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  Yet, within a short time, the detractors lost the battle. Rokeya’s cause was upheld by younger, educated Muslims, both male and female. The Secluded Ones became a sourcebook to them while Rokeya became a source of inspiration.

  A Note on the Text

  This translation is based on the text included in Rokeya Racanavali. Many of the original terms have been retained. Consistency in transliteration is difficult, as words from more than one non-English language appear here. I have tried to use approximate orthographic transliterations wherever possible. Names of nineteenth- and twentieth-century persons and widely used non-English words (such as purdah) and place names are spelled according to conventions of anglicization.

  Notes to The Secluded Ones: Purdah Observed

  1. Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain, Rokeya Racanavali (Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 1973) p. 277. Quotation translated by Roushan Jahan.

  2. For more information, see Chitra Deb, Antahpurer Atma Katha (Life-Stories from the Inner Apartments) (Calcutta: Ananda Publishers, 1984). Also Ghulam Murshid, Reluctant Debutante: Response of Bengali Women to Modernization (Rajshahi: Rajshahi University, 1983).

  3. Mary Frances Billington, Women in India (London, 1895).

  4. Mrs. Meer Hassan Ali, Observations on the Mussulmauns of India: Descriptive of Their Manners, Customs, Habits and Religious Opinions, made during a Twelve Years’ Residence in their immediate Society, 2 vols. (London: Parbury, Allen and Co., 1832). Second ed., edited with notes and a biographical introduction by W. Crooke, appeared in 1917 and was reprinted in India (Delhi: Deep Publications, 1975).

  5. Katherine Mayo, Mother India (New York: Harcourt Brace & Co., 1927).

  6. Navanur 3, no. 5 (1905). Quoted in Rokeya Racanavali, p. 15.

  7. Monthly Mohammadi (1931). Quoted in Rokeya Racanavali, p. 19.

  Selections from The Secluded Ones

  Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain

  Author’s Introduction

  FOR A LONG TIME, we have been used to seclusion. Therefore, we—especially I myself—had nothing in particular to say against seclusion. If one asks a fisherwoman, “Does rotten fish smell good or bad to you?” how would she answer that?

  I am presenting the reports of a few incidents to my sisters for their reviewing—I hope they would find them interesting.

  It is necessary to mention here that all over India seclusion is observed, not only against men but also against women “outside” one’s own family. No woman, except the closest relations and housemaids, is allowed to see an unmarried girl.

  Married women also hide themselves from gypsy women and such other professional itinerant performers and entertainers. Among women, whoever succeeds in hiding most in the corner like an owl proves thereby to be the most “aristocratic” by breeding.

  Even wealthy urban women run away from the sight of English missionary women. Let alone English women, even the sight of Christian or Hindu women (though in saris but not veiled) would drive them to the safety of their locked bedrooms.

  Report One

  A long time ago, the daughters of the zemindar of Pairaband, a village in the district of Rangpur [Rokeya’s natal village] were performing the ritual ablutions prior to the zohr [midday] prayers. All of them were through except “Miss A,” who was in the middle of the ritual. Her personal maid, Altar Ma1 was pouring the water on her palms from a metal pitcher. Suddenly a tall and stout Kabuli2 woman walked through the back entrance of the inner courtyard. Alas! What a stir! The water pitcher dropped from Altar Ma’s inert fingers—she started screaming—“Alas! Where did this fellow come from?” The woman laughed and protested. “Fellow? Which fellow are you talking about? I am a woman.” Miss A ran for her dear life and managed to reach her aunt’s room. Out of breath, she tremblingly blurted out, “Aunty, a woman in trousers is here!3 The lady of the house was startled and asked, “Has she seen you?” Miss A, reduced to tears, nodded yes. The other women in the meantime stopped their prayers and rushed to shut all the doors to prevent the Kabuli woman from seeing the other girls of the family. From the speed and urgency with which they locked the doors one would have assumed that a wild tiger was loose in the courtyard.

  Report Seven

  Twenty-five years ago, a wedding was being solemnized in a Bengali zemindar’s house. The house was full of guests. It was very late. Everyone in the house was sleeping except for a few burglars who planned to rob the house.

