Amar Jibon: The memoirs of Rassundari Debi

I had started this Substack originally to document two memoirs. One— mine, and the other of my great, great, great, great grandmother Rassundari Debi.

Rassundari Debi grew up at a time when women in India were not allowed to go to school. She married at a young age as all women did during those days. Rassundari Debi was extremely devout and she yearned to learn to read the religious texts that she knew to chant by heart. This was her driving force in life.

So, when her children would return from school, when she was in the kitchen by herself, she would steal their school books and teach herself the alphabets. Later, t by matching the words of religious verses she knew by heart with the alphabets those religious texts.

Rassundari Debi went on to become the first woman in Bengal and one of the first Indian women to write her memoirs— Aamar Jibon (My Life).

This book is still taught in universities.

This is an extraordinary book not just because of what she overcame but more importantly gives you a window the day to day life of an average woman during that period— something we had little information about until she wrote the book.

There are tender and funny scenes where, she, upon hearing her husband’s horse, quickly covers her head, because God forbid, if her master’s horse sees her uncovered.

The writing in this memoir is simple and heartfelt and emotionally honest to a point of being extremely poignant.

There are bits where she goes off into religious tangents and it is okay to give them a skim or a miss.

To give you a context, here is a vague family tree. The names Aveek and Rakhi, at the bottom are my parents. The ones above— Ashoka and Aloka are my grandparents, from my father’s side. If you read my essay Mayu’s Bed, it is about the same Aloka.

If you read my essay Baba, it is about my father Aveek.

I am the first woman in our family, after Rassundari Debi to write my memoirs.

The transcription that follows is literally taken from jpeg images `I took from the book and asked AI to convert into text as I do not have the capacity to type for too long.

I now see there are quite a few errors (thanks Artificial Intelligence).

There are other programs that do this, I know, but they cost money…..so do excuse the few words that feel off. It is not the case in the actual text. It’s been very well edited.

CHAPTER ONE

Rasundari Devi - Amar Jiban

Page 21 (AMAR JIBAN)

FIRST COMPOSITION

An Account of my Life

Where are you god Visweswar who grant the wishes of all

Grant me my wish, come occupy my heart

I am ignorant and mean and a woman at that

What power do I have to describe your glory

Yet I have an earnest desire to sing your praise

You are gracious, be kind to poor Rasundari.

I was born in the month of Chaitra in the years 1218, and now I am 88 years old. I have spent such a long time in Bharatvarsha.

My body, my mind in fact my entire life have gone through several phases. I do not exactly remember how my days were spent during each phase. I am writing whatever I recall…

I had no idea of my physical and mental condition till I was four or five years old; my mother knew all about it. However I can recall something of the time when I was six or seven. I am putting down whatever I remember. I used to play with the neighbourhood girls. The girls used to beat me up for no reason at all. But I used to be so scared that I did not cry loudly though tears used to stream down my cheeks. I wept partly because of my physical pain but specially because my people at home would scold the girl. There was another reason for my tears. My mother once asked me not to go anywhere. I asked her, “Why, mother? Why should I not go anywhere?” “There is a wicked man in town,” she said; “he is a child lifter and carries a huge bag in which he puts small children if he finds them.” These words of my mother frightened me so much that all the blood drained from my face. When my mother saw these symptoms of fright she picked me up in her arms and tried to cheer me up. “God bless you, you need not have any fear. That kidnapper takes away only those children who

Page 22 (Rasundari Devi)

are naughty and fight with others. You need not be afraid, he can’t possibly take you. You are continued to haunt me. I used to remember these words whenever I was hit by one of the boys. My mother told me that the kidnapper takes away those boys who hit others. That is why I did not dare raise my voice whenever I was beaten. The thought that this boy would be taken away made me weep. I never told any one that I had been beaten. I was afraid to cry lest others should come to know it. My companions knew that ragging would never be reported. I was afraid of all my companions. And they used to beat me for no reason. Nobody ever came to know of it.

