In the first week of October we went to Nandpryag for a long awaited wedding. Nandpryag is a sleepy village situated in the Hill State of Uttranchal, 400 kms from Chandigarh. I love the hills and since it is also the ancestral place of my in laws I love it a little bit more, the classic lampooning of in laws notwithstanding. Although the distance can be covered in a day I always prefer to make it in two. One can savor the beauty of the journey and lazily relax en route. So off we went on our trip armed with loads of potato chips and cold drinks determined to demolish any eatery along the way.
Our first halt was the beautiful city located in the Doon valley, Dehradun, the capital of Uttranchal. An old city, it came into its own during the British rule that established a big cantonment here as also the West Point of India known as the Indian Military Academy. Many a war hero has commenced his career here. A sizable number of my wife's relatives are settled here so a stay here even for one night is punctuated with everyone descending on one house. The result is always a merry chaos with everyone trying to update ones knowledge of the family gossip. Food is cooked for everyone but is never eaten together because someone gets lost, another gets drunk and yet another is sulking in a corner. If a fight breaks out among the younger males the sisters take it on themselves to negotiate a Peace Accord. While some these major problems of the world are getting resolved it gets very late in the night and the food invariably gets cold. While the lesser mortals get to eat it cold the Son in Law who is primarily I gets it served piping hot !! Three cheers for the in laws!
The next morning we set out early. The road is on the plains till Rishikesh, which is about 35 kms away. Rishikesh incidentally is revered as one of the holiest cities of the Hindus. A few kilometers away is Hardwar, which has even greater religious significance. The devout believe that by bathing in the river Ganga, which flows through Hardwar, their place in heaven is assured. Also the ashes of the dead are brought here from all parts of India to be immersed in the water to assure a heavenly destination for the departed soul. The river Ganga is one of the biggest and the most important rivers of India. The Hindus attach religious significance to almost anything but an ancient river is something else altogether. An entire civilization has flourished with and around the waters of Ganga. In fact the political history of the North India revolves around what has been historically known as the Indo Gangetic Plain. The source of the river is from a melting glacier in the northern reaches of India called Gangotri from which the name of the river is derived. However the name Ganga catches on at a later stage. Initially it is known as the Alaknanda. It hurtles down the mountains till it reaches Vishnupryag where it merges with the first of its major tributaries called Dhauliganga. Almost 80 kilometers down at Nandpryag, where we were headed, it merges with Nandnakini. Another 25 kilometers downstream at Karanpryag it meets the Pinder River, after which it heads on to Rudrapryag where the merger with the river Manadkini takes place. The biggest tributary of Alaknanda is Bhagirathi and they merge at Deopryag. It is from this point onwards that the name Alaknanda ceases and the better-known Ganga is used. The word 'Pryag' literally means a conjunction of rivers as must be evident from the repeated usage above. From here the Ganga flows down to the plains traversing the entire north India from west to the east before flowing into the Bay of Bengal. The political, physical and the sociological history of the North India are closely connected to the Ganga. Whenever it has been benevolent fortune has smiled on the people living around it. In anger it has wrought untold havoc.
But deeply etched religious beliefs being what they are, the water of Ganga is considered pure capable of making miracles. Ganga Jal (water of Ganga) is stored in vessels, which are placed in the domestic and public shrines. It is considered auspicious to give a few of its drops to people in their last moments of life. It is affectionately called Ganga Maiyya (Mother Ganga) and parents lovingly christen their daughters after it.
The road from Rishikesh is completely in the hilly terrain and narrow so the carefree driving of the plains gives way to a watchful eye. Almost the entire stretch of road till Nandpryag and beyond is alongside the Ganga. It takes a conscious effort to keep ones eye on the road and miss the beauty surrounding it. The first stop is a place called Byasi literally meaning 'eighty two'. It's beyond me to figure out why it was named so. Probably someone was marking the distance and the name stuck. A cold drink and a light snack later we pushed off to face the increasing gradient. Thirty kilometers later and a few thousand feet higher comes Saknidhar. Dhar is colloquial for a hill stream. Quite a few of them abound there and the travelers, tired and often motion sickness struck are treated to cool and sweet water, harnessed by the enterprising locals through small pipes. My favorite snack here is fresh Cucumber with lemon and black salt accompanied with sweet and sour lemonade. So our journey continued till evening passing through all the Pryags. The first view of Nandpryag is a few kilometers before one reaches it. As it happens in the mountains the destination keeps flirting with you visually till you actually reach it. It has always been a treat to come to this place and now was no different. Three thousand feet above sea level it is a place, which is kept warm by the elements during the day and by hearts during the nights.
