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LIVING:
BANITA PODH
Time's
Bride
It took
15 years for her to formally marry her husband
By Ruben
Bannerjee
The
rice was coarse, the mutton had a stale taste to it and the food was cold.
But Banita, the 29-year-old host, could not be less bothered. It was time
for other thoughts, for other celebrations. Finally-after a wait of 15
years-Banita knew what it meant to be accepted as someone's wife. "I
am happy," she whispered to anyone who cared to listen.
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| Banita
with Bidyadhar |
Not that
the bride, her face care-worn, her colourful headgear hiding strands of
premature grey, did not know what marriage was. She was after all the
mother of five and the groom in starched white sitting beside her was
the man with whom she had been living for the past decade and a half.
But she wasn't a married woman-how could the inhabitants of Khatimunda
village take her to be the wife of Bidyadhar Podh when the couple hadn't
yet arranged the customary marriage feast?
Among the
guests at the rustic banquet on October 21 was Phanas Punji, Banita's
sister-in-law. When Banita looked at the older woman, she could not help
but remember with bitterness that dark day in July 1985 when Phanas-despairing
of an extra mouth to feed in poverty-stricken Kalahandi-had sold her to
the half-blind, penurious Bidyadhar for Rs 40, just enough for her to
buy 3 kg of rice and a sari. The distress sale of a 14-year-old to an
older man had attracted the attention of the then prime minister Rajiv
Gandhi. Phanas and Banita had become icons that seared consciences and
Rajiv was prompt to promise help to both the women (INDIA TODAY, July
31, 1985).
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| Banita
at the time she was sold |
Political
promises, such as they are, almost never materialise. Once Banita and
Phanas faded from the media glare, it was down to scratching out a livelihood
in the dusty graveyard district. Ten years later, in the prime of her
youth, Banita was the wan, ostracised mistress of an unemployed man, unable
to socially consummate her marriage with a wedding feast because all that
she earned was Rs 260 a month as a casual worker (INDIA TODAY, December
31, 1995).
Politics
plays strange tricks. Just as it had once brought Banita face to face
with a prime minister and then relegated her to angst-ridden anonymity,
it brought her current plight to the notice of Bhakta Charan Das, a former
Union minister and president of the Orissa Nava Nirman Manch. Last month,
Das was on a march through Bolangir district-where Banita now lives with
Bidyadhar-when he heard about her. "Though I cannot make her rich,
the least I could have done was to restore Banita's dignity," says
Das. And he did. He footed the Rs 15,000 bill for the long-overdue nuptials
and the wedding spread.
Critics
say that Das is resorting to gimmicks to corner publicity. "What
purpose does the marriage serve?" asks Kapil Tiwari, a former MLA
from the region. "Banita will stay poor as ever." But for the
woman who suffered taunts for 15 years-"Go and complain to Rajiv
Gandhi," jeered her insensitive employers who often held back her
wages-it was a moment for exorcising many demons. "People will stop
making fun of me now," she says with an equanimity that finds a parallel
in the sentiments of her once-unfeeling but desperate sister-in-law: "In
seeing her married today, I feel lighter."
The revelry
over, the crowd melts away into the dusky landscape. The "newly weds"
sit in silence. The future confronts them. They don't have money and their
mud house is on the verge of collapse. But one frugal feast and a great
divide has been bridged. Living for small mercies, Banita can finally
afford a smile.
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INDIA TODAY Deputy Editor Swapan Dasgupta voices the despair of a community that Jyoti Basu forcibly converted into a diaspora in his 23 years of zero-contribution rule. 