One day, one of the girls whispered to me, “Go and ask your mother for some refreshments. Let us both go for a bath in the Ganga.” I was delighted and promptly went to mother. “Mother,” I said to her, “I would like to go for a bath in the Ganga.” My mother smiled and said, “That is a good idea, is there any thing you’d like to take?” I said I want a bundle. Actually I knew nothing about what that meant, I only knew that when people went for a dip in the Ganga they sat by the roadside, had something to eat and carried a bundle on their head as they walked. My mother understood what I meant and packed me some food and two mangoes. I was beyond myself with happiness. It was as if rare riches had been handed over to me. These days I do not feel the same pleasure for something a hundred times more gratifying—oh those were the days! So happy! Then I went on my way to the Ganga equipped with the bundle along with my companion. A little later we sat by a tank and opened the packet. The other girl suggested that we play a game of mother and child. I was to take her on my lap and feed her. I said, “Very well, you come close to me.” She did that. I said, “Start eating now” and by and by I fed her everything that was in the packet. Then she demanded to be washed. I was in a fix,

Page 23 (AMAR JIBAN)

I did not know what to do. I went down the steps but could not manage to bring any water up. I tried hard, but without success. This drew a big slap from my companion. I shook in fear and wept profusely. I wiped my tears with both hands and looked this way and that lest somebody should see that I had been beaten. I was so ashamed. Another of my playmates happened to be there at that time. She admonished my companion, “How very wicked of you,” she said. “You ate up her food, and also the mangoes, and you have the audacity to beat her. Let us both go for a bath in the Ganga.” I was delighted and promptly went to bathe. “You opened her; I’ll go and tell her mother everything” came back to me again. She said, “I have told your mother everything. See what she does to you.” These words frightened me so much that I started to cry. My other companion who had accompanied me to the Ganga remarked, “Look at her, the sissy, there she goes again”, and pecked me on the cheek. Frightened, I wiped my tears and began to think. So I have become a very silly girl, that must be a terrible thing. The kidnapper is sure to grab me, and perhaps he will take my companion also. I was afraid to go back home, so I went to my companion’s home instead. Her mother looked at me and asked her, “Why is she all red in the face? You must have teased her. “Her mother scolded her but she only laughed. After her mother left us she said, “My mother scolded me but that did not make me cry like you. You are a cry-baby. Are you going to tell your mother everything?” I shook my head and said “No. I am not going to tell mother anything…”

I felt very sad and sat there for some time. A little later someone from my home came to fetch me. When I went home, I found everyone making fun of that incident. “Have you had your dip in the Ganga?” They asked me and shook with laughter. My uncle, my brother and others said that she should not be allowed to play with those girls. “From to-morrow let her come and stay in the outer house.” In those days children did not go to school. There was a

Page 24

Bengali school is in our house. All the boys of the village used to come there to study. There was an English lady who used to teach them. Next day my uncle took me to the teacher and I was asked to sit next to her. I had a black skirt and a red scarf. I used to sit very still, too afraid to leave my seat. I was eight years old then. I cannot say what I looked like but I can repeat what others used to say to describe my features.

My complexion used to be fair and bright

And I had a figure to match

My hands and feet were well proportioned

People used to call me a golden doll.

I never talked to anyone. The words coming out of my mouth were not distinct. People used to laugh at my words. If somebody shouted at me, I felt like crying. Shouts made me shed tears. For this reason nobody spoke to me harshly. I used to stay inside the school room the whole day. I was not kept inside the inner house like other girls. The boys used to write the thirty-four letters of the alphabet on the floor and read them loudly. Since I used to be there all the time I learned all the letters by myself. But nobody had any knowledge of this. My family members kept me at the outer house the whole day. I was taken in only for my bath and lunch. After lunch I was again taken to the outer house and allowed to go in before evening. Thus throughout the day I stayed near the English woman in the school. I was in no condition to understand what went on in my mind. My mind was obsessed with fear. Fear did not let me open up.