  One of the burglars entered the house by digging a tunnel through the mud wall of one room. One of the night guards suspected something amiss and woke the head of the house. The zemindar and five of his brothers armed themselves quietly and started to look for the burglar. They were all upset and angry at the audacity of this burglar.

  The thief, in the meantime, had entered one of the big bedrooms where several guests were sleeping. As soon as they saw a stranger entering the room, the women dived deep under the bedclothes and held their breath. The thief broke the wall safe and took everything he wanted. When he approached one Begum and asked for her jewelry, the rest of them hurriedly started taking off their jewelry to offer it quietly to the thief. The thief, noticing this, decided to wait patiently till this was accomplished. Unfortunately, there was a new bride in the group who, though able to take off her huge nose ring, was unable to take off her heavy earrings, all entangled in her hair. The thief, after a polite wait, became impatient. He took out his sharp knife and after severing the ears of the bride beat a hasty retreat.

  While all these things were taking place inside this room, the men of the house, armed to the teeth, were looking about for the thief. The women did hear them moving around but none made a sound because then this thief, not of the “permitted category,” would hear her voice. As soon as he was out of the room, they started screaming.

  My dear sisters, this is how we honor our purdah customs!

  Report Eight

  Once, a house caught fire. The mistress of the house had the presence of mind to collect her jewelry in a handbag and hurry out of the bedroom. But at the door, she found the courtyard full of strangers fighting the fire. She could not come out in front of them. So she went back to her bedroom with the bag and hid under her bed. She burned to death but did not come out. Long live purdah!

  Report Eleven

  I went to Ara [a small town in Behar] in 1926. Two of my granddaughters (actually the daughters of my stepdaughter) were getting married. I went to attend their weddings. The pet names of the two girls were Mangu and Sabu. At that time they were confined in the Maiya Khana.4 In Calcutta the bride-to-be usually stays only four or five days in such confinement. But in Behar the girls are kept in such solitary confinement for six or seven months.

  I could not stay in Mangu’s “cell” for long—I felt suffocated in that close room. I opened the window but within a couple of minutes a haughty Begum walked over and closed the window, remarking curtly, “The bride is in the draught.” I had to leave the room. I failed to stay in Sabu’s cell even for a minute. Those poor girls, at that time, had already stayed in those rooms for six months. Ultimately, Sabu had a spell of acute hysteria. This is how we are trained to endure seclusion.

  Report Fourteen

  The following incident happened about twenty-two years ago. An aunt, twice removed, of my husband, was going to Patna from Bhagalpor; she was accompanied by her maid only. At Kiul railway junction, they had to change trains. While boarding the train, my aunt-in-law stumbled against her voluminous burqa and fell on the railway track. Except her maid, there was no woman at the station. The railway porters rushed to help her up but the maid immediately stopped them by imploring in God’s name not to touch her mistress. She tried to drag her mistress up by herself but was unable to do so. The train waited for only half an hour but no more.

  The Begum’s body was smashed—her burqa torn. A whole stationful of men witnessed this horrible accident—yet none of them was permitted to assist her. Finally her mangled body was taken to a luggage shed. Her maid wailed piteously. After el
even hours of unspeakable agony she died. What a gruesome way to die!

  Report Seventeen

  About fourteen years ago, we had a teacher from Lucknow [capital of old Oudh, an important city in modern Uttar Pradesh in India] in our school. Her name was Akhtar Jahan. At that time, her three daughters were studying in our school. One day she was commenting on the immodesty of modern girls, laying regretful emphasis on the shameless conduct of her own daughters.

  Then she started to talk about her own youth and remembered an extraordinary thing that had happened shortly after her marriage. She related that she was married when she was only eleven. When she went to her father-in-law’s house, a corner room was allotted to her. It was rather lonely and farther away from the rest of the house. A younger sister of her husband would come to her room three or four times a day to look after her needs, especially to accompany her to the toilet. One day, for some reason, the sister-in-law did not come for a long time. The poor bride needed to go to the toilet badly but could not. [A new bride does not wander about the house by herself; it is deemed highly improper.]

