Rajendra Mhatre has worked with us in our wadi in Alibag since 1993. He came to us as a raw twenty-four-year-old working for daily wages in a local Kirana shop.When a former Navy Chief relocated to this village after his retirement in 1993 and faced the formidable task of caring for the 8 acres of banjar land he was given for his acts of gallantry in 1971 – we asked for someone to live and work with us!! Someone reliable, honest and willing to learn. A friend who knew his brother working in the Collectors office – recommended him and that is how Rajendra, whom we fondly called Harry, (cos he resembled Harry Kumar in the Raj Quartet!) came to Ramu Farm.Rajendra Mhatre and Ramu Ramdas together learned about soils, trees, borewells, and greening the earth. I was busy for the first few years globe trotting in assignments with my then work concerns. Harry taught us ‘city slicks’ how to handle reptiles and scorpions and other creatures without fear – and gradually grew on the job to be the Man Friday and a Jack of All Trades.When we moved to Bhaimala, there were five trees, two species of birds – the crow and the sparrow – and no known water source. Today there are over 2000 trees, plants and shrubs and the bird life bountiful. At last count a friend identified about 45 varieties. We were fortunate to strike water.Rajendra was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer in October 2023. Around the same time that Ramu Ramdas had his encounter with the ‘sudden death’ of the pacemaker. The disease spread rapidly and metastasised to the bone. He was in unbearable pain. Fortunately, we were able to find him a home and a bed at the CIPLA Palliative Care Centre in Pune and he spent the last month of his life relatively free from pain and in a calm and caring environment.Ever since Rajendra passed away on Sunday, February 18, 2024, I have been restless and troubled – let me explain why.Facing our realitiesI knew how tough it would be for a strong, proud woman like Bharathi to undergo the customary rites and rituals that accompany losing a husband in a traditional ‘Hindu’ family.Regardless of the social or indeed economic status of the woman, these fault lines flow seamlessly across most divides – more or less designed to assault the hapless woman who has to not only face the loss of her loved one, but then has to undergo the cruelest rituals – of being stripped of all those ‘auspicious’ trappings of being a ‘sumangali’ – one who is a married woman with her husband alive –the ‘Bindi’ – or ‘bottu’ – or sacred dot on the forehead;the ‘mangal sutra’ – or thali round her neck –the ‘nath’ or nose ring – maybe earrings toothe bangles – green glass here in Maharashtra – maybe other colours elsewherethe toe rings – and ankletsthe veni or gajra – jasmine flowers in her hairIn 1967, still a relatively young wife, I stood by numbly while my beloved sister-in-law, Valli, had to undergo the cruel and insensitive rites of passage when her husband Col George Narayan died in the prime of his career. I remember watching helplessly as various unknown older women relatives got to work on relentlessly removing all of the above – and finally taking a pair of scissors to cut off her lovely tresses – at our home in J Block, Naval Officers Flats, Colaba. I have been haunted by my own sense of paralysis and inability to stop the horrific rituals, over half a century ago. And sometimes it seems little has changed.Illustration: Pariplab ChakrabortySince then, on several occasions I have seen the way widows are insulted, isolated and deliberately kept away from participating in weddings and other ceremonies, since they are considered ‘inauspicious’ ….And it was only at Sagari and Madhoo’s wedding at Navy House in 1992 that we were able to make amends in our own small way, by inviting our close and beloved women [widows!] of the family, to be part of the welcoming aarti which would otherwise have been only done by Sumangalis!More recently, I watched how Manasi, our feisty executive assistant, refused to allow others to touch her after she lost her husband Anand – in the midst of her grief and loss – but still had to bow to some of the rituals which were impossible to avoid. Rajendra, who accompanied me to Manasi’s home, was himself quite shaken and disturbed by it all.Ironically, most of the time it is women who take the lead in the actual execution of these heartless rituals. Except in some villages where it is apparently a man who is called in to actually smash the bangles.So since it was impossible for me to actually get there for the funeral – I called and spoke to Bharati while still at the Pune Palliative care home – imploring her not to allow these cruel rituals. And to tell them that this was a special plea from the ninety-year-old Admiral. Her answer still rings in my ears – “Bai if you were there, maybe they will listen. But who will listen to me? And they will certainly not listen to my children.”So this is the background to what happened on February 29 at the 12th-day ceremonials and feeding of the crows and the family and friends of the deceased.On February 28, I flew to Pune from my current location in Hyderabad and spent two wonderful hours walking around the Palliative Care Centre – visiting the space which had been home to Rajendra and Bharathi for the last month of his life. Dr Jyoti Gadre, the non-assuming and impressive woman who had been my link person at the centre, walked us around, introduced us to the various persons who had helped to make his last days comfortable, relatively pain-free and filled with love and care.Each ward was