1684, Sauviragram, Paithan, Maharashtra, India.

Close to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in their area. It was the harvest season, and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks, carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they carried for the cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time! Work was at its peak!

But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn't working. Instead, she was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.

'I am sick of this!' she grunted loudly.

"Oh how I detest the men of this village! They only like to do three things. They drink, gamble away the hard-earned income and assert their superiority over us by killing our daughters and beating us. I am sick of their despotism." She wailed.

A steady stream of tears trickled down her face as she recalled the tragedy that had befallen her poor sister, Meenakshi yesterday.

It's a girl!" The midwife bellowed.

A small smile played across Ilaa's face as she helped the village midwife clean the tiny baby. She did not notice the shadow that had fallen on the midwife's face. She failed to notice the fear shining in the inky black depths of her sister's eyes. The baby was wrapped in clean sheets and given to Ilaa.

Ilaa helped her exhausted sister sit up and placed the tiny miracle in her arms. Meenakshi did not even cast a glance in her newly born daughter's direction. Her blank stare and listless posture unnerved Ilaa.

The door opened and Sahu, Ilaa's brother-in-law, barged in.

"Give me that baby!" He barked angrily.

He wrenched the baby out of Meenakshi's arms and took her outside.

"Where are you -." Ilaa started to protest but the midwife covered her mouth with her hand.

"Don't child, you'll only invite trouble for yourself!" She whispered.

Ilaa followed Sahu out and saw him commit an atrocity that would haunt her forever. She saw him drop the baby in a barrel filled with water.

Sahu pushed past a stupefied Ilaa and entered Meenakshi's room.

"How dare you give me a daughter?" His voice resonated in the dark night. The sound of a whip being lashed could be heard followed by a cacophony of deafening screams.

Ilaa rushed to the barrel and fished out the baby's corpse. The tiny eyes would never see the light of the day. The rosy lips that had turned blue would never smile and the tiny pink feet would never feel the earth.

The midwife took the corpse from her hands and steered her inside the house.

Ilaa wiped her tears and went back to the fields. She had always found the budding cotton very soothing. The wind caressing her hair had always invigorated her. When she worked in the fields, she felt strong and alive. All her miseries vanished.

She continued to toil in the fields gently plucking out the cotton nimbly with the other women folk of the house. The men were sitting under the Banyan tree extolling Sahu's virtues and drinking away. A scream from inside the house shattered the silence in which all of them were working in. Her mother came out wailing, "Meenakshi....!"

Ilaa immediately stopped working and got up.

"Mother! What happened to Meenu?" She asked shaking her mother's shoulders.

Her mother pointed in the direction of Meenakshi's room with dazed eyes.

Ilaa hurried inside and found her hanging from the roof. It was the end of another life.

She broke down crying and fell to the ground.

The cremation passed away in a blur.

Ilaa clad in a white sari entered the temple for her sister's prayer ceremony. She looked at the crying family members. She thought that it was all a farce. No one had been impacted by her sister's death. They had killed her daughter and had supported her husband when he had humiliated her.

As Ilaa recalled her sister's dancing eyes and impish grin, tears welled up in her eyes. She said to herself, "Meenu! I shall teach all these people a lesson."

With this promise to herself Ilaa walked out into the dark night. She meandered here and there not knowing where she was going.

Suddenly, she found herself at Shanti Tai's doorstep. The wizened old lady with gleaming white hair and weathered hands took her in. She had heard what had happened. She clutched Ilaa tightly. A dam broke inside Ilaa and she shed copious tears on her shoulder.

Shanti Tai was Ilaa's guide and mentor. She always eased away her pains with her pragmatic solutions. From her Ilaa and the other girls of the village had learnt the craft of weaving exquisite Paithani saris. Ilaa seemed to give life to her dreams and her secret fancies by putting them in vibrant colours on the fabric of the delicate sari.