  Now, the brides of Lucknow used to get pan-dans [betel-leaf containers] from their parents as part of their dowry and bride-gift.5 One of her huge containers was in her bedroom. She emptied the container of all the betel nuts and spices; she tied all these in a handkerchief. What she then filled the container with is not fit to be written about. In the evening, when a maid from her father’s house came to prepare the bed, the bride tearfully told the maid how she had abused the container.6 The maid took it from under the bed and consoled her, “Please don’t take on so. I’ll see to it that this is tinned again. Let the betel nuts stay in the handkerchief for now.”

  Report Eighteen

  A doctor from Lahore has thus described his experience of purdah—

  Whenever he went to visit a patient in a purdah house, he would find two maidservants holding a thick blanket in front of the bed. He would put his hand below the blanket and extend it to the other side of the blanket. The patient would then put her wrist in his hand to enable him to take her pulse. (A certain non-purdah lady asked me once, “If there was no woman doctor available, how would you let a male doctor examine your tongue? You could not possibly make a hole in the blanket and protrude your tongue through that hole?” I am presenting [this] question to my sisters with one of my own in the hope of finding an answer. How would they let doctors examine their eyes, teeth, and ears?)

  [The doctor told me:] “A certain Begum was down with pneumonia. I said, “the condition of the lungs will have to be examined. I could examine it from the back.” The nawab [head of the family] ordered, “Ask the maid to put the stethoscope wherever necessary.” Of course, it is common knowledge that the stethoscope has to be shifted in various positions before any diagnosis is possible. Yet I had to comply with the nawab’s commands. The maid took the end of the stethoscope inside the blanket and put it in place. After a few minutes I was getting really worried at not hearing any sound. For once, I decided to be audacious and lifted the corner of the blanket nearest me. To my consternation and disgust, I found the stethoscope resting on the Begum’s waist. I was so irritated that I left the room immediately. The nawab Sahib had the gall to ask me what I made of the case! What the —, did he expect me to be omniscient?”

  Report Twenty-three

  Let us leave the experiences of other people. Let me share with you some of my own experience of purdah. Ever since I turned five, I have had to hide myself from women even. I could not understand the rationale behind it. Yet I had to disappear as soon as strangers approached. Men, naturally, were not allowed in the inner apartments. Therefore, I did not suffer from them. But women were permitted to roam around the inner apartments quite freely, and I had to hide from them. The village women dropped in for sudden visits. Somebody would make a sign and I had to find the nearest hiding place—the kitchen; inside the rolled mats of the maids; under the beds even.

  I had to run for a hiding place just like little chicks who run to their mother whenever the hen flashes a sign warning them of approaching kites or hawks. But there was a difference. The little chicks had a foreordained place—their mother’s wings—where they could hide. But I had no such naturally determined, safe hiding place. Moreover, the chicks instinctively recognize the danger signals sent by the mother hen. I, alas, had no such instinctive understanding. Therefore, at times, I would fail to interpret signals correctly and be slow in hiding. At such times, the well-wishing female elders of the family never hesitated to berate the “shameless and immodest conduct of modern hussies” like me.

  When I was five, we stayed in Calcutta for a while. Once, the aunt of my second sister-in-law [wife of second older brother] sent two maidservants to visit with her. They had a “free pass” to wander the length of the house—and I had to run like a deer fleeing the hunters in all sorts of hiding places, behind doors and under tables. They usual hiding place was the attic on the third floor which was seldom frequented by the family. My ayah would carry me there in the morning and I would stay there the whole day. When the two maids finished surveying the rest of the house, they decided to look at the attic. My nephew

  [older sister’s son] Halu, who was also five, ran to warn me of the impending catastrophe. Fortunately for me, the room had an old four-poster. I crawled under it, hardly daring to breathe—lest those heartless women hear the sound and look under the bed. There were a few empty boxes and old stools stored in the room. Poor Halu summoned all the strength of his five-year-old body and managed to drag a few of them near me. We arranged them around me to afford better cover. No one, except Halu, came to ask me whether I needed anything. He would bring me some snacks or a glass of water when asked to do so. Sometimes, though, he would go down to fetch something and would not come back for a long time. He was only a boy of five, after all, and easily got involved in games. I had to stay in this miserable plight for four days.

