Marital Magic
It is late in the evening. The sun is set, twilight almost gone. It is that time of the day that you set aside for religious rituals. Things are a bit hazy because of the smoke hanging around in the slight drizzle. The air is thick with the now familiar, but still overpowering smell of incense, coconut oil and flowers all mixed together. I lower myself on the wooden seat that is specifically used for such rituals.
My assistants over the past two hours have worked hard to prepare the settings. The young lady, who is supposedly possessed by ‘spirits’, sits on the elaborately drawn mystical pattern on the floor in front of me. She has long lush hair which is now untied and falls profusely in curls down her back. She is wearing a white traditional dress which is still wet from her bath as per custom. Her half closed eyes, the rich colour of vermilion on her forehead, which matches that of the geometrical figure on which she is sitting, the golden glow from the numerous oil lamps, all create an ethereal effect, an otherworldly character to the scene.
There is a huge rectangular fireplace between me and the lady. Tongues of flame lick upwards from it like extra terrestrial serpents. Rows of onlookers, mostly relatives of the lady in question wait anxiously, with bated breath. Some are praying, some staring at the scene in front of them. I know the image I am creating. An old man, broad of shoulder, thick of waist, dressed in saffron clothes, covered in ash and sandalwood marks, bare chest adorned only with the sacred thread of my priestly calling, glistening with sweat. It is all part and parcel of the aura that is needed for the rituals.
I am satisfied with how things are. Slowly close my eyes and everything else disappears from my mind’s eye. There is only me and the lady in front of me. I begin chanting Manthras, doing actions that have been perfected over years of performance without a conscious thought. I try to concentrate my mind on the deity of my choice. Slowly, the image of the goddess becomes clearer and clearer in my mind. This again is something that has become second nature to me.
Slowly I open my eyes. The presence of the goddess assured, it is now time to start the exorcism rituals. I stare hard at the girl in front of me. The Manthras continue, offerings are made to the fire in front of me. As on cue, the young girl’s eyes start protruding and she starts trembling uncontrollably. Soon she is rolling on the floor as though in a fit. From the corner of my eye I can sense movement. One or two members of the family start forward then check themselves.
But for me there is something wrong here. Nay, something ‘unnatural’. I don’t feel the presence of the negative energy that I am supposed to remove from the girl’s body. In such rituals I use the positive energy I have created through the Manthras to replace the negative energy. And usually the negative energy is palpable. Only the intensity varies. The girl is doing all the usual things, but it doesn’t feel ‘right’.
I ask the usual question to the spirit residing in the girl
“Who are you?”
“I am Chathan” she replies in a gruff, guttural, that is very different from her natural tinkle.
“Are you willing to leave this body?” Chathan is usually malevolent.
“No”
“Why?”
“I want to kill him”
“Who?”
“Ramesan”
“Ramesan, who?”
“The husband of Preethi”. Preethi being the girl in the trance.
“Why?”
“He keeps doing me harm”
“What does he do?”
“He beats me and locks me up”
Somebody gasps in the crowd. Ramesan is a soft spoken gentleman. Something is still awry. I do something which I usually don’t do in my rituals. I feel this case demands it. I get up from my place and catch hold of the girl’s hair and pull her upright into a sitting position. Somebody else from the crowd gasps. Surprise, surprise the girl only writhes in pain for a moment. No trying to claw my eyes out.
I push my face right into hers and stare at her eyes.
“What will make you leave the girl?” Her eyes tell me that she is expecting this question.
“If he leaves Preethi alone.”
“What do you mean? Like divorce her?”
“Yes”
“Will you agree to leave then?”
“Yes, I will” A flicker of hope in the expressive eyes.
“Otherwise?”
“I will kill him” A flame of anger. Or is it worry?
I let her hair fall. Go back to my seat. She lies down exhausted like a deflated balloon.
I continue my rituals. Once again peace reigns. Slowly I finish my rituals and rise to distribute the Prasada.
The head of the household comes and prostrates in front of me. He also places a wad of notes at my feet. I take it without even bothering to count. I never have. But today I also feel like I have not completed my duty. I signal to the father, husband and father in law to follow me to the next room.
“You saw what happened?”
“You are great, Thirumeni” this from the father in law.
“No, it is only God’s grace”
“Will my daughter be OK?” the girl’s father is anxious.
“Have you done these rituals before?”
“Yes”
“What happened then?”
“The same things”
“Does the husband have any problem in divorcing the girl?” He doesn’t answer.
“We have been thinking about it. But we were not brought up that way. Every thing is God’s will. But we didn’t know that my son was marrying an incurable epileptic” The father in law is hesitant.
“I think that solution would be best for all concerned”
“But, won’t she be cured?” the father is frantic with worry.
“You have to use a pin to remove a thorn…”
“What…”
“You cannot wake up somebody who is pretending to sleep”
“What do you mean, Thirumeni?” he is confused with my cryptic comments.
“Just that”
“OK, now we understand perfectly. My son won’t ‘haunt’ her anymore. We will file for divorce immediately.” The husband turns around slowly without any word. “Thank you for making us understand what the girl wants” the father in law follows his son.
“But…” this again from the girl’s father.
“It is all God’s will” I say to a room fast emptying.
I also leave with the girl’s father staring uncomprehendingly and blankly into space.