Kannamma stood in front of the mirror, tucking a string of jasmines into her greying hair. The sweet fragrance reminded her of the vast jasmine fields of Karuthambet. She applied a bit of kajal on her lower eyelids, and her eyes teared up. Was it the kajal or the day? It was Kannamma’s wedding day.
A faded, off-white Kanjivaram saree was spread on the bed. With trembling fingers, Kannamma stroked the saree.
“White wedding saree is bad luck. Also, we aren’t entitled to wear Kanjivaram,” Poomayil, Kannamma’s mother, had warned her thirty years ago.
“My daughter will wear whatever she likes. Nobody can tell us what to wear and what not to wear. Have you forgotten everything Periyar taught us?” Kuruswamy, Kannamma’s father, asked.
“Every village has its rules. Can Periyar change that?” Poomayil retorted, eyeing the lustrous Kanjivaram saree as if it were a cobra.
Maybe this saree was indeed bad luck, Kannamma thought. Thirty years ago, her wedding had ended in a tragedy.
Kannamma pulled herself together and draped the saree around her thin frame.
“Are you ready?” She heard Gunasekaran’s gentle voice. Kannamma opened the door. Gunasekaran was wearing a white shirt and a golden-bordered dhoti. He had oiled and combed his thinning hair to a side, like a school kid. Kannamma smiled, and her dimples shone; only Gunasekaran could make her smile like that.
“I don’t think Sakthi will come,” Gunasekaran said. Kannamma’s smile vanished. She felt pity for Gunasekaran, who hoped that Sakthi would come at the last minute. But she knew Sakthi wouldn’t come.
“Yes, you’ve obtained a court order that entitles anyone to conduct a wedding in the Karuthambet community hall. You’ve made your point, and every newspaper has covered it. But I didn’t know you were planning to conduct an actual wedding ceremony there,” Sakthi said. It was a week after Kannamma and Gunasekaran won the lawsuit against the Karuthambet faith-preservation committee.
“I had promised my Appa. It’s a simple ceremony, what’s wrong with it?” Kannamma asked.
“It may be a simple ceremony, but it will attract unnecessary attention to you and to me.”
“Sakthi, please understand. I have to do it,” Kannamma said.
“Anyway, who am I to stop you? You’re the activist! You’re used to the limelight and controversies. But I can’t afford unwanted attention, especially now. I won’t attend the ceremony,” Sakthi said as a matter of fact. But Kannamma knew it came from a deeper place, a place of bitterness gathered over the years. In Kannamma and Gunasekarans’s fight for justice, Sakthi’s childhood suffered. The affluent members of the Karuthambet faith-preservation committee were determined to make the couple’s life hell. The case dragged on and on for years, and the police charged the couple with many false cases. Young Sakthi was often neglected, spent many hours on court verandas, and witnessed police atrocity.
“It’s ok. Sakthi has every right not to come,” Kannamma said in a tired voice. The wedding preparations had taken a toll on her. Even though they lost the case, the faith-preservation committee wasn’t ready to give up. They had warned villagers not to cooperate with the wedding arrangements. Kannamma and Gunasekaran struggled to make even basic arrangements like food and furniture. The coldness of their relatives didn’t help either. Just like Sakthi, they also felt the ceremony was unnecessary. Finally, very few people agreed to attend. It was only the one-tenth of the guests Kuruswamy had invited to his daughter’s wedding thirty years ago.

***

Kannamma was a bright girl, the first graduate from their community, and the first one to secure a government job. Kuruswamy wanted his daughter’s wedding to be a grand affair.
“My daughter will get married in the newly constructed community marriage hall!” Kuruswamy announced.
“What are you saying? The temple committee will never allow us to conduct our wedding in their community’s hall,” Poomayil said.
“Just because it adjoins the temple doesn’t mean it’s their community hall. We all worked hard to build it. It belongs to us too.”
“They’re powerful people; please don’t make them mad,” Poomayil begged Kumaraswamy to reconsider, but he didn’t budge.

