“It’s been 5 years since Prime Minister Indira Gandhi has been in power, ruling this country, and till now we can see inflation and unemployment on the rise. Is this country even progressing under a woman’s rule? Can a woman who is governed by her emotions rather than thinking logically bear the weight of leadership and guide a nation through such times?” A commentary from radio remarks.
In Dharapur, inside the veranda of a traditional one-room storeyed house, Ramesh, dressed in white dhoti and white Kurta, sits leisurely on the floor, eating his breakfast while listening to the radio, which is hung on a stick. On the wooden cot, an elderly woman rests while a 12-year-old presses her legs with devotion. In the kitchen just beside the wooden cot, a woman, her face partially veiled under a long ghoonghat, is rolling out rotis fast to serve her husband.
In the open veranda, under the midday sun, a young girl, Gudiya her name, around 8-9 years old, carefully hangs clothes on the rope. A child of around 4 years old, Pawan plays joyfully with a wooden horse.
“Can’t you bring rotis on time?” Ramesh shouts while finishing his last bite.
Tara, the veiled woman, comes out hurriedly with roti and serves it to him.
“These women can't even manage their husband and house properly, and they think they can run a country? Ramesh scoffs as he finishes the meal. “Women only look better in the kitchen rather than going out and doing work,”. He wipes his hands on his dhoti, adjusting his kurta.
Tara stands with lunch in hand. Ramesh snatches it from her hand, making her stumble back as he strides toward the Panchayat.
After washing the plates. Tara walks to her mother-in-law.
“Amma, have some food?” Tara speaks softly. Amma stirs at the sound of Tara’s voice and sits up with the help of her daughter-in-law.
Tara sits cross-legged with Pawan nestled in her lap. Playing with her mother's saree.
“Press harder”, Amma instructed her 12-year-old granddaughter. “Otherwise, your husband’s house will say we haven’t taught you anything, and you should make today's lunch without your mother's help. Now you are old enough to get married,” Amma said to her 12-year-old granddaughter.
Tara’s hand tightened around the roti. Her eyes flick towards her daughter, whose small hands are trying her best to please her grandmother. Tara’s chest tightened, but she said nothing. Arguing would be pointless. The rules and traditions were set long ago.
After completing household chores and feeding her children. Tara took her children and went out to Lajjo’s house, whose daughter was soon to be wed. The whole village's women had gathered to help with the wedding preparation.
Her children run off to play with other children, and Tara walks inside to sit beside Sita, who is the same age as Tara.
“Did you hear sarpanch is dead?” Sita tells Tara the news while making sweets.
Tara sits beside her, helping to take besan in her hand and preparing to make Ladoo out of it and putting a ghoonghat just above her head, showing her face.
“How?” Tara asked, being curious.
“Died due to a disease, but I pity her daughter and wife they don’t have any relative who can look after them now where will they will go,” said Sita.
“Accha, tell me who is this prime minister?” Asked Tara to Sita while making Ladoos.
“Prime minister…Prime minister is the one who is in power; their words are like law, and it is followed. People listen to it,” said Sita, looking at a fair woman with a bindi on her forehead having some wrinkles.
“Ohh like sarpanch” Tara asks, looking back to Sita. Gudiya comes to her mother and sits beside her, looking curiously at what she is doing.
Sita nods to her.
“Aare Gudiya, look how grown up you are,” said Sita to her.
Tara, lost in her thoughts, came out of her thoughts listening to Sita's voice.
Do you know Gulab’s daughter, the one who got married last year? Unfortunately, she died in childbirth. The poor girl was only around 14.
Tara’s heart wrenched listening to this, and she started thinking about her Rajjo in place of that girl. Her daughter will also be wedded in a few years. Even though she didn’t want this, what she does. She can’t break the tradition of so many years and can't stand against it, or she can.
“Tara how can one become sarpanch?” Tara asked Sita, as her father-in-law is a ward member.
