Aged 16, newly married, Ba travelled with Bapuji to the village of Gunda, a small farming community nestling among bajra fields. Orphaned at an early age, he had grown up here, under the care of his older brother and his wife, MotaBa- literally, older mother; Bapuji’s brother had died a few years previously and now only MotaBa was left. The month that Bapuji spent in his childhood home, stealing looks and quiet words with his new bride under the watchful eye of his guardian, flew all too quickly, and too soon he was once again Africa-bound. Ba, reluctantly, was left alone with MotaBa, who in turn had no choice but to accept this naive young thing at the very beginning of her new adventure. She resides in Ba’s memory as an equal to Cinderella’s wicked stepmother, hungry for recognition and control, a sari-clad dictator.
The woman and the girl lived uneasily together in a small bungalow, one of many clustered around a large, dusty yard. The run-down building had a tiny kitchen adjoining two rooms. They slept in the larger of the two rooms, on simple mattresses on the floor, which were piled against the wall in the daytime. A ‘hitchko’ – the wooden swing popular in Indian homes- was the only seat, situated in an alcove next to the utility room. Every day the two would venture to the hand-dug well in the middle of the yard, to fill multiple containers with groundwater.
In the mornings, Ba waited for MotaBa to choose her clothes for the day, and for MotaBa to dress herself first, before she could get dressed. On her sister-in-law’s instructions Ba made hot, sweet chai on the wood-fired cooker in the kitchen, and fresh ‘rotla’ – a thick flatbread made of the plentiful bajra that was farmed nearby- for lunch. It was not her place to speak without being asked to, to make decisions, to have a choice. Ba cites several examples of the oppression that she suffered during the eighteen months that she remained in Gunda: she was not allowed to speak with or visit the neighbours, she was prevented from learning English and each of the infrequent, much anticipated letters from Bapuji were first opened and read by MotaBa. MotaBa was often unwell, although Ba suspects that on many occasions the illness was feigned, or at the very least, exaggerated. She describes one such occasion, when, while visiting her mother in Bhanvad, she was summoned back to Gunda to care for her stricken sister-in-law, whose recovery was surprisingly swift once Ba had returned. Lady Tremaine would have been proud.
It is difficult to gauge whether the memories reflect truth or opinion, and how much the passage of time has affected the recollection of events. In any case, Ba must have found it intensely frustrating to have escaped the limitations of her early life (here) only to have new shackles thrust upon her. For a girl at age sixteen, freedom and choice are as food and water, and it is hard to imagine any teenager I know to act with such complete deference as was expected of Ba. Eventually, Bapuji had gathered enough money to enable him to make arrangements for Ba to join him in Africa, and finally begin their life together. For Ba, the adventure had finally begun, and she did not leave the country of her birth with many regrets.