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What happened? Sulekha is puzzled. In less than a minute, something strange has happened. Something she doesn't understand. Not yet. It will take her many more years. The understanding will come slowly, little by little.

Sulekha likes Puri. She can sit by the ocean for hours, just watching its magnificent blue body and listening to its song. How come this song never bores her? She usually gets bored with other songs after a while.

Another thing Sulekha likes about Puri is Lord Jagannath, the funny looking Lord with no hands and huge round eyes that look right at you no matter where you stand. It is pretty clear to Sulekha that the Lord doesn't do anything. He has no hands. But people keep on asking him to do stuff for them and keep on blaming him for doing something wrong or not doing something right. It doesn't make sense to Sulekha. Those round eyes can see anything! Everything! It is so clear. He can't close those eyes. He has no eyelids. They are wide open all the time. And still foolish people go on complaining. Can't you see this? Why don't you do something about this? Sulekha gets impatient with their foolishness. Look, man, he sees, only sees, he can't do. Sulekha says silently. She doesn't say it out loud. Who would listen to a child? Who would take a girl seriously?

July of 1965. Sulekha was standing on the Bada Daanda of Puri in the middle of the biggest crowd ever. She had just figured out why they call a crowd a 'jana samudra,' an ocean of people. She had felt the waves of that ocean. Momentous waves of people moving fast to touch the chariot rope and then receding only to disappear under other approaching waves. Just like the waves she had watched at the beach. Racing to hug the beach one after another.

Not too far from Sulekha was Lord Jagannath's chariot with the Lord sitting in it. Funny Lord, who lets people treat him like one of their dolls. Like Sulekha played house with her dolls a few years ago, folks play house with this Lord. In their play, Lord Jagannath feels hot as summer approaches. He takes baths in sandalwood paste everyday. To cool down, he takes boat rides in the lake in the evenings. When it gets even hotter, one day he just keeps on bathing bucket after bucket after bucket. And just like Mother would say "I told you so," he gets a fever. The doctor comes to check his fever; puts him on a special diet; gives him medicine. After several days, he gets better. To celebrate his recovery, he dresses up in his best, gets into his chariot, and goes with his brother and sister to visit his aunt a few miles away. It is not clear to Sulekha who has more fun, adults pretending to be kids, or the Lord pretending to be a doll? It didn't matter, she, for sure, was having fun. She was in the crowd pulling away the Lord's chariot, well, at least trying to. She even managed to touch the rope, feel it. She had never seen or felt a rope that thick.

She couldn't believe that her parents would let her do that. Having so much fun! Out on the street! Being part of this huge crowd! Sulekha's mother had been so protective lately! Sulekha usually had to think hard for days how she could persuade her mother to let her go to a friend's house. Mother was so cross with her when she had some fun flying a kite just for a minute next door on Preeti's terrace with Preeti and Raghu Bhai, Preeti's cousin brother who was visiting from their village. Mother probably never flew a kite when she was a kid. She didn't know how much fun it could be. If the kite could talk, Sulekha would ask what it looked like from up there. Mother didn't want her to play with Raghu Bhai, the kind boy who let her hold his kite spool for a minute, when she asked him politely. The list of things Sulekha is not supposed to do is so long! Longer than Mother's hair! And the list of things she is allowed to do seems so short.

And Mother had said yes to her idea of coming to Ratha Jaatraa. She had said yes to going near the chariot. It was awesome. It was divine. Sulekha was ecstatic. But in a minute everything has changed. Her happiness has disappeared. Stolen? What remains feels like a vacuum. In that vacuum a few questions are floating aimlessly. What just happened? Why?

Her parents had planned this trip for weeks. Immunizations were taken. Private transportation was arranged. She was thankful about that when she saw buses and trains on the way, with people perched on their tops, people hanging from railings on doors and windows. Her parents had reserved a viewing spot in a building on Bada Daanda. Experienced people were consulted. A resident of Puri was chosen as an escort. Everyone was warned about the force of the crowd. Do not let go of a family member's hand, not even for a moment. The crowd's force is more than you can imagine. More than that of flood water. They were all told. You may get separated from your family. You may get lost. You may get run over. Sulekha was prepared for all that. She knew what to do if she would get separated from the family. The microphones were yelling names and descriptions of lost people, telling their families where to find them. None of this had happened to Sulekha. When she finally landed on the ground after a few seconds that had seemed much longer, her mother was still in the vicinity.

Sulekha isn't lost. She has not been pushed to the ground or run over by the crowd. She has felt the power of the crowd in a different way, for which she was not prepared. What happened? How? Why? Was it an accident? It doesn't make sense to her logical mind. When everyone is headed for the rope, the pressure from the crowd should come in a horizontal direction. What kind of pressure would lift her off the ground vertically? And those hands? If they were trying to reach and grab the rope, wasn't the area they reached a little higher? The area between her buttocks and thighs is burning. Her mouth feels dry. How shocking and unexpected it was! To be lifted off the ground like that! To be held up by a few hands under her thighs! How many fingers did she feel? It happened so fast! Did she scream or did she freeze? She can't recall. Even though it happened just now. She recalls desperately trying to reach down with her legs, to feel the ground, and not being able to. And didn't she hear a sort of a laugh from behind? If those fingers were really trying to hold the chariot rope, they couldn't be where they were. No way! It must have been deliberate. But why?

