A Historic Novel Which Talks About Woman’s Struggles In a Pre-independent Haryana

Daughter of Luharu by Monica Gupta is a historical novel which talks about of survival as Roheeni and how she navigates issues of self-worth, love, marriage, parenthood, and identity. An excerpt:

This was not the first time I was involved in a surreptitious activity with Bibi egging me on. I had done it before. I had smuggled out grains, dry fruit, pickles and papad from the kotha before, all for Bibi and Amreen. I ran down the stairs without using the rope and patted myself on the back for my balance and confidence.

Having fifty people running around the house is giving me the jitters. Everyone is busy. No one seems to have a moment to spare. The painters are putting the finishing touches on the walls, the women are buying clothes, men are bringing in the anaaj and the halwais are churning out mountains of sweets. The halwais remind me of my real mission. I sneak into the other wing of the house, go up the stairs and then to the back door. It’s locked. But I know where the keys were. I run to a room on the same floor. The room looks spartan with only a bed and two large almirahs in one corner. I walk in and look under the mattress. The key is there.

I turn around and the key goes flying from my hand and lands on the floor. I hadn’t heard him coming and bumped right into him. I turn a crimson red, not daring to look into his eyes. They are usually kind, but I don’t dare to see his expression now.

‘Sit down on the bed,’ he commands. Trembling, I obey.

He sits next to me and takes off the white cloth wound on his head as a turban. I glance sideways. His white dhoti-kurta look spotless as always. Will he hit me? But he has never done that. When he places his hand on my head, I heave a sigh of relief. I have never seen my father getting angry or shouting at me, or for that matter at anyone else. Nor is he someone with whom you could have a chat. He’s a very quiet person. Whenever we are together, there are usually awkward silences between us. More is left unsaid than is ever said. I fervently hope he would treat my folly with silence and would just let me go. Instead, he chooses to speak.

‘Why does Seth Janak Das’ daughter need to steal his keys?’ he asks. I feel like just holding on to his index finger, something I have always done whenever I need direction in my life and want to walk out of the room behaving like nothing has happened. I can’t stop the tears. I feel guilty, ashamed. In a feeble voice I answer:

‘I wanted to take some sweets from the kotha.’

‘Who asked you to get it, Chand Bibi?’ I look up stunned.

There are times Bauji has this uncanny ability to look through things. I nod in the affirmative. There’s no point lying to him now.

‘But I want to have the sweets too,’ I quickly add, trying to stand up for Bibi.

Bauji looks at me quizzically. Sometimes I feel he knows something about Bibi that I don’t know. ‘Don’t you think it is funny that you are stealing in your own house?’ asks my father.

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On the rare occasions he speaks, I don’t understand what he says most of the time because of the philosophy with which he often laces his words. Like now. What does he mean?

‘Roheeni, you have to understand all this is yours. This house, the money I have from my vyapar (business) and all the halwais are preparing the sweets for you, for your wedding tomorrow. So you are like the princess now. All you need to do is ask and it will come to you. Why would you need to steal it?’

In my entire desolate existence, I had never felt like a princess. So what my father was saying felt like words spoken to another girl, in another universe.

‘Always remember, our insecurities often make us cunning and we feel we are being smart. But honesty is what you need and self-confidence is what will take you far.’

I was lost again in his verbiage. What does he really mean?

Self-confidence, insecurity, wedding, are not really words that hold much meaning to me.

At eight years, does he really expect me to understand all this?

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