Preface by Amish Trivedi
Close to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in their area. It was the harvest season, and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks, carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they carried for the cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time! Work was at its peak!But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn't working. Instead, she was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.'I am sick of this!' she grunted loudly.
Continued by Rajesh Sheth
How can Ilaa forget the insult she had been barring since the beginning of the last week? She had not cheated her family. The gold coins were stolen by Babaji.
The silent waters of Godavari were the soul mates of Ilaa since her childhood. Yet there was no body to answer, Ilaa couldn’t resist spreading out her agony and rage loudly. Work was worship but the patch of insult on her repute cast away her womanhood. The past memories were suddenly reveled with a simple reason of gold coins, the exchange formality for the while cotton bales.
Maygaon , the very nearest hamlet was much advance compared to Sauviragram. The workers from the following villages were returning from the busy farms. The white produce was not as white as it looked but was blackened by the immoral trade practice of some traders. The Romans had been the appraiser of the textile of Paithan region since a long time; however, local rulers couldn’t develop the bondage between East and West.
White bales have darkened the life of Ilaa a bit. The suppressed voice of the female working women is to be voiced by Ilaa soon. Many young working women shared their tales of grief to their leader, Ilaa.
“ Didi, why don’t you support us and make us free from the clutches of Vatandaar Ragho Shet and Babaji bidwai?”
“Listen, I am trying to convey your message to these administrators and commission agents. Dada shall take care of it.” Ilaa tai said.
“ Ilaa tai, had you not been with us , we would have left the place and settle at Aurangabad. My brother has promised me that Nizam shall solve the problem.”
“ My dear Sausi, we have been ruled by all the rulers, Mughal, Nizam and Now Peshwas. What’s is new? English have tried to enter our Maratha province but Shivaji Maharaj has made them run away. See, our art of weaving is so popular that Peshwaji shall solve our problem. Any good ruler takes intense care of the subjects.”
The time ran torrentially like flowing water of Godavari. A name among successful youth was lingering in the mind of Ilaa. Babaji , a chief trader from Paithan is considered a rigid mogul. The Roman blood has been erupting egoism in his veins for ages. Though the women are honored in the society, Ilaa is much ignored in her own family. The trunk of gold coins ditched at home has become her foe.
Presently, sitting at the banks of Godavari, Ilaa curses her own charm of luck that had been induced in her life twenty years ago. Godavari is the witness. She has been supporting the lives for years. Lord Brahma’s wish to be settled on the earth had been fulfilled. Illa recalls the want of Saint Gautam for allowing Gangadevi there at the foot hills of Brhampuri. Illa’s pet name is Gautami. Pious by heart and generous by nature, Ilaa supports her family of seven along with her grand-father, Mahadev Rao , a name of repute among the cotton exporters. The dark waters of Godavari at night brightened the vows of Ilaa.
It is known to Ilaa only that both Babaji of Paithan and Mahadev Rao share a trade secret. Glittering Gold coins for cotton trade have become the pride for some but prejudice for others.
“ Gautami, where have you placed the gold coins?”
“Dada, you know better than me as I was at the farm till late evening when Raoji had come home to pay.”
“Listen Illa, you have been becoming much hindrance for our relation with Raoji. A person such as Baji can’t be so close to any family as to ours. He is all royalty. He has name and wealth. How can you ignore a Roman blood for all the life?”
“Please pardon me, dada. You have known me since my childhood. Nobody in our family knows about my past. Nobody other than you knows that I’m not your blood related grand-daughter.”
The heart throbbing statement was shared by Ilaa unaware of the presence of her youngest sister, Kasturi standing at the half open door. Kasturi was an expert golden thread weaver at the handloom device. The Paithani saree was her winning smile. She was envy of all but glory of one, Ilaa. Kasturi was the youngest of all; however, her matured mind proved herself a business woman of the family.