***

“Appa would be so proud of you today,” Gunasekaran told Kannamma, intertwining his fingers with hers. They were standing right before the garlanded photos of Kuruswamy and Poomayil, seeking blessings.
“Do you think I am adamant? Like Sakthi says, like everyone says? I never asked you if you wanted this fight. Did you?” Kannamma asked.
“Why do you even ask that? Don’t you always say that this isn’t about us? It’s for our community, our rights, our dignity. Your Appa gave his life for his rights. My only disappointment is that he isn’t here today,” Gunasekaran said. Kannamma stared at her father’s photo; even death couldn’t extinguish the fire in his eyes. 

***

“Oh, so you want to get your daughter married in our community hall. No problem, I’ll make a booking, when is the date?” Varadarajan, the president of the temple committee, asked. He was seated on a wooden longue chair, his legs propped up on its long armrests, flanked by his servants.
“The date is in a month. I am happy that the committee has accepted my request,” Kuruswamy said.
“Why wouldn’t we? You people have become so affluent, right? Even the law is made for you,” Varadarajan said, guffawing. The other committee members also laughed.
“Times are changing. Our Kannamma will be the first one to get married in the community marriage hall of Karuthambet.” Back home, Kuruswamy was overjoyed. Little did he expect the tragedy that awaited them.

***

“Kannamma, it’s time. We need to start,” Gunasekaran said, and Kannama felt a tremor going through her body. “Times have changed. We have the court order. Nothing bad will happen. Don’t worry.” Gunasekaran held her hand.
Kannamma got into the car and sat close to Gunasekaran, her fingers still intertwined with his. Her heart started beating erratically as the car entered the familiar roads of Karuthambet. The jasmine fields were in full bloom. Her mind wandered off to the past.

***

Thirty years ago, on Kannamma’s wedding day, the locked gate of Karuthambet community hall welcomed the wedding party. As they stood confused, Varadarajan and his men arrived in jeeps.
“So, you really thought you could conduct a wedding in our community hall?” Varadarajan asked, jumping out of the jeep. 
“But, the committee agreed. I have booked the hall and paid the money. Please don’t make a problem now,” Kuruswamy said.
“Look at the courage of these untouchables! We save them from starving to death, and they think they’re equal to us,” Varadarajan said, spitting out the betel leaf he had been chewing. The spit fell on Kuruswamy’s white veshti, leaving ugly red dots.
“No, I will not let anyone ruin my daughter’s wedding.” Kuruswamy rushed towards the gate, but Varadarajan’s men knocked him down and stomped on his chest. The next day, Kuruswamy died in the hospital due to internal bleeding. “Kannamma, they wronged me, and you need to make it right. You need to get married in the community hall.” It was his last wish.
A few weeks later, Kannamma and Gunasekaran got married in the registrar’s office, vowing if they ever conducted a wedding ceremony, it would be in the Karuthambet community hall.

***

As they entered the road that led to the community hall, the car slowed down.
“Ayya, I think there is some problem,” the car driver turned back and told Gunasekaran. Outside the gate was a group of youngsters, holding sticks and stones, ready to attack the wedding party.
Gunasekaran got out of the car. “Son, what do you want?” he asked the young man who looked like the group leader.
“Do you think just winning the case will make you worthy of our marriage hall? My grandfather didn’t allow it then, and now, I won’t allow it. I am not scared of any court order. Go back so that no one will get hurt,” the boy yelled and pushed Gunasekaran. He fell backwards. Kannamma jumped out of the car and rushed towards Gunasekaran.
“What are you looking at? Leave now!” the young man shouted.
As the wedding party stood stunt, two police jeeps approached.
“I ask you to disperse peacefully; if you don’t, the police will arrest you,” the inspector announced. The thugs looked at each other and then fled the scene, one by one.
“Thank you, inspector,” Gunasekaran said.
“Actually, you should thank Sakthi Madam. She had asked us to keep an eye on this event,” the inspector said.
Suddenly, Kannamma’s phone rang.
“Yes, yes, the police came on time. We hadn’t thought anyone would make a problem. Anyway, it’s over. Are you coming?” Kannamma asked.
“I was just doing my duty. As I said, I don’t want any attention. You’ve done your part to change the system; now I’ll do mine, but quietly,” Sakthi, the newly appointed district magistrate, said. Kannamma smiled.