bad was happening. We were talking, just as you would talk to anyone else.
“Some of the women here,” she said loudly, “aren’t comfortable being close to me, even though I could be the rani’s sister, we look so similar. I bathe in the same water, I eat the same food, I sleep in a similar bed. But because I was born of Dalit parents, I must somehow be tainted.”
I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t know then whether or not this was true, so I kept my silence. Jhalkari could see how uncomfortable she was making me, so she changed the subject.
“While the rani is sleeping, we are free to relax,” she told me. “Listen to music.”
I could hear someone playing the veena outside, but I felt too tense to enjoy the sound.
Soon, Sundari reappeared with a woman dressed in a green Chanderi sari that fell in thick folds across her waist. Aside from a simple pearl necklace and a small diamond ring, she wore noother jewels. But I knew she was our queen because she bore such a striking resemblance to Jhalkari. Their features were nearly identical, from their perfectly oval faces to their bow-shaped lips, and long, straight noses. It was astonishing: a Dalit and a queen looked enough alike to be sisters.
I rose immediately, and the others did the same. When the rani approached us, I followed Jhalkari’s example by pressing my hands together in a respectful gesture of namaste.
“Sita Bhosale of Barwa Sagar,” she said. “Look at me. Never be afraid to look your rani in the face. I’m not a goddess.”
I did as I was instructed, then waited for her to say something.
“Sundari was right. She’s an excellent reader of faces, and she told me that yours was very guarded. You don’t give up your secrets easily, do you?”
Once again, she waited for me to say something. I kept my silence.
The rani chuckled. “Has anyone introduced you to the other women?”
“Your Highness. I have met Sundari, Kahini, and Jhalkari.”
The rani clapped her hands and the women I hadn’t named fell into a half circle around us. “This is Moti.”
The woman who had collected Kahini earlier nodded.
“This is Heera.” With the thick, beautiful braids.
“This is Priyala.” I tried to think of some detail to remember her by, but nothing came to mind. Perhaps that she was thin?
“Kashi.” She had a sweet and innocent smile.
“Mandar.” Who looked like a man.
“And Rajasi.”
You have heard, no doubt, of the famous Lao Tzu, who lived fifteen hundred years ago in our neighboring kingdom of China. He said: “Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habit. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.” Because most Hindus believe this is true, you can see why they also think that Dalits deserve their desperate situations. Their past actions have shaped their characters, which now shape their current destinies.
Of course, some people believe this is nonsense. The Rani of Jhansi was one of them. When I came to know her, I learned that she thought dividing society into differing castes was the same asdividing a tree into different parts and pretending that the leaf is better than the trunk. How can the leaf exist without the trunk, or the other way around? “Certainly, there is karma,” I once heard her say, “and Lao Tzu was right. But our punishments for bad acts in previous lives are created internally, not externally. We punish ourselves with bad choices.”
At the time I was sitting with Jhalkari, however, I had never heard of Lao Tzu, much less talked of spiritual matters with the rani. I was simply stunned that no one else in the queen’s room seemed appalled that Jhalkari and I were sharing the same cushion.
“I’m the first Dalit you’ve ever spoken to,” Jhalkari said.
“Yes,” I said truthfully. “But I did very little speaking to anyone, so that’s not so unusual.”
Nothing bad was happening. We were talking, just as you would talk to anyone else.
“Some of the women here,” she said loudly, “aren’t comfortable being close to me, even though I could be the rani’s sister, we look so similar. I bathe in the same water, I eat the same food, I sleep in a similar bed. But because I was born of Dalit parents, I must somehow be tainted.”
I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t know then whether or not this was true, so I kept my silence. Jhalkari could see how uncomfortable she was making me, so she changed the subject.
“While the rani is sleeping, we are free to relax,” she told me. “Listen to music.”
I could hear someone playing the veena outside, but I felt too tense to enjoy the sound.
Soon, Sundari reappeared with a woman dressed in a green Chanderi sari that fell in thick folds across her waist. Aside from a simple pearl necklace and a small diamond ring, she wore noother jewels. But I knew she was our queen because she bore such a striking resemblance to Jhalkari. Their features were nearly identical, from their perfectly oval faces to their bow-shaped lips, and long, straight noses. It was astonishing: a Dalit and a queen looked enough alike to be sisters.
I rose immediately, and the others did the same. When the rani approached us, I followed Jhalkari’s example by pressing my hands together in a respectful gesture of namaste.
“Sita Bhosale of Barwa Sagar,” she said. “Look at me. Never be afraid to look your rani in the face. I’m not a goddess.”
I did as I was instructed, then waited for her to say something.
“Sundari was right. She’s an excellent reader of faces, and she told me that yours was very guarded. You don’t give up your secrets easily, do you?”
Once again, she waited for me to say something. I kept my silence.
The rani chuckled. “Has anyone introduced you to the other women?”
“Your Highness. I have met Sundari, Kahini, and Jhalkari.”
The rani clapped her hands and the women I hadn’t named fell into a half circle around us. “This is Moti.”
The woman who had collected Kahini earlier nodded.
“This is Heera.” With the thick, beautiful braids.
“This is Priyala.” I tried to think of some detail to remember her by, but nothing came to mind. Perhaps that she was thin?
“Kashi.” She had a sweet and innocent smile.
“Mandar.” Who looked like a man.
“And Rajasi.”
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