I recently had the privilege to work on an assignment about the Sati Pratha that was prevalent and sometimes forceful during ancient and medieval times. I wouldn’t talk about what and why here, that is another topic. Today, because YKA is celebrating #womensday I couldn’t help but want to share my experience of visiting what remains of a Ganga Ghat on the Bhagirathi, just opposite the Belur Math in the Northern fringes of Kolkata.
What I expected when I googled about existing Sati Daho Ghats in Bengal was more of a ruined place that was haunted by the past. Instead, most of these ghats are now just river banks with sitting areas, perhaps a temple to Lord Shiva or a small marble plaque that stated when it was a crematorium meant to burn widows alive. What I am still unclear about is the need for a separate crematorium for such acts or whether they were taken there after their husbands were cremated. Nevertheless, two auto journeys and a metro ride later, there I was, in a tiny park-like place, perhaps even smaller than the space of my living room. The plaque stated it was a crematorium back in 1729. Walking in, there was a very badly made bust of Raja Ram Mohan Roy, who helped in bringing the Sati Act, to prevent the forceful burning of widows. But with him and the Brahma Samaj stopping the forced crime the battle was far from over. Unfortunately, even in Independent India we still hear one or two shocking cases, with the latest one in 2008, and temples being built in villages in the name of women performing Sati. What is worse, is that women of the village find nothing wrong in such acts of “Love” for their husbands. A part of me thinks it is because they know their lives will probably be worse as widows but sitting here in 2023, writing an article on the topic and researching, it is hard to comprehend that women still don’t want to fight their battles.
The Sati Daho Ghat overlooks the Bhagirathi, meandering in the quiet winter afternoon. Unfortunately, the area is surrounded by buildings, the residents of which throw garbage just beside the Ghat, creating a swamp of rubbish with a terrible smell. The opposite bank has a spectacular view of Swami Vivekananda’s visionary Belur Math. It is sad and ironic how just opposite the institute established by a man ahead of his time, is where women, between ages ten and sixty (as per the British Government Stats) were burnt alive, most of the time forcefully. I stood there as a gentle wind blew and I felt goosebumps. A realisation came along with disgust for such atrocities women faced and still face. A realisation that even though our problems are far from over, with new eras come new ways of oppression and we are still fighting a neverending battle for equality with the other sex, we have come a long way.
Yes, it was slow, each step was measured, scrutinised, frowned upon and even rebuked but we as a tribe have come all the way here, where women like us are aware enough to know our issues, raise them, have opinions that matter and is needed for change, and most importantly don’t think of ourselves in need of or less than the other sex. I have grown up hearing stories of the women who took part in the revolution like Pritilata Wadekar, Kalpana Das, Matangini Hazra or those who made it in a “man’s world” like Bikaji Cama, Dr Kadambini Ganguly and others, but standing on that river bank that day, feeling that my feet touched the very grounds where thousands of unnamed women perished, their protests deafened by drumrolls, that these women were the stepping stones of struggle in an era where they did the unthinkable and paved a way with their blood, sweat and tears for all the women after them. Women who are privileged like us to receive education, find platforms to voice our opinions and perhaps make a little difference as well. This Women’s Day, I chose to be grateful to these women for their achievements and to those who lost their lives so soon because of such social evils. This Women’s Day I am tired of thanking men who helped women find a voice rather than women who faced it all.
As I stood there, emotional about the journey of my tribe in the last two centuries, I couldn’t help but ponder upon how fascinating the past is; sometimes thousand-year-old places survive, million years old fossils are excavated and sometimes a few hundred years old places have no traces of them left. Merely 200 years ago, this bank of the Ganga’s Bhagirathi Hoogly near Dakshineswar Kali temple, opposite Belur Math had witnessed brutal forced immolations of mere teens in the name of Sati. Today, nothing but stories remain.