The most awaited winter season of harvesting was ignored intentionally by many farmers as the new Peshwa was being honored crown soon. Balaji Bajirao was determined to be getting married into Wakhare family, the leading money lenders of Paithan. Ilaa was much disturbed with a view to going to Paithan at the time of harvest. Babaji , the cotton trader of Paithan is much closer to this Money lender Wakhare family. The royalty blended with business was the concern for all the farmers at Sauviragram, popularly called as Suva. Kasturi had declared her wish to visit Paithan at the marriage ceremony of Balaji Bajirao. Ilaa her second mother was much disturbed by Kasturi’s decision. She never wanted that she should visit Paithan, the town of dishonor and insult that she had bore last year.
“It is now or never. The example placed for all the women shall be remembered for ages.”, Thought Ilaa. The morning sun of winter season shone much brighter than ever. The inner vengeance was erupting from within the sour heart. The gold coins were at safe place. Why should she make her own property if it was her only? Ilaa ran towards home instead of farm. A few farmers were eagerly waiting for the head woman of the home, Ilaa. Ilaa stepped inside the home and found herself in a dreary situation. Kasturi was weaving at the handloom with golden threads. Dada was stuck in the cot tied with tight ropes from all over. All other household were either hidden or strangely ran away. A Mughal Sipoy from Delhi Darbaar was guarding the house from outside and a Subedaar was standing with a open sward terrifying the artist at work along with Kasturi.
Kasturi said with the tears in her eyes, “ Taai, s new ‘farmaan’ has been passed from Delhi Court that The Paithni Sari shall be called as Aurangzebi and no one shall prepare this for locals but shall be prepared for the Mughals only.”
“ And, we shall be punished if we prepare such Jamdani for local.”
Ilaa stood there with confidence and hate in the heart. She thought, “Though Mughal emperor has patronized us , he doesn’t have right to snatch away art.” The thought of saving the society and the art both surfaced in the heart and mind. The drastic change occurred with in no time. The hate and jealous of the Peshwas was melted as the ice on the sun.
The villagers who had been waiting for Ilaa at the farm were curios to call her so they tried to approach her at her home. The scene was no better than a battle field. The feeling of togetherness and fraternity was at the best. The sickle and sticks became the weapons for the battle of pride.
The Mughal Sipoys and the Subedaar fled away leaving the warning behind. But, the joy of victory suppressed the lethal warning of fleeing away Mughals. Paithan was witnessing a royal wedding where as Sauviragram was busy managing the destruction caused by the foreign rulers.
A few days later…
Godavari was witness again. Ilaa slipped away serenely with the heart of contentment. Now she was ready to take revenge of her own insult. Ilaa visited the banks of Godavari again and shared the secret that she was going to fulfill her retribution. She was a child of ten days when Dada had found her on the same banks of Godavari twenty years back. She had known her own life from Dada when she had saved his life during critical illness. Dada was much eager that Ilaa should marry Babaji. But, the corrupt Babaji was never in her heart. The cries of the laborer women were still in her mind. They had been pain less wages and were humiliated too to make the rich traders happy. The social evils were to be drowned into the waters of Godavari. The time was much ripe now. Babaji was called at the banks of the river. The feel of getting married with the most beautiful lady of the village was Babaji’s dream. He had visited Dada’s home many a times. Ilaa was the eldest one to negotiate the trade of cotton bales. The luring eyes of Babaji were neither hidden from Dadaji nor Ilaa. However, the aspect of understanding was different. Dada wished Illa’s marriage with Babaji where as Ilaa never wanted to marry a trader. She wanted to work for the society and women.
The dark night of no moon filled the darkness in the heart of Ilaa. Ilaa waited at the torrential banks of the Godavari. Flowing water was supporting the silence of Ilaa. The Human heart was so silent that beats were throbbing loud. The deafening screech from the nocturnal birds awakened Ilaa from the night mare. No one approached as decided. Babaji didn’t turn up instead he was captured by new Peshwa for being corrupt in the gold trade. Ilaa was saved from committing a crime.
A new sun rose from the west.
