A wedding in the family

He was a wholesale merchant who dealt in spices such as black pepper, cinnamon, and cumin; sherbets of kewra, rose and khas; dry fruit, especially almonds, pista, cashews, walnuts, raisins, figs, and apricots; pickles, mainly mango and lemon; sweet morabbas in huge jars containing carrots, amla, mangoes, apples, pears and peaches preserved in sticky sugar syrups.

His godown was now ransacked for the best it had to offer. There were to be at least four varieties of barfi in different colours green pista, white almond, brown walnut and pink coconut for the guests to eat as a side dish with every meal. The freshest spices, rose leaves, and saffron were to flavour the daily glasses of milk they would drink. Special feasting things like dhingri and guchchi to put in the rice and paneer were ordered from the Kashmiri agent in Sultanpur. The expenses were going to be considerable, but Lalaji did not care. How else was he to display his love for Kasturi, his sorrow at her leaving, the worthiness of his son-in-law?

Praji was calm. He had done his duty, kept his word. He was aware that the cause for which he had done so much, education in Sultanpur, was talked over in many homes after Suraj Prakash had made his visit and won his bride. It was rumoured that he had a wonderful jewellery business in Amritsar, that he was a sanatak, having graduated from a gurukul in Kangri, that he had no mother, only an old widowed aunt, and of course everyone was aware of how he had come to Sultanpur himself, with no whole process, there was a lot to be said for it. Already Praji had more people showing an interest in the girl’s school, and more willing promises of donations than ever before.

Kasturi and her mother spent hours alternately crying and preparing the trousseau. Most of it was taken (along with the big metal trunks) from the trousseaus of Kasturi’s two elder brothers’ wives. Nobody thought of asking them whether they minded or not, such territorial attachments were frowned upon as being contrary to family spirit. Looking at the two sets of bed frames with delicately painted legs, Kasturi felt the twinge of dread in her grow stronger.

The initiation into womanhood, intimacy, procreation, all this was going to be hers at last, on home-made sheets of fine Manchester cotton, embroidered pillowcases, brightly woven kheses that her mother had spun in red, yellow, brown and black. The base of the bedding was a strong thick durrie, especially made to order from the Jammu jail. For warmth in the winter months she had six mattresses, stuffed with cotton from her family’s fields.

In another trunk, padded with old cloth, were a hundred and one vessels and utensils. There were small, delicately moulded tashtris for snacks; kansa thalis and katoris gleaming their mock silver shine; brass, cone-shaped glasses; huge karhais and patilas to cook in. A small suitcase contained her clothes six sets of salwar kameezs. A wife was not for show, after all.

Excerpted from `Difficult Daughters’ by Manju Kapur, Penguin Books