‘Varmala’ — then and now

Ram Varma

Elsewhere people fall in love and mate; in India the bashful bride and the gleeful groom are bound in a thread while going round the sacred fire, and are licensed to love. There is rarely any romance or love behind most Indian marriages. They are generally 'arranged', in a kind of family settlement.

But weddings are different. Elsewhere weddings are a solemn and austere affair accompanied by ethereal church music. On the contrary, the ‘dhoom-dharaka’ and razzmatazz of Indian weddings is unsurpassed in the world. Even the splendor of famed royal durbars of yore pales in comparison to the razzle-dazzle of modern day wedding ‘pandals’.

Our weddings are a riotous affair, probably re-enacting the mythical abduction of Rukmini by Krishna during the Mahabharata days. Women in Rajasthan sing a song “Kanhaiyo laadi le gayo” as they follow the bride at ‘vidai’. The groom comes riding a horse and touches the 'toran' with his sword, symbolic of attacking the fort of the bride’s father. The ‘baratis’ behave like a raiding party and grab the goblets and devour goodies.

During my childhood, the 'baraat' used to go long distances riding camels and was lodged and feted for three days. It was a high adventure and we looked forward to feasting on choicest sweets to our heart’s content. 

The marriage procession used to pass thorough the main bazaar and the whole town watched the swaggering ‘baratis’ donning their colorful headgears. My own wedding at Jaipur, however, turned out to be a tame affair. The Director of the IAS Academy was a spoilsport and had allowed just five days’ leave. I had imagined my marriage procession would begin from the fabled Tripolia Gate and pass through the stately, pink-colored Chaura Rasta and reach Moti Doongri, where my in-laws lived, and the pageant would be watched by the whole of Jaipur. That was the route the Maharaja used to take, ensconced under a golden canopy on the royal 'hauda'. To my eternal regret, they passed me through a side street, sitting uncomfortably on a skinny horse.

But when I saw my bride, decked up in the bridal attire, standing with downcast eyes, holding a 'varmala' of red roses in her mehndi-painted hands, I went in a trance. She lifted her hands to garland me, but I was tall and she couldn’t reach. I bowed my head before her (in submission, or was it adoration?) and she garlanded me. I garlanded her then and was filled with such joy as I had never experienced before. It was a sacred moment that has remained etched in memory. In the numerous wedding rituals, I consider the ‘varmala’ to be the most beautiful.

The beauty of this ritual, however, is lost on today's young generation, as I found the other day when I attended the wedding of a friend's son. The bride and the groom were of the same height and stood smiling before each other. When the bride raised her hands, the groom’s friends lifted him high. The bride's maids too lifted her up, but the groom tilted his head backwards, flashing an impish smile. The bride was crestfallen, her mission remained unfulfilled; the boys roared in glee. This continued for 3-4 times, generating uproarious laughter, when the bride's agility rewarded her and she hooked her man. I had thought the bride wouldn’t show any such tantrums. But no, she also succeeded in foiling 2-3 attempts of the groom to get at her neck, when he threw the garland at her and caught her, and everyone lustily cheered.

Oh, what a great fun they got enacting this hilarious skit! I too laughed a lot and so did everybody who had crowded around them. But deep down I felt sad at the stupid violation of the spirit of this sacred ritual.