A word about my wife's family here. Four immediate sisters and a brother, five cousin sisters and a brother from her paternal uncle and the family tree continues unabashedly with uncles and aunts once or twice removed making their generous contributions to the tree now turned into a wild mushroom growth. I am not counting their progeny of course. And such a pot pourri of widely different individuals always makes my day. It's fun unlimited. So the moment our car reached the door we were greeted with screams of little and old kids streaming out of the threshold. My children returned the screaming welcome with equivalent gusto. In a magical moment the fatigue of the journey was forgotten. Our luggage was quickly unloaded and carted off to some room. Home is a forty-room structure built about eighty years ago, burnt down forty years ago and then lovingly rebuilt. In the classical hill fashion wood and stone has been extensively used. The intrinsic strength of the building and I suppose the prayers of all of us who love the place saved it from being razed to the ground in a massive earthquake two years ago although it rendered all but a dozen rooms unlivable. It is built on a hillside so we actually drive to the third floor level and then climb down by stairs. The elders were expectantly waiting. We touched their feet in reverence and got their blessings. After the mandatory wash and refreshment commences the social visit to all the homes of the relatives nearby. Loud greetings, embraces, complaints for having come after such a long time, polite inquiries about the well being of my parents, the account of the journey, the state of the road, it all happens at the same time. Since by this time the night is nascent the male folk get together and out comes a bottle of whiskey. A few drinks later, the mood and the knee joints lighter raucous laughter reverberates throughout. A sumptuous meal is followed by much needed sleep.
The girl who was to get married is the first cousin of my wife and figuring sixth and the youngest in the order of seniority of the children of her paternal uncle. Well, the girl was in early thirties when she got married because Mr. Right hadn't come along in time. But now that he had I am sure she'll make him pay for making her wait for so long. Poor chap!
At the time of a marriage Indian homes wear a festive look. The doors of the house are decorated with mango leaves (it's believed that they keep out the evil spirits) and the walls and the roof with bright colored lights. The fairer inmates of course fiercely compete with the glitter of the lights. One of my sisters-in-law is the champion in this game. She tries on at least six different dresses thrice a day before deciding which shall upstage the decoration as well as the rest of her sisters. Sometime she wins and at other times she thinks she has won. But regardless we always make the appropriate clucking noises indicating approval. Lovely lass, she is.
Unlike Christen weddings our marriages are a very elaborate affair. Long lists of invitees are prepared and repeatedly revised to take care that no friend or relative has been omitted. After the cards have been sent, letters and telephone remind the more important in the invitation list. A few days before the marriage other arrangements like preparation of sweets, purchase of provisions for preparing the wedding feast, erection of tents, accommodation for the bridegroom's entourage has to be ensured. All this is quite a massive project but in Nandpryag it takes place without a glitch and read on to find out why. One of the most beautiful things of a village marriage is community participation, which, alas, is slowly dying. Without any specific invitation the village folk take it on themselves to organize and delegate duties for the various tasks involved in a marriage. The first day in Nandpryag started with the whole village descending on our house. It was quickly decided who is to do what. Big cooking vessels appeared along with the needed tools and the preparation of the sweets was underway. This is one the most important and elaborate jobs since after the marriage is over not only the bridegroom's retinue but also all the house guests have to be loaded with sweets and other eatables to take home. So a few hundred odd kilos of stuff has to be prepared and no professional help is solicited. It is entirely an in house thing with of course a little help from friends.
The evening of the first day was reserved for song and dance, which is preformed entirely by the ladies of the house, young and old alike. It’s called 'Jagran' which means a wake. Traditionally when the boy of the house went out to get married all the women were left behind. So to ensure that no untoward happening takes place in the absence of the men, the women would get together and sing loud songs so that no enterprising thief should come near the house. However now irrespective of who is getting married a day before the marriage this kind of a get-together is a must. The women sing traditional and bawdy songs and everybody dances to their tune. The men join in as soon as they are tipsy enough not to say no. It's a treat to see the hill men dance. The arms sway in a slow and languorous motion and the feet twist and turn in rhythm with the accompaniment of soulful strains of the folk music of the hills. The sound echoes in the neighboring dark hills. It's an ethereal feeling.
The D-Day was here and it commenced with a flurry of expectancy and activity. The bridegroom was not expected till the evening but the air was rife with excitement. In the morning of the day of the marriage there is a symbolic bathing ceremony called 'Mangal Snan'. The bride to be is dressed in some old clothes and made to sit on low stool, which is strategically placed at a site decided by the family priest. This place is first decorated with intricate patterns made with various colored powders. Four young unmarried girls cover her head with a long red piece of cloth. First there is long chanting of verses from the ancient scriptures and then the all the married women gather around the girl and apply a paste made of ground turmeric mixed with milk and songs wishing her a happy marriage are sung in unison. This, being the first overt step towards marriage, is always a moving experience for everybody. Tears inevitably flow from the eyes of the girl and the rest of the women follow suit. Soon as if from nowhere the turmeric paste starts flying everywhere and the men folk are smattered with it. The sons in law of the family are the special targets and their sisters in law the main perpetrators. Everybody is colored yellow amongst loud protests and louder laughter.
