Today we headed back to Halvad where we had visited the
private school with the florescent light destroyers. We were all excited for our appointment with
one of the moms we had met during our focus groups who had bravely come forward
during our focus group to tell her own story as an example of how domestic
violence is a problem even for wealthy educated families. She had agreed to be interviewed for our research
and her house was conveniently located near some sightseeing we wanted to do
later in the day. Our ride was uneventful except for a cow
standing in the middle of the highway as if trucks and cars weren’t zooming by
at 100 kilometers per hour.
Our survivor welcomed us to her parent’s home. She was so happy to have us, and we were so
happy to see her. It was our first time
conducting an interview in English, and our first time being able to connect
verbally with one of our primary respondents. She took all of our contact
information, and we hers, and we promised to send her a copy of our report when
it’s done. She also got to connect with Jayshree. An educated financially independent woman
like this survivor could be an amazing asset to Jayshree and Ila’s NGO. We were excited to have helped them make the
connection.
Sightseeing consisted of several Jala family hotspots. First we went to their old palace. It was built in the 1400s but was abandoned because
it was indefensible. Much of it fell
down after an earthquake, but what remains is more than enough to give an idea
of the grand splendor that the Jala family enjoyed a few centuries ago. The current palace is amazing, but the old
palace was something else. Surrounded by
a moat on one side and done in the Islamic style, the palace is decorated with
intricate wood and stone carvings. A
tall tower in the Islamic style stands in the middle of a sunken garden in the
middle of the palace, and one can imagine saris sweeping the ground as women
walked along the walkways taking in the sun and air.
We were able to take questionably stable stairs up to the
roof where you could look over the moat.
The railing was made of carved concrete couches and chairs. I imagined them covered in cushions and
blankets, although now they are enjoyed only by cats and pigeons. We also checked out the women’s garden where
men were forbidden. There were living
quarters for the wives and concubines of the King and his children. Some women spent their whole lives confined
to the garden. If a man was caught
entering the garden the penalty was death.
Just like at the current palace, there was a procreation room where women
would meet with the King when he desired.
It was obvious that the garden had been beautiful, but it was a poignant
reminder of a woman’s place in India over the centuries, no matter how gilded
the cage.
Next we headed to the Jala burial ground. Hindus believe in cremation, so the burial ground
consisted of tall monuments to the dead.
Dr. Greaves pointed out how people put gold leaf on the monuments when
they come to pay their respects. He also
pointed out the tall skinny monuments with an arm raised over some Hindi
writing. They were everywhere. Those, he told me, are the moments to the
wives who committed Sati, the ancient practice where a wife throws herself on
her husband’s funeral pyre. The Jalas
outlawed the practice a long time ago, but the raised arms were
everywhere. Some were a part of their
husband’s monument. Some were on the
side of it as if added as an afterthought.
Some wives even had their own monuments, and some men had more than one
Sati monument, meaning more than one wife that had committed Sati.
The sun was setting so we snapped a few more photos before piling
back into the van. For dinner we headed
to our yoga teacher’s house where we helped his family make Puri (a fried flat
bread) and then sat on the floor of the kitchen as is customary while eating
dinner. We arrived back at the palace
late and exhausted. We hung out with
Jayshree and Ila for a little girl time and then it fell asleep immediately despite
the loud music and drumming nearby.
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