“I don’t know, after all the household chores don’t finish and when men of the house are there, I stay in the kitchen all the time,” Sita said while playing Gudiya.
As night fell, the women left for their respective houses to prepare dinner.
Tara, still in thought, reached home and waited for her husband to come.
Ramesh entered the house, and Tara, holding the hand of the handpump, helped her husband to wash her face.
Rajjo lit a lantern while Tara prepares to serve her husband. She took a pankha and fanned him as he ate.
“Suniya,” Tara spoke softly to her husband.
“Bolo,” Ramesh replied, chewing her food.
“How does one become sarpanch?” Tara asks her husband.
Ramesh looks at her and chuckles. “Why do you want to know?”
Tara replied with serving rotis in his plate “I have heard sarpanch is dead so, I was just wondering how someone becomes one”
“Haan so from where you got this thought of sarpanch?” Ramesh said, taunting her.
“Someone else will become- most probably zamindar -Thakur will become sarpanch. He has so much power,” Ramesh said, finishing his meal and sitting down with the radio in his hand.
“Situation in East Pakistan has become worse. People have started entering India. All eyes are on India- What will PM Indira Gandhi do?” The commentary on the radio speaks.
Next Afternoon
Ramesh is busy on the farm. All the village is sitting in panchayat listening. Tara sat on the ground with her 3 children, surrounded by a group of women with long ghoonghat.
“As you all know, our sarpanch is dead. How unfortunate. But don’t worry; I am here to take care of everything. From now on, I am new sarpanch.” Thakur announced. His large belly stretched against his white kurta and dhoti and grey hair and beard.
A hand was raised.
Thakur, pointing at who has raised the hand, “Do you want to say something. Is there any complaint? Tell me, I will handle it.”
Tara was the one who raised her hand. She stood up with her fingers curled in the saree, clenching it tightly.
“Please tell me,” Thakur said softly.
“Who agreed to make you the sarpanch?” Tara stammered while speaking.
“What?? Who means what I am the zamindar of this village owing the most land. I have so much power--of course I would become the sarpanch.” Thakur laughed, filled with arrogance.
“But…what if someone else wants to become sarpanch?” Tara said in a low voice.
Thakur’s eyes narrowed. With a hardened voice, he spoke, “Then we shall ask people once. Is there anyone who wants to be sarpanch?”
He smirks annoyingly. “See, there is no one.”
Soon, whispers began within village people, “Who wants to go against the Thakur?”
Tara’s hand shot up “I want to be sarpanch”.
Gasps echoed across the courtyard. Heads turned toward her.
“A woman?” Leading us? Now, a woman will rule us. Where is his husband? Whose wife she is. Doesn’t she know her place is in the kitchen? If women start ruling, then we men should wear bangles and start taking care of children and doing household chores. This sarpanch and politics aren’t made for woman. Go to your house.” Thakur's laugh was sharp.
Everyone starts leaving, and soon the news spreads like a wildfire in the village; all started talking about Tara making a bold move. Women have been told their place in society is to take care of their husband and his family, then have children, then take care of them and do household chores.
Ramesh stormed into the house, tossing his tiffin onto the veranda. Tara rushed towards him.
“What do you think yourself? What did you say in the Panchayat meeting? You dared to speak in the Panchayat? “His voice filled with venom.” That you want to become sarpanch. You dare to go against Thakur. You don’t even have the status to go there. You disgraced me in front of the village. Women are made only to have children and take care of family, nothing else. This is her place only in society. From now on, you will not put your feet outside this house. You will remain at home from now on,” Ramesh said angrily to Tara and went inside the room.
Amma’s sharp voice cut the tension filled the room “Who do you think daughter-in-law you are? You? A Sarpanch? How dare you dream of something. Have you gone mad? The next time I hear this nonsense; I will cut off your legs.”
In the veranda, Tara stood alone with things scattered around, listening to her husband and Amma.
Tara questioned herself, is this only place of mine in the society to take care of children and husband to look for others but not for myself?
