Restoring Honor

The thin mist lay like gauze as the red sun began to rise.

It was August 31, 1992, the second day since Aditya had returned to Varanasi.

Aditya walked into the main room. His grandfather was already seated.

Two bowls of hot porridge sat on the table, along with a plate of flatbread.

Aditya sat down, picked up a flatbread, and took a bite. His grandfather waited until he swallowed before asking, "When do you plan to repay Patel?"

"Today."

His grandfather glanced at him and nodded. "Good. When our Mishra Family has money, we don't leave debts unpaid." Then he turned and left the main room.

After finishing his meal, Aditya took out 250,000 rupees and put them in a backpack.

He called Raju over and instructed him:

"Go to Patel's house, repay him, and bring back the ledger."

"Yes."

Without asking a thing, Raju picked up the bag, turned, and left.

In Varanasi in 1992, power along the Ganges was held by the highest-ranking Brahmin families, who had overseen religious rites for generations.

The Mishra Family were landowning "landlord Brahmins" who carried considerable weight in secular affairs, but in religious matters, they had to defer to the families of full-time priests.

Three years of financial hardship had forced the Mishra Family to stop funding the rites, and they had also lost their special standing along the Ganges.

On the evening of August 31, his grandfather, Patil, called Aditya into the inner room.

He pushed a yellowed ledger toward him. It recorded every sum the Mishra Family had spent on religious rites: lamp oil, ghee, alms, and priests' fees. The last entry was dated the year Aditya's father had died.

"When we had money, our family's lamp oil lit up the whole stretch of riverbank. Then the money ran out, and the lamps went dark for three years. The Brahmins of Varanasi began to forget where the Mishra Family stood. Even that 'Vaishya' no longer showed the Mishra Family any regard. The Mishra Family's dignity isn't in a ledger. It's on the steps of the Ganges," Patil said, his expression complicated.

"Aditya, I know you have great ambitions and ideas of your own. But I want you to restore our Mishra Family's honor first. Only with the Mishras standing can you go farther."

"Grandpa, what do you want me to do?" Aditya asked, unsure what his grandfather meant.

"Money can repay debts, but it can't restore a Brahmin's dignity," Patil said. "That dignity must be lit anew. We must raise our torches beside the Ganges once more. We must let the people of Varanasi see, let those old priests know, that our Mishra Family has returned. Only then can you do what you want without reservations."

"I understand." Aditya nodded. He had long found it strange. The Mishra Family were Brahmins through and through, yet they never seemed as exalted as the Brahmins in my memories of my previous life. So this was where the problem lay.

Aditya began making preparations the very next day.

He sent someone to invite Ramanath, a high priest in his seventies, informing him that the Mishra Family intended to revive the Grand Ganges Ritual.

After hearing the news, Ramanath remained silent for a long time before accepting the Mishra Family's invitation.

Then Aditya had Raju lead men from house to house to announce it, and also sent word to Varanasi's other Brahmin families.

"The Mishra Family will resume the Grand Ganges Ritual. Three days from now, at sunrise, at the old riverside altar."

Once the news spread, half of Varanasi was shaken. The Mishra Family was reviving its rites on the Ganges. After three years of decline, this Brahmin family had returned to the center of Varanasi's stage.

Before sunrise on the third day, the stone steps of the old riverside altar were packed with people. The lower castes stood in dense crowds on the farthest reaches of the riverbank, the higher castes stood beside the water, and the Brahmins stood at the very front.

Dressed in priestly robes, Ramanath stood beside the altar with seven young priests. Lamps filled with ghee, holy water, flower petals, and incense burners rested on copper trays. Everything was ready. Ramanath glanced at Aditya, then stepped back to give him his place.

Aditya stepped forward, took the torch a priest handed him, and lit the first lamp. The instant the flame sprang up, he spoke, his voice piercing the morning mist. "The Mishra Family has returned."

Aditya bent down and set the lamps in the water. One, two, three...

Each lamp drifted steadily with the current toward the depths of the Ganges. Their flames joined into a path of light on the water, stretching out from his feet.

Ramanath led the other priests in chanting ancient Vedic verses, and the sounds of chanting, bells, and drums rose.

Aditya stood beside the water, his sacred thread hanging against his chest. His white cloth garments shone in the morning light. Behind him stood Madan and his grandfather, and behind his grandfather stood the entire Mishra Family.

On the riverbank, representatives of thirteen Brahmin families began bending down to scoop up water and pour it over their heads. Then came the Kshatriyas, the Vaishyas...

By the time the ritual ended, the sun had fully risen. Aditya turned and walked through the crowd along the stone steps, returning to the bank.

As he passed, the higher castes made way for him, and the lower castes bowed their heads.

Madan followed behind him, carrying an empty copper tray. When Aditya returned to the Mishra Family home, he stood in the courtyard for a while.

Varanasi's morning sunlight fell squarely on the Mishra Family home's doorframe. This Brahmin family had returned to the sunlight.

That evening, his grandfather, Patil, sat in the main room. When Aditya pushed the door open and entered, a tin box sat in front of his grandfather.

"Aditya, sit down first," his grandfather, Patil, said.

Aditya sat down. Patil opened the tin box, took out a document, placed it on the table, and pushed it toward him.

"This is the deed to the land our Mishra Family has held for seven generations. The debts weren't paid off in your father's time, nor in your uncle's. Now that the debts are cleared, it's time to put the deed in your hands," Patil said solemnly.

Aditya took the deed, opened it for a look, and closed it.

Patil continued, "From today onward, the Mishra Family's land is in your hands. Whether to rent it out or sell it is your decision."

Aditya set the deed on the table and looked calmly at his grandfather. "I want to open a textile mill."

Patil looked at him without surprise or doubt, as though he had expected it.

"A textile mill? I thought you were going to sell the land and go to Mumbai."

Aditya explained to the old man, "I'll go to Mumbai too, but not now. A textile mill requires little investment and has a short production cycle. We also have so many tenant farmers to provide cheap labor. It's a good fit."

His grandfather fell silent for a while, then sighed. "Then open a mill. Times have changed. If Brahmins don't change, they'll die. God Shiva will forgive us."

Aditya had no Brahmin baggage and continued, "I still have 350,000 rupees. That's enough to buy equipment. We already have the land, so we won't have to spend more money buying any. Raju has already gone to Gorakhpur to ask about machinery prices."

His grandfather asked no more after hearing this. He closed the tin box and set it at the corner of the table. "You've grown up. I trust you. Take the deed. Once the mill is running, the land will still belong to the Mishra Family."

Aditya stood up and picked up the deed. "Grandpa, the land isn't what's valuable. It's the factory on it that's valuable."

Aditya did not expect his grandfather to understand his words. He would show him through action.

Aditya left the main room.

His grandfather, Patil, slumped in his chair and did not collect himself for a long time.

No lamp was lit in the main room. Moonlight shone through the doorway and fell across the tabletop. The tin box still sat at the corner of the table, its lid closed, its interior now empty.

Voices sounded outside the courtyard. They belonged to Aditya and Madan, who were discussing their trip to Lucknow tomorrow.

Patil listened for a while, then stood and returned to the inner room. Nothing remained on the table except that empty box.