When you travel by one of the Chennai city commuter buses from Kellys Corner towards the Central Railway Station you will cross many over bridges. The one connecting Purasawalkam with Vepery forks, one limb curves left towards Otteri and the other curves right to Perimet. From the top of the bridge on the Otteri side you will see a vast, dense stretch of houses. It is not a squatter settlement; every bit of land has its owner who has documents to prove it. The people teeming in that settlements eat, sleep, breathe, work, fight, laugh, dance, make love, and have babies like any other, but in one of these houses there was a startling deviation from the usual. This is the story of that drama.
In the eastern corner of this pettai (the Tamil word for such localities) is an alley that has signs of slight affluence. The street is black topped and devoid of garbage; the houses though single storied and small are not thatched or fashioned of corrugated sheets as in the rest of the pettai, but made of bricks and mortar. In the narrow courtyard of one of the houses a woman in her early forties sat cross-legged on a mat spread on the floor. The two tiny rooms abutting the road were on one side of a five feet wide courtyard where the woman sat; kitchen, bathroom and toilet were on the other side. Eight feet high sidewalls allowed the residents complete freedom from the prying eyes of neighbours. The lady, the owner, was proud of her house, which she kept neat and tidy. Her name was Martha. She was a widow.
Martha was waiting for her daughter Sunila to return from the school where she was a teacher; she was preparing for another confrontation. The girl came in at the expected time. She was about twenty, above average in height, with good figure and a narrow waist. Her features were chiselled and her eyes large with long lashes. There was a timid charm about her that added to her beauty.
"You are looking glum, Ma," she said.
"Those Kilpauk people are quite keen about you," said the woman. "They have sent a message again. I want a reply from you."
"Please Ma, I do not want you to go ahead with the negotiations. I am not thinking of marriage yet."
"You are old enough to think of marriage." Martha did not conceal her annoyance. The smile on the face of Sunila was gone; her eyes were filling with tears. "Why should you become so miserable Sunila whenever I mention an offer? Parents with daughters are going about desperately seeking grooms and here you are spurning them. I don't buy this 'I am not ready' stuff. For the umpteenth time I am asking you if you have fallen in love. Please let me know who that is. I would not mind about his caste, or if he is a Hindu or Muslim. I would not even insist that he convert to Christianity, or even if he wants you to change religion. I want you to be happy that is all." But no further discussion was possible for Sunila moved to her room in a flood of tears
Sarat, her son came in. He was a tall and handsome youth aged about twenty-five.
"What Ma, looks like you have had another talk with Sunila?"
"The Kilpauk offer has come in again, Sarat. They are keen, but your sister becomes positively miserable when I broach the topic. I have a doubt." She suddenly became silent. Sarat stood waiting for her to come out with her mysterious doubt, but mother was hesitant even to mention the thought that had occurred to her.
"Yes, Ma what's your doubt?"
"Is she is love with a married man?" Mother spoke in a whisper.
"Very unlikely. Why don't you ask her?"
"Why don't you?"
"No Ma. I will not. She can't bear it if both of us are after her." He went in.
'Married man,' said Martha to herself, 'that would be quite horrible.' That something infinitely more horrifying than being in love with a married man was possible came to Martha in a dream that night.
It was a large church. The bride was Sunila and she sat to the left of the isle; by her side sat Martha and her husband both as young as they were at the time of his death. The bride was showing no trace of the shyness that is proper for a bride in India, but was looking round and smiling away in unconcealed happiness. Sitting on the other side of the aisle in the groom's place was Sarat and by his side sat Martha now looking her age. Martha woke up shivering. She prayed that such evil thoughts should not occur even in dreams. She slept and woke up just before dawn. She recollected the dream, and then this sudden staggering thought: Why not? After all a girl like Sunila was her dream bride for her son, and a boy like Sarat a dream groom for her daughter. Why not indeed. Martha felt dizzy. He pinched herself to make sure she was not dreaming again. During the course of the day the picture became clearer. It was not that bizarre after all. There were compelling reasons why she should consider it seriously. Martha belonged to an educationally backward caste where the greatest ambition of young men was to become auto rickshaw drivers. The chances of Sunila getting good groom or Sarat a good bride in their caste were remote. As the Tamil proverb says why run for ghee when you have butter in hand? The next few days she pondered over her strange thought. The obstacles seemed insurmountable: The law of the land prohibited brother-sister union, and Christian religion did not permit it.
Martha took her religion seriously. She believed in prayer, and God had always answered her prayers. She prayed as was her habit while cooking, while travelling in buses, even while watching TV; any spare time in fact. On the third day it came to her mind to read the early chapters of the book of Genesis in the bible. She read it and was astounded—it gave her the answer she was seeking. It was by brother and sister union that the children of Adam and Eve multiplied. God made it possible. God does not prohibit brother sister union when conditions make it necessary. She read on and then came the story of Lot who was left alone with his daughters when God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. Lot united with his daughters and his tribe multiplied. God blessed him and his progeny. Martha saw no moral objection to what she was considering.
But what of the community, and what of law? That was no problem either. They can go away to a distant land where no one knows them. Christian schools in Nagaland, a remote tiny province 2000 miles away in the hilly and remote Northern Eastern part of India, were clamouring for teachers and offers have come for the services of teaches like Sarat and Sunila. She could easily explain the marked facial resemblance between brother and sister by saying that Sunila was her brother's daughter whom she had brought up when she lost her parents during infancy in an accident.
All that remained was to get the consent of the bride and groom. That was the problem. Martha cannot, during a cosy after dinner hour, ask Sarat and Sunila whether they had set a day for their wedding! Once her mind was set on a course of action Martha was not easily put off by frivolous obstacles. Her energetic mind was buzzing. She had reason to be hopeful.
Sarat was six and his sister Sunila was two when their father died of brain fever. The father was a master mason who was in great demand. As he did not drink he had some savings and even at a young age he was able to purchase the house in which the family now lived. Martha was made of sterner material than most women of her class. She did not take to top-servant work as so many young widows and wives of drunkards do. Instead she sought a job in a factory manufacturing garments for export where the pay was good. She took her children with her in the company bus and put them in schools near her factory. Her children topped in their classes. They qualified as teachers. Sarat worked in a middle school managed by the church, and Sunila was a teacher in a private school.