I look at my Rajjo, who bent down and picked up the lunch, which was thrown by Ramesh.
Tara’s eyes burned. No, for my daughter, I will not step back. If I don’t fight now, my daughter will also suffer the same fate.
The radio crackled. A man’s voice echoed through the air.
“PM Indra Gandhi is taking bold moves showing women are no less than men that they can lead nation in tough time also. Is it a revolution for women? Do they have the strength to prove themselves?”
The Next morning, after completing all the chores and seeing Ramesh and Amma sleeping, Tara instructed her children to stay at home and look for Amma.
Tara put her feet outside the house and walked toward Lajjo’s place, where preparations were in full swing. It was Sangeet today. Hence, mostly women will be there.
“Look who’s here-- the sarpanch of the village” a woman snickered. The others sitting in the circle start laughing at this.
Tara stepped onto the stool holding Indira Gandhi photo in her hand.
“Do you know who she is?” Asked Tara to the woman sitting.
“She is the first woman Prime Minister of India,” Tara speaks, raising her voice, showing a photo in every direction.
“So what?” said one woman, not getting the points.
“That means she rules in a male-dominated society. She rules on man. Man has to listen to her. If a woman can become a prime minister. why can’t I dream of becoming a sarpanch “Tara said with glittering eyes to people with loud voice.
“But she is a big person; she has status and power. On the other hand, you are just a farmer’s wife, not even a zamindar.” Said another woman, taunting her.
“Yes, I am a common woman, but I know my place in this society is not just to serve my husband and children. If I can take care of them, then I can take care of this whole village, too.” Said Tara, defending herself.
“Aare, Tara! Stop this madness.” Lajjo steps forward from the group of women. “Today is my daughter's sangeet. Don't spoil the mood. Go away. If Zamindar came to know about this. With you, he will target us also.”
Tara stepped down from the stool. Her eyes softened looking at her 14-year-old daughter.
“Lajjo, I’ll leave for now. But look at your daughter. She will suffer the same fate as us- just a mute doll to serve her husband. A doll that will be made to be silent when her husband forces himself on her, when he beats her, she will be used as a baby machine. One day, she will resent you for marrying her off to a 30-year-old man.” With tears in her eyes, she continues speaking, “Her innocence will be ruined, and she will be left nothing but flesh. I also have 2 daughters. I can’t see them in the same situation as mine. With my dreams, it will open doors for them also. Maybe one day my daughter will also become the prime minister of India. One day, she will also be more than a husband’s wife. She will have her own identity. This dream is not of my own. This dream I want to share with every woman of this village. So that every woman can live outside this ghoonghat and can make her own identity, not just a doll who is just listening to her husband talk. Maybe we haven’t realized it, but we have become a mute doll, we have also become just a flesh and meat living for someone else not for ourselves.” Saying this, Tara leaves from there, leaving the prime minister's photo.
The next afternoon, someone knocked on Tara’s door.
Tara opened it and saw all the village women standing together.
Lajjo stepped forward and took Tara’s hand.
“Tara, maybe you are right. I can't condemn my innocent girl to this marriage. I can't condemn my daughter to such a cruel fate. You fight- we are with you in this battle.”
Tara feels a moment of pride listening to this, a moment of self-achievement.
“Then come, we should go to the panchayat meeting and stand up for ourselves.” Tara says to all women.
All woman removing their ghoonghat walk bravely to the panchayat meeting.
“Aare, where are your ghoonghat?” Thakur demanded.
“Have you forgotten your manners?” an old man growled.
“Tara, what’s this?” Ramesh's voice cut through the crowds.
“Oh, so she is your wife. Kya, Ramesh Babu. Should slap her twice or thrice she would have come to her sense.” Thakur said while spitting sideways.
Ramesh stormed towards Tara. “What is this, Tara? Have you lost your mind? when I told you not to step out of the house? How can you disrespect me?” Ramesh said authoritatively to Tara, with bold eyes.