  Report Twenty-five

  In the eleventh report of this book, I mentioned that I went to Ara in 1924 to attend the wedding of my granddaughters. But while there, I saw nothing of the town except the house and the sky above. When I talked to my “daughter” (actually she was the girl whom my stepson-in-law married after the death of his first wife, my stepdaughter) she pleaded with me thus, “Please mother, would you ask your son-in-law to show you the town? Then we would also be able to see a little of this place. I have been living here for the last seven years but I have seen nothing.” The newly wedded girls, Mangu and Sabu, also chorused earnestly, “Yes, oh yes! Please, Granny! If you’d only ask my father.”

  I asked my son-in-law to hire a coach for us so that we might ride around the town. For several days, he politely informed me that he had not been able to find a suitable carriage for us. Finally, one afternoon, his son (a boy of eleven) ran in to inform us that a hired carriage had arrived but a slat in the window was broken. Mangu implored, “Oh, please, don’t let them send this away. We could cover that window carefully—couldn’t we?” Sabu whispered, “Oh, good! We would be able to see better through that hole in the window!” We were ready, but whenever we asked about coming out we were advised to wait. The carriage was not curtained properly.

  When we finally came out I found (Allah be praised) that the carriage had been completely covered by three heavy Bombay silk saris. The door of the carriage was opened and closed by my son-in-law, who tied the sari ends securely with his own hands. After a while, Mangu taunted Sabu, “Well, where is that hole through which we were going to see things so well?” After a while, the girls did discover a tiny tear in the sari cover. Mangu, Sabu, and their stepmother eagerly took turns peering through that little tear. I just could not bring myself to compete with them.

  Report Twenty-nine

  I attended a Ladies’ Conference held in Aligarh. Many of the delegates had various types of burqa on. One had a strange burqa on. I mentioned this and she immediately said, “Oh, no! Don’t talk about burqa. I
had such horrid experiences.” She related a few of those experiences.

  Once she went to attend a wedding ceremony in a Bengali Hindu family. As soon as the children saw her coming in a burqa, they started screaming in fright and began to hide. Her husband has some other Bengali Hindu friends. She was obliged to pay at least one visit to each of them. But she created panic in every house. The children started trembling and screaming at the sight of burqa.

  Once she came to Calcutta. In the evening she and her companions, all burqa-clad, went out in an open-top car. The children along the way started shouting, “Oh, my God! What are those?” One of them screamed, “Quiet, everybody! I’m sure those are ghosts.” When the front part of their burqa moved in the breeze, someone said, “Hey, look, the ghosts are moving their trunks like elephants. Run, run! They are after us!”

  Once she went to Durjeeling. At Ghum station, a crowd was observing a midget. He was only as tall as a boy of seven or eight, but he had the face of an adult, with a full beard and all. Suddenly she found that the curious eyes of the crowd were turned upon her. They were not amused by the midget anymore. Her burqa was infinitely more entertaining!

  When they reached Durjeeling, they decided to go out after dinner. They took a rickshaw to the Mall. The Mall was crowded. People were watching the soldiers returning from Tibet that afternoon. Her rickshaw-bearer parked the rickshaw on a side and joined the crowd. After a while she found the pedestrians taking a look inside her rickshaw.

  Whenever she went for a walk, the dogs started howling and followed her. A horse or two reared when confronted with her. Once while she was visiting a tea garden, a little Gurkha girl raised a pebble to hit her.

  Once she was walking with four or five other burqa-clad women. While walking near a little stream, all of them stumbled in the pebbles and mud and fell down. The workers in the tea garden nearby ran and rescued them. One of them chuckled and said affectionately, “Look at you! You have shoes on and that sack. Of course, you’d fallen in the stream. What else can you expect?” Alas, the embroidered veils of the Begums were soiled. Their burqas were soaked!