Village Bhaujus and Urban Women

Unlike their urban counterparts, village bhaujus cannot speak up, cannot complain and cannot rebel

There are women dressed in office uniforms or Western outfits walking assertively on the pavement during rush hour, colleges and universities. Fulll if aspirations and dreams and determined to achieve them. Talking on their cell phones and as much in a hurry as anyone. Whizzing on private vehicles or commuting by public transport. Needless to say, this is a scene from Kathmandu. It is part of reality for urbanwomen. They are the ones who compete with male counterparts and out do them. They mock the state's reservation policy by battling such weakening schemes with their strength and potential.

Here in Kathmandu, you would not be wrong to believe that women are coming up. Some of them are running corporate houses and educational institutions as efficiently as their male counterparts. My employer, for example, is one such woman. I often praise her for her smartness and way of working. It is her humility though that she smiles and says I am flattering her. A number of colleagues at my workplaace are women pursingtheir careers, awre of their rights and no less than their male counterparts. All this strongly lures me into making a conclusion; the days of genderbias are gone, women have come up. But then, predicaments of my bhaujus (sister-in-laws) from the village force me to dispel this utopian belief.

My next door bhauju, recently married, must work all day long. Since she is the buhari (daughter-in-law) of the household, she must wake upearly in the morning, fetch water from the near by tap, rain or shine, and then coat the porch with cow dung. In the day, she must go to work in the field for parma (a system of labour exchange). But once when she wanted to visit her maita (mohters's house) she was not given permission. Rather, her mother-in-law verbally abused her. The situation clamed down ony when her husband intervened, though she was left in tears for he was ultimately on his mother's side.

Another bhauju from a neighbouring village is a favourite of everyone except her family. Some how immune to diseases despite her poor nutrition, she is used to working long hours in the field. She is very scared of her husband and mother-in-law. Last month, however, she feel terribly ill having worked a full month at a stretch. Upon hearing so, many went to see her. I made a visit too. She was lying on a small bed outside on the porch. She showed her happiness at seeing us with a faint smile. She had cought typhoid. I accosted her husband, "Dai, you should take her to the hospital. She is very serious. "To my utter shock, he retorted, "Who are you to say that to me? Do not come here to advise. She's not your wife. "I was embarrassed. I wanted to give him a nice reply. But bhauju signalled not to argue, and I complied. Mean while, her mother-in-law believed that she was just making a scene. It took bhauju two months to recover.

Unlike with their urban sisters, for these village bhaujus, wicker baskets filled with grass, water jars, sickles and slings make reliable companions. They tolerate all forms of injustice and oppression at the hands of their husbands and in-laws. If a servant is suspected of things he has not done or merely oppressed, he may quit the job, a son may leave his father and a friend may sever all relations. But a wife/buhari must keep quiet even if she suspects her husband of infidenlity and suffers oppression. Village bhaujus cannot speak up, cannot complain and cannot rebel. Their husbands are usually drunkards and lechers. And there is hardly any diversion from the monotony for them. There are certain things a buhari is not supposed to do. She should not smile, or she will be lewd; if she cries, it is a shan and when she quietly acquieses she is responding with meancing slience.

I am also aware of how urban women aer made fun of if she acts smartly. She may be called unwomanly, overconfident, an amazone or a virago. Male gossip, especially, when they are drunk, usually involves women, the art of wooing them, seducing them into physical intercourse and finally getting rid of them. "Never be serious about girls and women, they are to be used up and thrown, "I have herd them say. Most men I know consider themselves Don Juan when they are drunk, and take pride in bragging about having had relationships with more than one woman and being unfaithful to their wives a their wives and girlfriends.

A reality we all must take into account-- these women living in two different words of one nation, hardly aware of each other's fate, have much to do to make one world of their own. While women in the metropolis still have much to fight against, those in the villages have miles to go before they come on a par with their Kathmandu sisters.