Krakaśa. Kram + d́a + kas + ac = krakaśa. The word krakaśa means, “decorating something to delight the entire audience” or “decorating something very ugly in an attractive way” or “dressing an actor or actress in various costumes and make-up”. Suppose someone is highly repulsive to look at. Even such an ugly person can be dressed superbly handsome. A witch-like woman can be changed by means of artificial decoration into a paragon of beauty. An unusable pond overgrown with water weeds can be changed into a deep blue sea through a play of light and shade. All this comes within the purview of krakaśa.

In the context of krakaśa, I am reminded of a beautiful story. I had an intimate friend, Bubai by name. He had a sister nicknamed Teby. I cannot recall her actual name, perhaps it was Anindityá.

Negotiations were going on regarding her marriage. From all over, relatives and friends of possible suitors were coming to interview her. Those who would otherwise have accepted her as a match were not satisfied with the amount of dowry her parents offered. Those who did not choose her said that they would let the parents know their consent later by mail. (Experienced parents of marriageable girls understand the connotations of this type of language.)

Initially, Teby’s parents entertained the visitors with all sorts of dainty dishes. But later on their enthusiasm waned. They did their bare duty by offering a small rasagollá, a triangular nimki biscuit and a cup of tea. Teby kept appearing regularly at the interviews – sweating in summer and shivering in winter. Many of the interviewers were satisfied, but differences arose over the amount of dowry. So in some cases the marriage negotiations fell apart; in other cases the match broke down at the last moment.

Once some interviewers came from Bhatpara. They were very fastidious about everything. They insisted that Teby wet her feet and make prints. The party examined the footprints to see whether the ball of her foot and the heel were connected together clearly or not. A clear flat-footed print would be considered an auspicious sign. Otherwise, she would not pass the test. That day, Teby passed all the tests with flying colours. But a serious hurdle came up at the last moment.

Some time before this particular interview, Teby had gone to Muragacha in Nadia District to visit her maternal uncle’s family. She had returned home accompanied by her uncle and aunt. With her she had brought a pot full of chánár jilibi and káncagollá, the famous local sweets, but she had also carried with her, unknowingly, malaria with all its characteristic symptoms of shivering chills and severe vomiting.⁽¹⁾

In those days, malaria would leave two clear marks on the patient’s body. One mark was fever blisters, and the other was that one would lose one’s hair and the head would look like a squirrel’s tail. Beautiful women would be deprived of their crown of beautiful hair. Teby suffered this discomfiture, too. She had hardly a hair on her head.

That day she passed nearly all those tests, but her biggest problem was her hair. One of Teby’s aunts was an expert hairdresser. She arranged Teby’s hair in a bun. Teby appeared before the “interview board” with a huge bun on her tiny head. It looked as if a big black Mediterranean species of cabbage had spung up on her small head. It was as though a small ant was carrying a big crystal of sugar to its hole. Looking at the unusally big bun on Teby’s small head, the “board” members had some suspicion in their minds. How could she have such a big bun of hair? They said, “Can you please open your bun just once? We want to see whether your hair extends down to your knees.” Teby’s face became pale. Her aunt, who was so far standing behind the screen, cast aside all sense of decorum and said, “Teby, come here and let me open your bun.”

I was a small child then, and I too entered the back room behind Teby. Bubai also came. Bubai and I watched with surprise as Teby’s aunt opened that bun, and four standard-size black socks fell out of her hair like four black lizards falling down from a wall. Bubai and I were speechless. The “interview board” members said from the other room, “We will take just another five minutes, then we will go.”

Teby’s aunt called out from behind the screen, “Our girl is now sweltering in this heat from this long interview. Her heart is palpitating. She will not be interviewed any longer!”

Footnotes

(1) Passage about malaria in Bengal omitted here. –Trans.