“Yes, I have lost my mind. Now let me put my request in front of the Panchayat”, Tara also said bravely, standing up for herself.
“Kya Ramesh Babu. It seems there is no respect of yours in your house. But being sarpanch let me put this woman in her right senses.”
Thakur raised his hand forward to slap Tara, but two women pushed Thakur back.
Looking at this, the man stared in disbelief.
“You declared yourself sarpanch. You didn’t dare to ask others. You beat your wife and treat people working on your farm like animals. Am I wrong, village people? Half of the farms belonging to you have been taken by him by coercion.” Tara speaks bravely, moving forward to all the village people. “It is your right to speak against this injustice, and that is your farm nobody can take away from you.”
Some villagers began to murmur in agreement.
Thakur stood up and brushed the dirt from his kurta.
“Okay if you don’t want me to be the sarpanch, then we can elect another male member. But a female can never become sarpanch.” Thakur said, deadly looking into her eyes.
“Why can’t a female become a sarpanch? Where is it written?” One woman spoke from the group of women.
“You all have got your tongues, it seems. This is coming down from past. Women can never rule; that is not their place.” Thakur spoke.
“Then, remove all the goddess statues from the temple and throw them away. Why do you ask for her blessing? She is also a woman,” Tara spoke, arguing with Thakur.
“Aare, woman. You are speaking too much now. I should cut off your head to show what happens when a woman steps out of her place.” Thakur said angrily.
An elderly man steps forward.
“Come down, both of you.”
He is the most educated man, and he has served in the army also. He is the most respected person in the village- Gulab Chand.
Gulab Chand thought for a while, assessing the situation.
“Let’s have an election,” Gulab Chand spoke with a hookah in his hand.
“What?” Thakur and 3-4 members beside him spoke at once. The rest of the village started murmuring. An election -first time they have heard about such a thing. Until till now those in power declared themselves sarpanch that was the rule.
“Everyone can vote for the person whom they wish to become sarpanch.” Gulab Chand declared.
“This is unfair. You are giving this chance. Today, this will happen. Tomorrow, they will ask for more. Like this, they will get out of control.” Says Thakur, trying to argue with Gulab Chand.
“My decision is final,” Says Gulab Chand.
“Then we should decide who all should vote,” Thakur spoke.
“All men should be able to vote as they are head of the house. Of course, their decision is final, so from each house, men of each household will vote,” Thakur said, announcing this.
“This is unfair,” Tara protested.
“If men are only allowed to vote, they will surely vote for you because you will threaten them and blackmail them. And if a woman can stand for sarpanch, the women also vote in this election.” Tara spoke, announcing to the village people.
“Ye, Aurat. Let me win just one time. Then see what I will do with you. Will strip you naked and will make you dance the whole street to show what happens to a woman when she speaks so much.” Thakur said dangerously to Tara.
“We will see who will dance,” Tara replied coldly.
“So, it's decided: after two days, voting will be done. Men and women all can vote, but children can't vote.” Gulab Chand announced to all the village people present there.
The villagers dispersed to their respective homes, still processing and thinking about what had happened.
Tara enters the house and sees an angry Ramesh and mother-in-law.
“You have disgraced us. Now, who will marry our daughters?” Ramesh shouted at his wife Tara.
“You only care about their marriage. Why not make them study so that they can become something?” Tara shot back a reply.
“This can never happen. For now, get out of my house. I can't keep such an ill-mannered woman in my house.” Ramesh held Tara’s arm tightly and threw her out. Her two daughters ran after her mother.
“Take your daughter also away from here!” Ramesh spoke with anger.
It was raining heavily. Tara picks up herself and decides to go to the farm for now with her daughter, seeking shelter under a small shed.
She ran towards the farm with her daughter.
“Tara, come inside” The previous sarpanch wife called her from the window.
Tara, seeing the rain pouring heavily, decided to stay there. The previous sarpanch gave new clothes to Tara. Soon, the door of the house creaks open, and all the women of the village who supported Tara enter. Some were having bruises, and some were trembling, thrown by their husbands.
