What's love got to do with an arranged marriage? Based on something that really happened. |
Text Lines: 96 Four-line verses, rhyming, a-b-c-b rhyme scheme. "How can you call it love?" they asked "When the two haven't even met! It's an arranged marriage, isn't it? Sort of take-whatever-you-get!" They were talking of the helper-boy Who worked at my uncle's house He went off for a weekend's leave To see his future spouse. He came back saying he was engaged To a young girl from his village The families agreed, horoscopes matched And they were exactly the same age. "How could he get to know her?" they asked. "He doesn't need to," was our reply, "His Mom thinks she's suitable. That's Enough for him to go by." A week more and they were married They had a brief honeymoon Then, leaving her in the village He was back to work quite soon. They corresponded by snail-mail Usually, with a postcard And then one day, he was troubled "My Mom's working her too hard." His new wife was unhappy In the village, without him His parents treated her badly Punishing her on a whim. "It's like Cinderella," we thought As he read out what she did write "I must go and be with her I must save her from this plight." He handed in his resignation He gave up a job in the city "It's my duty," he said firmly. "Please, I don't need your pity." He went back to his village to be with his young wife He took a loan to buy a farm And start again in life. We heard from him just once In his childish scrawl His words were quite grown up The most mature of them all. He stood up to his parents He faced their anger On behalf of a young girl Who was almost a stranger. The beginning of this tale is quite Common in Indian villages Women mistreated, even today As they have been down the ages. Married on reaching puberty Or sometimes even earlier Made to work, malnourished, Knowing nothing but fear. "It's their fate," everyone says. When they cry, nobody hears, Nobody reaches out a hand, Nobody wipes their tears. And then - along comes a young man Unqualified but very wise Reading a few words on a postcard He can at once empathize He stands against the custom He shuns his family He protects his bride From every bully. Such tales don't often have A 'happily ever after' One only hears of misery Of sobs, not of laughter. But thanks to one young man who Knows the true meaning of 'love' There is a happy ending To the tale you've read above. He lives with his wife in their Own little cottage Thanks to him other youngsters Have got the message. Can you call it romantic? Well, it's certainly love This young man's courage Is a blessing from above. There may not have been chocolates Or flowers, or diamond rings There may not have been moonlit walks Down lanes where nightingales sing. There may not have been whispers Or tender little cuddles There may not have been rainbows And jumping in the puddles. What there is, is love At its most pure A deep love, a strong love A love that does endure. |