named for a flower. Rajendra had been housed in Gulab ward.So I decided to carry a bouquet of red roses – as a personal tribute to a man who would faithfully prepare a small ‘guccha’ or ‘bunch’ of flowers and leaves – to present us on our birthdays and anniversaries first thing in the morning.On an impulse, I also carried in my handbag – a packet of maroon ‘bindis’, a necklace of garnets and one green bangle – but with no clear idea beyond that.I walked into the hall of the home that Rajendra had taken great pains and pride to complete in his village. The room was packed with a large number of women, squatting silently. And a table with a large photograph of Rajendra where the offerings of gaindas [marigolds] and mithais were piled. I made my way through the crowd and sat down on the floor next to Bharati – and just held her as she and I sobbed together.Then suddenly I found my voice – and purpose too.In my broken Marathi and Hindi, I asked the women if I could say a few words. I explained to them about the red roses and the Gulab room at the CIPLA home – and also how it reminded me of the floral gucchas that Rajendra would lovingly prepare for us over the years. And that for 30 years it was with us that they had spent the longest time.I then shared the message from Ramdas ‘Saheb’ sitting in Hyderabad, unable to travel – deeply affected by Rajendra’s passing – “they are like our own children and I don’t want her to go through these cruel ceremonies”.Then, taking a deep and slightly nervous breath, trying to make eye contact with as many as possible, I asked what they thought about these cruel rituals that widows are made to follow. Was it God who made these rules? – “NO” – there was a collective shake of their heads. Then why should we continue them?And then one hand went up – a courageous voice of a woman who had been widowed during Covid, a sister-in-law of Rajendra. Through her tears, she spoke of the indignity and suffering she had to go through, which continues today. She was emphatic that no one should ever go through something similar. It was like a silent ripple running through the room – empathy, solidarity, a set of collective doubts as to why we were allowing this to happen. But also fear about what will people say if we go against the tide. It was important to let some time pass, for emotions to be processed, for silent tears to be dried with sari ‘Pallus’.It was time to take the next step. I took out my little bag – told them what I was planning to do – and asked for their support and cooperation. At first, I asked Bharati’s daughter Nidhi, if she would do the needful. But I guess Nidhi knew intuitively that the only way it might work is if a senior citizen like me, and with the advantage of being outside the community, would take the lead.So I asked them if I could go ahead – and there was a silent imperceptible collective signal to say yes I could. Then I asked Bharati for her permission – and it was clear that she was ready.So I gently put the Bindi on to Bharati’s forehead.Then I put the necklace on over her neck.And finally slipped the bangle on her hand.Her eyes were moist but her gaze was firm –I could feel all the eyes on me – as I held her after it was done.There was a vigorous nodding of heads when I suggested that unless women spoke up, none of these cruel customs would change. Men would not take this initiative because they were not affected. At the same time, I also asked each one to go back to their community or family and discuss what we had just done – namely taken an important step to ensure dignity for ourselves and our sisters.By now it was time for all those gathered to go outside to bless the offerings of all his favourite dishes which were put on to a banana leaf and kept out on a stool for the crows to come and eat. We believe that the ancestors come in the form of the crows. And after the menfolk went round first, we accompanied Bharati – who walked out quite un self-consciously, did what had to be done and returned to the room. We exchanged glances, shared a smile – an unspoken communion – a signal that today we had perhaps made a new beginning…One small step, for one woman, in one village. But it begins with one small step.And as we continue our struggles for all the big battles ahead – it is these small victories which are so important… So maybe this will become the first topic and lesson one in our Asli Taleem syllabus…Our little group of village-level educators had chosen this name over a year ago – after having worked for a decade on teaching the three Rs, and trying to get school dropouts back into school through a country wide NGO led initiative. They were dissatisfied with just formal literacy and numeracy and felt we needed to go into raising and addressing deeper issues concerning social, cultural and citizenship questions. The post Covid revival of village level interventions has generated many new exciting possibilities in our team.And as for me, I was able to sleep peacefully knowing this day we might have ignited a whole different set of ideas and actions – connecting the important little dots to begin many small silent revolutions… But I could not stop humming the words of our old and well-worn songs from the women’s movement:“Raasta hai Lamba Behan – Manzil hai dur (it’s a long road ahead sisters, the goal is still far away)”.“Tu khud ko badal, tu khud ko badal – tab hi to zamaana badalega…. (The change must begin with each one of us – then only will the times change)”.Lalita Ramdas is associated with LARA – Ramu Farm, Bhaimala Gaon, Alibag, Raigad District, Maharashtra.