Sly Matriarch

Arindam profiles a sly matriarch, who controlled her seven sons and their seven wives. Here’s a true story. A Different Truths exclusive.

Sly matriarch is not a correct translation of Bojjath Buri in Bengali. Add mischief and craftiness to sly to get the correct feel.

Kanhai (name changed to conceal identity) and I had been childhood friends. His father’s family was once a well to do, rich family, of Allahabad. Decadence and decline changed a lot of things for the Chowdhury-family over the years.

Though wealth had diminished largely, the Zamindari ego remained.

Though wealth had diminished largely, the Zamindari ego remained. His great grandmother, Thamma, the Chowdhury Ginni (Lady), ruled the house with unchallenged writ. Her wish was the command.

Her seven daughters-in-law, each prettier than the other, were mere puppets.

Kanhai often told us the many stories of his great grandma with relish.

Seven sons with seven wives and many children and grandchildren was indeed a huge household. Everything was rationed. Fruits, sweets and various other goodies. Still, his seven grandmothers often got no share of the delicious items they cooked. They ate at last.

To keep a close watch on the kitchen, Chowdhury Ginni sat and slept, just outside it.

To keep a close watch on the kitchen, Chowdhury Ginni sat and slept, just outside it. At night, when she retired to her ground floor room, the kitchen and the pantry were locked. Its keys secure in her anchal (end of the saree).

But scarcity teaches ways and means to steal too. The seven daughters-in-law, who often fought among themselves, were united in filching food from the kitchen and pantry.

It was not easy to dodge the Cunning Matriarch though.

She sprinkled the floors of the kitchen and pantry with a thin film of flour.

At night, after the kitchen had been washed and dried, she would inspect everything, finally, before locking it. She sprinkled the floors of the kitchen and pantry with a thin film of flour.

Apparently, her seven daughters-in-law had managed to make a duplicate key of the kitchen lock. Kanhai said that he did not know how they managed. He was a very small boy then.

Next morning, there was quite a pandemonium in the Chowdhury household. Someone had picked the lock. She saw impressions of two pairs of feet all over the kitchen floor.

The sly matriarch found out who were there. Footprints gave away the secret.

A near-curfew was imposed. No one could enter the kitchen. The sly matriarch found out who were there. Footprints gave away the secret.

As punishment to her two daughters-in-law, she asked them to separate each of the five spices, of the panch phoron – used in Bengali kitchens – kept in a large jar. She inspected their work and remixed the five spices.

They had to go without their afternoon lunch too.

A bigger lock replaced the earlier one. And she had all the three keys that came with it.

This was because they denied that they had a spare key. She asked one of her sons to immediately change the kitchen lock. A bigger lock replaced the earlier one. And she had all the keys that came with it.

The kitchen, the power centre of Kanhai’s family home had been secured. No one ever mustered enough courage to break in, again.

If her seven sons’ wives had to go out, she would decide who would wear what. She had everyone’s gold ornaments and other jewelleries with her. She would decide who would wear which ornament according to their attire.

Their ornaments were community ornaments of sorts, Kanhai told us, amidst laughter.

Their ornaments were community ornaments of sorts, Kanhai told us, amidst laughter. He added, she even checked their make-up and hairdos. Often, she would correct whatever was not up to the mark.

But none of them could wear any footwear. They had to troop out of the house in their large Ambassador car, which was driven by her youngest son.

This son, Kanhai’s Kaka (uncle), was very fond of his wife. He bought her a pair of footwear. She was scandalised. How could she wear slippers, when her elder sisters-in-law were barefoot? That was blasphemy.

He traced each one’s feet on blank pages of a drawing book, amidst giggles, guffaws and snide comments.

His next job was to buy footwears for all his six Boudis (Bhabis, elder brothers’ wives). He traced each one’s feet on blank pages of a drawing book, amidst giggles, guffaws and snide comments.

These seven wives were mighty happy. They all had footwears. These shoe boxes were kept in the boot of the car, numbered one to seven, in the order of the seven wives of the Chowdhury family.

They went out of their homes barefoot in the family car. They car stopped at a little distance. With mirth and glee, they wore their slippers. And on their return, the car would stop for a while so that they could be barefoot again.

Chowdhury Ginni asked her youngest son, “How are the feet of all seven so clean?”

Chowdhury Ginni asked her youngest son, “How are the feet of all seven so clean?” He managed to keep his wit alive, “Maa, not just these bahus, but the dusts on their feet too are scared of you.”

She gave a grunt, hid her smile, for her dearest youngest son was special to her.

When Chowdhury Ginni died at the ripe old age of 92, there were celebrations. Seven daughters-in-law, some past 60, were now free!

That was women empowerment that Kanhai had witnessed as an 11-year-old.

Photos from the Internet and visual by Different Truths