"Sulee, are you OK?" Sulekha hears her mother's concerned voice. She feels her heart hammering on her chest. The vacuum in her chest is gone. There is now a heavy rock in its place. "Yes Mother, I'm OK, but this crowd, I got crushed!." Sulekha doesn't know what to say. Some words find their way out somehow from her dry mouth. She avoids eye contact with her mother. She isn't sure why. Does her mother know what happened? Did she see what Sulekha couldn't see? Sulekha doesn't want to know. Besides, she doesn't know how to talk about such things, things about her private parts, even with her mother. And what if her own eyes betray her and start flushing tears? And everyone making a fuss? She is not a baby. Sulekha can't talk about it. She will deal with it alone, later.

And after they return home, would Mother's list of forbidden things get even longer? Like the hair of women in fairy tales? All the way to their feet? Mother can explain many things well. But when it comes to certain unspeakable things, her face turns red. She says the minimum possible. Like when Sulekha got her first period. She had so many questions in her mind. But all Mother had said in her loving and reassuring voice was, "It happens to all the girls. Don't be afraid. Don't worry. It's OK." But what exactly happens and why? Sulekha did not have the chance to ask. Mother had quickly moved on to explain the practical matters, the "shoulds and should nots". Sulekha knows by now that a girl's life is defined by "shoulds and should nots", not by "whys and hows". One who can juggle the "shoulds and should nots" without dropping a single one even once, is put on a pedestal, praised. She becomes the honor of the family. But the one who drops one accidentally, is made fun of, judged. Sulekha has always tried hard to keep her "shoulds and should nots" under control. But has she succeeded? Whenever the "whys and hows and ifs and whens" have bugged her she has carefully shelved them in her mind to deal with them alone, later, when she can. Someday, she hopes, she can find her book of answers, somewhere, in some dreamland.

Sulekha hasn't told anyone what Uncle Sonu had once done, a long time ago. Uncle Sonu is her mother's cousin. When Sulekha was about six, she had gone to his house for a visit with Mother. Mother was talking to her aunt in the other room. Uncle Sonu who was around 18 then, was reading an English newspaper. "Hey Sulee, come here and let's see if you know the English alphabet," he had called. Sulekha had gone with a mixture of shyness and pride. "What letter is this one?" Uncle Sonu had asked pointing to an 'e' and Sulekha had answered correctly. Uncle Sonu had asked about a few more letters, drawing her closer to him, putting her almost on his lap. He had held the newspaper wide in front of both of them. He would point to a letter with his right hand. But what was he doing with his left hand? It had slipped into her panties and one of his fingers was trying to dig into the area where Sulekha pees. How weird? How disgusting! Sulekha had felt very uncomfortable and confused. She had wiggled sideways, trying to push his hand away with her legs. But she hadn't said a word. She didn't know how to tell an older uncle to stop. Older people tell younger people to do things and younger people have to listen. That was the rule. Pretending ignorance, Sulekha had stopped naming the letters. She had freed herself from his grip at the earliest opportunity, when he turned the page. Since that day she had found excuses not to go near Uncle Sonu. But Sulekha had not told Mother. Would Mother have believed? May be, may be not. She didn't want to take that chance. She didn't want anyone to think that she was making up ugly stories about Uncle Sonu. And if Mother believed her, wouldn't it make her sad? What else would she do other than telling Sulekha to stay away from Uncle Sonu? Sulekha could do that herself without being told.

Sulekha's mother probably doesn't have a clue that little girls don't like going near Grandpa Boordha. Mother probably thinks that Grandpa Boordha is a nice guy who likes little children. Grandpa Boordha has this thing about greeting little girls in a certain way. Sitting on his chair, he calls you, makes you stand next to him, puts his arm around you and tries to make conversation. Slowly his hand moves up towards your chest area squeezing you hard again and again. Sulekha didn't like that pressure in his hand for some reason. It seemed unnecessary. When her friend Preeti told her that Grandpa Boordha was an old jerk who liked pressing developing breasts of young girls, Sulekha had not believed her first. But just to be on the safe side, she had avoided Grandpa Boordha, even though she hadn't developed breasts yet. Later, she noticed that she was not the only girl who avoided Grandpa Boordha. Sulekha's cousin sisters were just as eager to get away from his sight.

And then there was that time when Sulekha was waiting for her school bus that never came. After standing on the road for almost 30 minutes she started walking back home through the empty alley. She had felt uncomfortable about the stranger who was watching her for a while. As she started walking, the stranger had come near her showing concern about her missing the bus. He had a bicycle. Sulekha had run away from him before he could offer to take her to school in his bike. She had run as fast as she could and was gasping when she reached home. When Mother asked her what happened she had told her about the bus not coming, about the stranger whose intentions were not clear. But she hadn't told Mother that the guy had come too close to her and had even kissed her on the cheek. Sulekha had not found words to tell all that. May be she should not have answered the stranger at all. May be she should have run before he came close. Sulekha wasn't sure if she had handled her "shoulds and should nots" right. Before Mother could ask more questions, she had rushed to the bathroom, washed her face, scrubbing her cheek hard, until it turned red. How disgusting a man's kiss can be. Yuk! How hot it felt! It almost burned her left cheek.