At last darkness fell and the time of arrival of the bridegroom drew near. He was supposed to come from a place about 70 kilometers away, which in the best of conditions does not take more than two hours to cover. But no bridegroom worth his salt has ever arrived in time. The more he makes the girl's family wait the more important he thinks he is. So even though we were informed that the marriage party, which is called a 'Baraat' had left their home at around 4 p.m. there was no sign of them till 7.30 in the evening. Every now and then someone would shout 'they have come' and get everybody up and about before it turned out that the spotted vehicle wasn't destined for our house. The food was ready, the music was blaring, the women were dressed to kill, the kids were screaming and the poor bride was getting bored to death. At last the Man arrived dressed in a three-piece suit and his head adorned with a bright turban and his face covered with streams of shining gold paper called a 'Sehera'. He is not supposed to reveal his face before he confronts the bride to be. The elders of the house lined up to welcome the bridegroom and his entourage with folded hands and the women again burst into welcome songs. The priest rattles off another prayer welcoming the groom and by affixing a red dot with a colored powder on his forehead honors him. The somber welcome is always accompanied with a critical evaluation of the guests. The eagle eyed younger and the unmarried ones exchange furtive glances. Who is wearing what? Who is walking with the exaggerated swagger? Ah, that one is drunk! She is looking terrible! Why is the bridegroom giggling? Ooh, that sexy walk! The saner ones take care to see that the guests are made comfortable and immediately served with water and tea and some light snacks. They soon settle down. The elders exchange some serious notes while the younger lot goes about searching for soda and water as the long ride has made them thirsty and only some copious quantity of liquor can quench that. The young always enjoy the good things of life more.
Well, soon it was dinnertime. The guests are always served first. There was a long repertoire of dishes, which are the classical delicacies of the hills accompanied with a variety of sauces and rice and unleavened bread. And as mentioned earlier none of the food was ordered from outside. It was a delicious result of the labor of love. The food was attacked as soon as it was laid and very soon hassled waiters were running to and fro to keep the tables from emptying lest the guests go hungry. It was a small miracle that the hungry stomachs were filled without many complaints. The groom of course is separated from the crowd and a special plate is prepared for him laden with all the goodies and then some.
The poor guy ate in silence, silently suffering the teasing which is supposed to be
the done thing. A light-hearted jibing contest was also going on simultaneously between the groom's and the bride's friends, brothers and sisters. According to the Hindu customs it is the family priest cum astrologer who determines the auspicious time of the marriage ceremony, which invariably is at around 1 or 2 a.m. So the appointed hour arrived. The place where the marriage takes place is called 'Vedi'. It is like a four-poster bed without the bed. The poles are decorated with banana leaves and the canopy with marigold. On the floor underneath colored powders are used to decorate the area around the vessel in which fire is lit. First the bridegroom was called and asked to sit on the left. The prayers started and after a while entered the bride. Looking resplendent in red clothes and gold jewelry she shyly sat on the right side of the groom. Another round of prayers and a fire is lit in the vessel in front of them. Since ancient times fire is regarded as the purest of elements for it destroys all impurities. So it is with the fire in witness that couples are betrothed to each other. A cloth is tied to the clothes of the married to be duo and with the chant of scriptures they make offerings of clarified butter and herbs to the fire and circle it seven times. After this they are considered married. Everybody throws flower petals, which signify blessings, on them. The bride and the groom then exchange seats with the bride now on the left. This is supposed to be her place by the husband throughout her life. The priest then explains the duties and responsibilities, which the marriage entails for the couple. Both dutifully listen to this and they make their vows to follow them. By the time this was over everybody except the couple and priest were yawning to high sky and falling over each other. The bride was spirited off to her room and the groom to another. They can be together only at the groom's home.
Next morning after a breakfast of deep fried bread and a spicy potato curry the grooms 'Baraat' got ready to go back. Just before the bride is sent off another ceremony is preformed. It is called 'Gai Daan' meaning the gift of a cow. This is again an ancient practice. Cows have always been considered sacred by the Hindus and hence valuable and anything sacred is worshipped. So the gift of a cow was considered the ultimate in the times when it was considered a holy currency. Now the actual gift is not made but the symbolism continues to honor the departing guest. The luggage of the bride was loaded on to the jeeps. She came out of the room, presumably full of apprehensions and the awareness of the impending loss of her protected and carefree life, the prospect of leaving the familiar surroundings, which had been with her for more than three decades. Indians are terribly sentimental and everyone has a decent cry when the bride departs. When she left a sense of loss engulfed all of us.
Marriages are always a bit of an anti climax. Everything builds up to a crescendo and then comes down with a crash when it is all over. The winding up, the cleaning up, payment of bills etc are always a bit of a pain. Of course the favorite son in law has no part to play in this so he relaxes. In the evening a large pot of mutton curry was prepared. And while it was being prepared all the men got together and got roaring drunk. The volume of conversation rose proportionately with every drink that was consumed. A fight broke out, another burst into tears and everybody fell on each other swearing undying love. We just about managed to have the mutton and rice for dinner and crashed to a deep slumber.
The day of leaving Nandpryag is always the day after the one on which we had decided to go. With much reluctance we packed our bags and set on our journey home after a fun filled week's holiday.