The old lady clutched Ilaa's shoulders and said, "We both are made of the same mettle. Your sister's death has shaken your belief in the little humanity that was existing in this village. It is time to take up cudgels on the behalf of our unfortunate sisters and do something to improve their lot. We must ensure that another Meenakshi does not die."

Ilaa looked at her questioningly.

"How can we do this Shanti Tai? Do you think the men folk will let us break our shackles?"

Shanti Tai smiled at Ilaa knowingly.

"We will not break the shackles and challenge their superiority. But we will channelize our inner strength to make ourselves self-sufficient and strong. Remember child, behind every cloud there is a silver lining."

When Ilaa eyed the weaving looms and the half-finished Paithani saris lying around the house, her eyes started gleaming with excitement. She thanked Shanti Tai for her sage counsel and rushed home.

She immediately entered the dusty store room and opened a big trunk filled with Paithani saris that she and her sister had woven over the years. Each sari was a labour of love and had its own story to tell. She fingered the delicate embroidery as if to recall the old times. It broke her heart to part with them. But she had to do it.

She had to think of a way to sell these saris under the noses of the men to the traders who would be coming to trade in cotton in a few days. While sifting through the contents of the trunk, she chanced upon two dhotis and kurtas that she and her sister used to don to visit the monthly village market dressed up as boys to escape detection.

She laughed as she fingered the fabric of the tattered turban remembering the old carefree days. She was now clear on what she had to do.

The day when the traders and wholesalers descended on the village of Sauviragram had arrived. The whole village was buzzing with excitement. There was din and bustle everywhere. Bales of cotton had been loaded on the carts by the men and taken to the market place. When all the men had departed, Ilaa immediately went to the store room.

Within a few minutes, a young beautiful girl had morphed into a lanky scruffy looking youth. She knotted her raven black hair into a tight bun and wrapped the turban tight. She removed her bangles, anklets and earrings. She was ready now.

"Bye-bye Ilaa, it is now time for Ila Bhai to get to work!" She smiled to herself.

She packed all the saris in a gunny bag and warily sneaked out of the house as she did not want to get caught. Ilaa took a short-cut through the fields to reach the market place.

In a distant corner where some old men were selling their wares, Ilaa spread out her saris on an old sheet. In a squeaky voice, she started yelling out to garner the attention of the traders. She sang in a sing song voice, "Come one and come all to my stall, buy my beautiful saris that will leave your women enthralled!"

An old portly trader with long moustaches and sagging cheeks waddled up to her. His beady eyes inspected her wares. He thumped her hard on the back and she lunged forward. He guffawed loudly.

"Young man, tell your mother to feed you some extra ghee. It is surprising to see someone selling saris at this market place. I have never come across you before. Where are you from?"

In a thin raspy voice, Ilaa answered, "Sahib, I am Ila from Hariwadi. I came here to sell the saris that my sisters had made. Our cotton had been ruined and we had nothing else to sell."

The man eyed the saris with a shrewd gaze and said, "They are beautiful and well crafted. Your sisters must be very talented. I'll will buy all the saris and give you fifty mohurs. I appreciate good workmanship."

Ilaa started bargaining with the man and said, "You just said that you appreciate good work. I'll take not less than seventy mohurs. Take it or leave it."

On listening to Ilaa's proposal, the man's bushy eyebrows furrowed as he said out aloud, "You're a young lad, but you'll make a fine salesman. I will meet you again after three months during the annual village fair. Keep some more saris ready for me."

With this, he handed Ilaa the promised seventy mohurs. She carefully counted the mohurs and wrapped them in a dirty cloth and put them in her pocket. She packed the saris in a sheet and helped him load the bundle in his cart.

She rushed back home through the field into the refuge of the store room.

Ila Bhai immediately transformed back into Ilaa. Within the dark confines of the store room, Ilaa counted the mohurs with pride and said to herself, "Meenu would be proud of her Ila Bhai today."

She hid the money in the trunk.

At the crack of dawn, she secretly removed her booty from her trunk and headed to Shanti Tai's house with a bounce in her step.