And now, how can she tell Mother that the area around her private parts is burning? That she thinks that someone (or was it more than one person?) may have deliberately lifted her off the ground and tried to put his fingers through her bottom through her clothes? That it is unlikely for this to have happened accidentally, just by the force of the crowd? So she says, "I am tired. Can we go home?" It must have been an accident. She tries to tell herself. Why on earth would anyone want to do this deliberately? What could the purpose be? Besides, how can anyone do anything so absurd standing on the holy grounds of Bada Daanda of Puri next to the Lord's chariot on the holy day of Ratha Jaatraa? Sulekha doesn't want to think about it anymore. Is her skin broken? She wants to go home and wash herself. She can probably find some ointment in the medicine cabinet to put where it is burning.

Sulekha's own body is a mystery to her. It will take her a few more years to unravel that mystery. And years later, long after she has forgotten this incident, Sulekha will jump for no particular reason when her husband gently touches her in a certain place in a certain way. It will take her years to understand this reflex. It will take her many more years to talk to her perplexed husband about it. It will take Sulekha many years to remember this incident and relate it to other things in her life, and in the lives of others. It will take her many more years to know that all those things she didn't like but couldn't tell anyone, have a name, called sexual abuse.

Many years later Sulekha will learn that there is a continuum of violence in which girl children are born, raised, live, and die. Murder, suicide, and rape occupy one extreme end of this continuum. But milder physical, emotional, and sexual abuse such as pushing, name calling, and touching also fall on the same continuum and are experienced by almost every girl or woman, in her home, on her street, at her work, causing enough damage. It will take Sulekha many years to understand that violence against women, whether extreme or mild, occurs due to deep-seated, internalized, social attitudes toward women, which both men and women carry. At that time, she will understand what Uncle Sonu, Grandpa Boordha, the stranger on her street, the molesters on Bada Daanda, and the rapists and bride killers in newspapers all have in common. They have no respect for girls as human beings, with feelings, intelligence, opinions, and rights. She will understand that men do this because they can and can get away with it. Society does not restrain them. "Boys will be boys," is accepted as a given, something that can't be helped. According to the rules of society, it is the girls who must be restrained, kept within closed doors at a safe distance from the "boys," and be taught their "shoulds and should nots" so that they will not shame their families. Sulekha will then know that this is what some call the "male advantage." All this understanding will come to Sulekha much later. At that time, Sulekha will confront and question those social attitudes. She will not accept them as female disadvantage. She will not give up on boys as being inherently wild and insensitive. She will not give up on girls as being passive and burdensome. If the world's women are kept locked in their homes to be protected from the jungle out there, and the world's men are raised to believe that their masculinity depends on creating that jungle, how will the human race ever come out of this vicious circle and realize its potential? Sulekha will not give up on humanity.

A much older Sulekha of a later time will search into the scriptures for insight into who this Lord Jagannath really is. She will learn that the Lord is an uninvolved witness, a permanent pervading presence. In that large presence things occur driven by the laws of Nature. The Lord doesn't take an active part in those occurrences. She will learn that people are not separate from the Lord; but because of ignorance, they feel far removed, small, insecure, insignificant. They act wild, foolish. Not knowing their internal power and human potential, they try to sneak or grab power from outside, sometimes stealing it from others, making others weaker, so that they themselves can feel a little more powerful, important. Sulekha will learn a lot, about herself, about the Lord, about the crowd that has crushed her. But what her simple mind understands today by just looking at Lord Jagannath is not that different from what she will learn later by studying Vedanta. The Lord sees everything, knows everything, and doesn't do anything. Sulekha will not ask or blame Lord Jagannath, who has no hands, who has left the doing up to the collective hands of the ocean of people. Those hands have free will, the power to choose. Those hands may play childish games. They may help themselves or others who aren't really different from them. Or they may hurt themselves or others not knowing who they really are. Sulekha will try to remember to exercise her free will, to use her hands, to help, not to hurt. The Lord will be watching, unaffected while people praise or blame him. Sulekha will try to remember that silent message when she hears praise or blame. All this will happen much later.

But now, Sulekha tries to dismiss what just happened as an accident, even though her rational mind cannot accept it. She probably won't come to Ratha Jaatraa again. She will avoid crowds just like she has avoided Uncle Sonu, Grandpa Boordha, and strangers in the street. She would stay home more and spend more time on her school work. She has to show Father how serious she is about college. She will do anything in her power to prevent an early marriage. Marriage right after high school! What a scary thought! Unknown, abrupt, like premature death. So Sulekha tries to think of something better. The chariot has crossed her, pulled by the ocean of people. The crowd has thinned. So has the noise. Sulekha can hear the ocean again. The blue ocean. The ocean is singing, the same song, a fearless song, a song with depth, a song of freedom.

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