Around 1620s

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. "All I am fit for is this manual work, they think. If I could show them that I can read faster and better than that useless-good-for-nothing I have for a brother! But all they say is "Ilaa do this, Ilaa do that" As if I'm not more than just a pair of helping hands!"

This feeling wasn't anything new – Ilaa had been fighting for attention since she was a child. It didn't help that she had an older brother who was valued for his gender, for surely such a snob as him couldn't really be worth anything!

He was sent to the village school though he hated it, and she had to make to with his ill-written notes and overheard discussions. He was in charge of the crop accounts, although he couldn't count to save his life, and she had to watch her father make losses because of it. And he would inherit the lands and the business, while she would be expected to marry well and bear sons to repeat this pointless cycle.

Ilaa wasn't a child, and she felt stifled as she thought of her future – an endless loop of thick-headed men dominating over her and telling her how worthless she was.

A tinkering of bells diverted her attention. At a distance, she could see a string of bullock carts. The traders were coming. Something snapped in her. The traders are coming. Which meant...the traders would leave...and go far away from here. Away from home, away from this miserable existence.

She stood up and dusted her clothes. If she didn't do this now, she would never muster enough courage to do this later. Tonight, she would run away from home.

By nightfall, she had a satchel ready, along with some money her grandmother, her Aji had given her ages back. She wasn't sure how much the money would help, but it was a start. Fear gripped her heart as she made her way to the field where the carts were parked. She thought she could feel a pair of eyes boring into her back, but there was no one to be seen.

The fear in her heart grew. The carts would leave tonight right? This was the right caravan, right?

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

Ilaa stifled a scream as she turned. A large man, hidden in the shadows, stood behind her. A host of warnings ran through her head. She stood there, paralysed, as the man glared at her.

"What is a girl like you doing out here?" he grated.

In her sheer terror, her mind latched on to one phrase 'a girl like you'.

"What do you mean, a girl like me?" her voice sounded indignant to herself.

"I mean a rich girl like you" he looked pointedly at her clothes, "What are you doing in a nomad camp?"

"N...nomad?" her mind stopped working. "Oh...Oh...this isn't the cotton traders' camp?"

"Cotton traders?" he sounded incredulous, "They don't come for a few weeks down. You're in the wrong camp, little princess."

Again her mind latched on to a phrase 'little princess'.

"I'm not a princess." She sounded petty.

The man laughed incredulously.

"You are weird" he said bluntly, "You take offence at the funniest of things. Besides, you didn't answer me. What are you doing in a nomad camp in the middle of the night?"

Ilaa stared, rendered speechless. Nobody dared to talk to a woman so freely. No man dared to look her in the eye as he insulted her so casually.

"I'm running away" she said archly, "I want to make something of myself."

"Okay"

She stood stymied. This was definitely not the reaction she had expected.

"I will do it" she said vehemently, "I will run away!"

"Okay"

"What's wrong with you?" the fear returned, "Why aren't you telling me that I'm an idiot? You seem to enjoy making fun of me!"

"Because you're not an idiot for wanting to make something of yourself" he said slowly, "Foolish yes, because it isn't safe. But not an idiot."

The novelty of the situation had long rendered her speechless. For the first time, someone had not dismissed her ideas as that of a stupid girl's. Someone felt that her dreams were not idiotic.

"Can I...run away with your camp?" she asked, her voice wavering.

He seemed to mull over it.

"No" he said shortly, "If you want to prove yourself, stay here and do it. What will you prove in a nomadic camp?"

"Please" she pleaded, "I'll get off at the nearest city. I'll –"

"And do what there?" he cut her off sharply, "You obviously haven't seen much of the world. What do you think will happen to you in an unknown place with little money and no resources?"

Ilaa stifled a sob. He made sense, yes, but her heart was heavy.

"Stay here. Speak up. You can't be the only one in this village who thinks the way you do."

She turned away, but her mind was blank. She could imagine no future here that would make her happy.

"Sauviragram, isn't it?" his tone was contemplative. "The village of a hundred braves? Aren't you brave enough?"

Tears burned at the back of her skull. "But what would I do?" her voice broke once, "I want to do something, but I don't know what to do!"

He seemed to ruminate over it. "Learn" he said finally, "Speak. Write. Nobody can deny a written word backed by reasons. Women have done great things before. Why not now?"

"You think so?"

"I know so, wandering nomad though I am."

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The walk back home was slow. Her feet dragged, as if she was wading through the muddy Godavari riverbed in the summers. She felt nothing, nothing but a crushing sense of anticlimax.

So much for her grand plans.

As she neared her home, her heart stilled, and then picked up pace sharply, for outside her home stood her brother, staff in hand, looking incensed. Fear gagged her, and she had to struggle to breathe normally. The nomad had given her hope, and no snobbish brother of hers could dampen the hope in her heart. For the first time, she was realizing that maybe there were men who would value her for more than her gender.

"What are you doing out so late?" her brother's eyes focused on her. The tone was sharp, but she could make out surprise on his features.

"I decided to go out" she said archly. "And now I will go inside and rest."

"Go out?" he seemed stunned, "At night?"

"Yes"

"Why?"

"Because I can" she glared once as she made her way to the door. He caught hold of her arm and dragged her away to face him.

"Because you CAN?" he seemed livid, "And WHO said you COULD?"

"I said I could. I will yell if you don't let go."

He raised his palm and struck her hard on her cheek. She spun away, limp in his grip. "So yell. See if it stops me."

She could taste warm blood in her mouth, and her vision was tilting. "It wouldn't", she spat, "But I'll fight. Will you kill me? Kill me and answer to mother. You can't kill me and you know it. What do I have to fear?"

In rage, he flung her away and raised his staff to strike.

"You don't know me" was all he said.

"You don't know me either" she scampered onto her feet, although she was shivering now.

"You'll disobey me and fight me till I kill you?" he seemed incredulous.

"And what will I live for, if all I do is obey you?" her mouth twisted into a grim smile.

"Live for your family! For their honor! For a husband and children and a home!"

"And who will live for ME?" she screamed as rage took over, "Is this all I'm worth? Cooking and cleaning and bearing sons? Is that all a woman is good for?"

"You talk too much" he snarled as he threw the staff at her with enough force to kill and turned, "Die then. Or go away. You're dead to me."

Ilaa stood up, bleeding from her head, her twisted smile growing, "Who asked you for a verdict?"

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1679

A cavalry soldier stood near the outskirts of Sauviragram, waiting for an audience with the sarpanch, the village leader. The Chhatrapati, Shivaji Maharaj wanted to go to Jalna via Paithan, and while he would stay in the main city, the army would stay in the nearby villages. Arrangements needed to be made, and made soon.

He could see a small group of villagers make his way to where he stood, and with some confusion, he noted that an old, bent woman in a gray saree led the small contingent. And the confusion grew when the old woman reached him and bid him to climb down.

"Mother, is the sarpanch coming soon?" his voice sounded nervous even to himself.

"Why, you are speaking to the sarpanch! I am Ilaa, wife of Madhavrao, and the sarpanch of this village." The old woman smiled graciously.

"A female sarpanch?" he couldn't stop himself.

"Why not?" she challenged casually, but her eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, why not?" a young man asked belligerently from the back, "She's our learned elder. What's the problem with Aji?"

"Nothing" the soldier stared at the woman, "Nothing at all."

"Good" she smiled, "Now maybe we can talk about the arrangements?"

The soldier started talking about accommodation, and Ilaa let her mind stray. She was used to the staring and the questioning, but they were an achievement in themselves. Maybe women would face these glances for a few more generations. Maybe they won't ever go.

But at least the questioning of norms had begun.