Life Restored To Child Widows

Press, Volume CVI, Issue 31083, 11 June 1966, Page 4

Life Restored To Child Widows

A Child Widow’s Story. By Monica Felton. Gollancz. 192 pp.

The problem of child marriages among the Brahmins of Madras coupled with the tragic fate of child widows has exercised the minds of educators, social workers and legislators for many years. It is thought that child marriages began as a safety measure to protect the young girl living in close contact with male relatives in the complex system of family life in India. Whatever the reason, since child mortality was high, the practice resulted in a large proportion of child widows.

In the year 1886, in Madras was born a girl baby to Subramania Iyer and his wife Visalakshi. They named the baby Subbailakshmi, a name that was to become famous throughout India as she fought against the age old superstitions surrounding widows. The Brahmins believe that a child or woman unfortunate enough to lose her husband has sinned in her previous life and punishment is inescapable. Since no widow might ever, in any conceivable circumstances be allowed to remarry, she was cut off for ever from the joys of being a woman, of becoming a mother, of managing a household. From' now on most of the simple pleasures of life would be denied her. She would no longer be allowed to attend weddings or any other kind of festivities. For a year or so she would be allowed normal dress, but when she “attained her age,” her head would be shorn, and the only garment in which she might appear would be a sari of plain white or unbleached cotton. She would be allowed

to eat only once a day, and never anything but the plainest food. Even such little luxuries as pickles and betelnut would be denied her. She would seldom go out of the house, except occasionally to visit a temple or to perform some errand that nobody else wanted to do.

Subbalakshmi’s marriage at the age of eleven meant little to her at the time. She, like the boy beside her, obediently repeated after the priests the lovely Sanskrit sounds in which, for uncounted centuries, husbands and wives had made their promises of eternal faithfulness. If the garland round her neck was uncomfortably heavy and made her skin itch, she forgot about it afterwards as completely as she forgot whether her husband was tall or short for his age, fair or dark. After the wedding she returned to her parent’s house as was the custom, until within a week or two of her first menstruation the nuptial ceremony would take place. Immediately afterwards she would leave the home in which she had been broughtup and go to live with her husband and his parents. But a few weeks after Subbalakshmi’s wedding news was received of boy husband’s death. Subramania Iyer determined to save his daughter from the barbaric customs surrounding widows and in this he was supported by his wife and her widowed sister Valambal both cultured, intelligent women. Subbalakshmi was a bright, clever little girl and education Subramania Iyer realised was the key to her freedom. When she had learnt all that the village school could teach her she was sent to the Presidency school in Madras. From there she went to a convent school

and finally became one of the first women—and the first widow—to go to Presidency College. In 1911, newspapers all over India reported the success of the young Brahmin widow in Madras who had won first-class honours and had outshone all the men of her year. Gradually Subbalakshmi had become aware of the fate from which she had been saved, and she planned to spend her life teaching and helping the child widows. About this time Subbalakshmi’s father, a professor at the Government Agricultural College, a devout Brahmin and a courageous farseeing man, met Christina Lynch, described as . . . “a tall, blond formidably handsome Irishwoman, an ardent feminist, passionately in love with India” who confided in him her ambition to improve the quality of the teachers. For four years she had been inspector of female education. Where to get teachers from in a country where all girls married had been a problem—until she consulted the census returns. In 1901, there had been in the Madras Presidency alone, 22,395 Brahmin widows between the ages of five and fifteen. If even a small proportion could be rescued from their surroundings, educated and trained to become teachers, a new educational era could really begin. Professor Subramania Iyer heard with absorbed interest Miss Lynch’s scheme for a small, government-managed

home for young Brahmin widows who were willing to be trained as teachers. It was then that the Professor gave Miss Lynch the pleasantest surprise of her life when he told he that he had a widowed daughter whose ambition was the same as her own. It was agreed that as soon as Subbalakshmi graduated she and Miss Lynch would meet and go forward together. The start was, in fact, made without Government support —in the family’s Madras house. The widows went to the Presidency school when they were advanced enough. Orthodox Brahmin customs were observed except that the widows were allowed to dress normally. The Government gave scholarships, and eventually the school moved and moved again to larger and still larger premises.

Subbalakashmi became associated with other institutions, one of the most important and with far reaching influence, the Sarada Ladies Union; she served on the Madras Legislative Council, took part in the Women’s Indian Association and received an important decoration for Service to the community. In telling of Sister Subbalakashmi’s astonishing life. Monica Felton is to be congratulated on her restraint. At no point does she allow the sentiment, she obviously feels for her subject to over-shadow or distort the picture of a fine old lady, now in her eightieth year.