Seeing the twinkle in Ilaa's eyes, Shanti Tai remarked, "What has this little urchin been up to?"

Ilaa clutched Shanti Tai and took her inside. She thrust her booty of seventy mohurs into her hand and told her of her adventures as Ila Bhai in the market place of Sauviragram.

Shanti Tai's eyes twinkled with mirth as she heard Ilaa's tale.

"What do you intend to do with this money now?" She asked.

Ilaa whispered her plan of action into Shanti Tai's ear who nodded in approval.

Being the matriarch of the village Patel, Shanti Tai summoned all the women into courtyard of the house and said to them in a grave voice, "Ladies, it is time to uphold the prestige of our village. Tarabai Rao, one of Paithan's most influential ladies and a dear friend of mine has asked me to supply her with the best of Paithani saris for her daughter's wedding. All these years, I have been teaching you this fine art and I know that you are the best. So I request each household to provide me with at least one sari. I'll be giving you two mohurs for each sari."

All the ladies hummed in agreement.

As the weeks rolled by, yarns of beautiful fabric in myriad colours came to Shanti Tai's house and by the end of the three months, Ilaa had a posse of thirty-five saris with her.

The day of the annual village fair dawned clear and bright. Ilaa donned the garb of Ila Bhai and set off to trade.

She set up her stall in a distant corner and waited for the portly merchant to arrive.

She saw the familiar rotund figure walking up to her.

"Ila Bhai what have you got for me today?" He asked and closely examined the spread out saris.

"Amazing! They get better and better every time. I'll pay you twenty mohurs more this time." He said handing her the money.

He thumped Ilaa on the back hard with his heavy hand. Ilaa lurched forward and lost her balance. Her turban rolled off her head and her carefully knotted curls tumbled out.

The merchant loudly exclaimed, "Ila Bhai, you're a girl?"

A deep baritone voice sounded from behind, "It's not Ila, it is Ilaa, you moron! If you value your life merchant, then take your money back from her and make haste!"

By now all the men had gathered around Ilaa. They dragged Ilaa by her long hair to the village square along with her posse of saris. She was writhing in pain and screaming.

Her screams drew all the women along with Shanti Tai to the square. One of the ladies eyed the saris and said loudly, "These are the ones which we all have been making for Shanti Tai."

They looked questioningly at Shanti Tai.

She said to them, "Ilaa and I have not cheated you. The poor girl was only trying to improve the lot of her sisters in the village after Meenu's death by risking her own life. She thought that if you get proper monetary compensation for your fine skills, then you'll be strong and free from the tyranny of your men folk."

Their eyes gleamed with tears as they watched Ilaa being sentenced to fifty lashes for her audacity. Her searing shrieks sliced through their hearts.

Just as the burly Raghurao was about to administer Ilaa her fifth lash, Lakshmi, one of the intrepid ladies got up and shielded Ilaa.

"You have to whip all of us to get through to Ilaa as we are all partners in crime. She was doing no wrong."

The old Sita Devi chimed in, "Ilaa was not wrong. She was only trying to help us with some extra money. You men folk drink all day and gamble away the income. We toil in the fields, walk miles for water and get beaten in return."

All the women rushed forward and encircled Ilaa. There was a stupefied silence in the square. All the men hung their heads in shame.

The village Patel declared, "From now on, women will be allowed to trade and earn money in this village. Anyone caught beating his women folk would be lashed. We have to learn to respect our women who are the epitome of the Goddess Durga. There will be no more killing of the girl child in the village."

Ilaa looked up and saw Meenu smiling in the sky.

Women of Sauviragram had made history all because of one girl called Ilaa of Paithan.

THE END

The enunciation guide and dictionary:
Ilaa: (Ill- ah) Name of the protagonist
Meenakshi: (Mean-ah-cash-ee) : Name of the Ilaa's sister
Sahu: (Sa-hue) Name of Ilaa's brother-in-law
Shanta Tai: (Sha-n-tah Tah-yeah): Ilaa's mentor