“You have so much courage, Tara. Only if I can be brave, like you. My husband used to beat me so much. I am happy; at least now I am free from him. If you become sarpanch it will be like we are living through your dream.” The previous sarpanch spoke with tears in her eyes.
One by one, all the women began to share their pain. Crying, feeling free from the cage. These tears were proof of how they had been treated. This dream, ambition was not of one underdog it was of many.
“Surely, we will win,” Tara spoke resolutely.
“PM Indira Gandhi has given a tight reply to American President. But can her this reply ensure the victory of India. Perhaps a woman in such a post is a mistake. She should resign. She can’t rule. She is weak. She should go back and take care of her family,” an opposition party member spoke on the radio.
Voting day
Tara sat in previous sarpanch’s house and Thakur is also sitting in his home with few men with arms crossed listening to all news.
Men and women stood in long lines to cast their votes. The process was simple; two literate men were sitting on two benches, one for Tara and one for Thakur. They just had to go to one person and say for whom they are voting, as many are illiterate so they can't write.
From morning to evening, the whole process went.
All women sitting in the Previous sarpanch’s house, anxiously wait for the next day, the result day. Was their revolution a pass or a failure?
Suddenly, at around 7 p.m., the husbands of those women arrived with their children.
“We thought we could handle everything at home and handle children, but it is a disaster. We realize your importance now. Please come back and help us.” They appeal to their wife. Their face are full of regret and shame.
The women look at their men’s remorseful expressions, and their children choose to walk back to their homes.
At last, Ramesh stands there looking at Tara.
Tara walks in front of Ramesh. “I still remember my duty, my responsibility. I am a woman; I have to look after my family. But from now on, I will also look for myself and other women also.”
She takes her two daughter and walks towards their home with confidence.
Ramesh soon starts realizing and pondering the thought: Can women really rule? Can his wife really be capable of such a thing? He always thought women were meant to be weaker and lower than men. Perhaps…I’ve been wrong all along. We worship maa kali, but maa kali is also a woman.
Voting result
“What is there to announce? Of course, I am the winner,” Thakur spoke in overconfidence.
“Tara Ramesh Singh has won the election by 1 vote.” The result was declared.
Thakur stood up, thinking he had won, but settled down on the seat listening to this.
Even that 1 vote is like a ray of hope.
“Tara Ramesh Singh is requested to walk forward and accept her position.”
All the villagers are sitting quietly, looking at Tara. Ramesh also walks and stands nearby to listen.
“This wouldn’t be possible if you all hadn’t voted for me.” Her eyes scanned the crowd standing strong.
“From now on, no one will be neglected. The time when powerful people dominated is gone. From now on, leaders will be elected by the people for our welfare. From now on, whoever lands Ramesh has taken forcefully will be returned, and he shall be banished from the village. From now on, girls will also be educated. They will go to school,” Tara announces.
Everyone claps for her. Women rushed to Tara, hugging and crying tears of joy.
Ramesh walks towards his wife.
“By the way, I have also given a vote to you. After all, you are my better half. I have also done my duty.”
Tara smiles, listening to this. She looks towards their children.
I can't change everything overnight. I have a long battle to fight to protect my children’s dream for the wishes of my people.
On the Radio
“India has won the battle against East Pakistan. Indira Gandhi has indeed shown remarkable strength and leadership. It shows that women can rule. We shouldn’t think of them any less than anyone.” A voice echoed across the village.
50 years later
“Rajjo Singh has been appointed the next prime minister of India!”
On the stage, Rajjo stands proudly, taking the oath as the Prime Minister.
“I would like to thank my mother, Tara Singh, who went against the ideology that women are only meant to be kitchen and try to change that. She lived her dream; she opened a way for me. To make my identity in my life.”Rajjo Singh said as Tara Singh looks at her as she takes her oath as Prime Minister of India.
Tara smiles with tears in her eyes; what she dreamed to has been finally achieved.
