The sun had just begun to drift between the distant mountain peaks by the time Priya had finished her daily chores. Today, out of all days, had been an especially late start. She had woken up late, missing the morning call of the rooster, and had somehow managed to sneak past Mamae, darting out the door for a day full of playing and exploring in the nearby woods.
Priya smiled to herself, thinking about her time in her secret place; a hidden alcove that she could reach only by following a small game trail, carved through a thicket by a fox, that led to the quiet, babbling spring that provided drinking water to her village. When things were quiet or too busy, Priya would escape there to sit and listen; listen not so much to the sound of the water, while that was an anchor. No, she would listen deeper to the whispering inside her; the voice that was beyond her own. The voice that was everything and nothing all at once.
It was her special place; a secret spot that was hers and hers alone. Anytime she would feel tired or overwhelmed by the noise of the village, she would retreat there, sitting in silence, watching the water ripple around the smooth stones that lay at the bottom of the spring. As tempting as it was to dip her toes into the cold water, she never did. There was something sacred about that spot and the stillness it allowed her to find in herself; a sacredness that she didn’t want to profane with her dirty feet.
But chores were chores after all and they were still waiting for her when she came back to the village long after the sun had reached its peak in the sky. It wasn’t that she was trying to avoid her chores. Priya knew that she had to do them at some point and knew that Mamae and Papai wouldn’t mind today if her chores got done a little bit later.
She fed the animals first: fresh grain for the horses, hay for the goats. The cows were already chewing on a patch of grass by the house, so she let them be. Priya began to clean the barnyard, shaking hay over fresh droppings before raking and scooping them up. The other girls in the village would always moan and cry over these chores, but Priya didn’t. There was a simplicity in these motions that she enjoyed regardless of the smells. These creatures, these barnyard animals, were her friends and her family’s helpers. The horse pulled the plow during the season of planting. The cows and goats provided milk, which then became cream, butter, or cheese. And sometimes, when one of the cows or goats became too old, it became an offering of meat for the long, cold winters. Small as her actions to clean and feed may be, this was, in part, her way of saying thank you to these creatures.
Priya stood up stretching, arching her back, and let out a satisfied sigh as her back crackled and her joints loosened. She shook the dirt from the day from her linens and ran her fingers through her hair, removing the errant pieces of hay that always managed to find their way into her brown curls.
The sky during this evening was especially beautiful. As the sun dipped below the mountain peaks, the rays lit up the clouds in an array of dark blues, purples, pinks and violets. It was lovely. No, more than that, it was perfect; a perfect way to end the day. Her day. Her very special day.
Smiling, Priya bent her head, holding her left hand open and held at her waist to receive, while her right hand was held upright, facing outwards in blessing. “Thank you, Eusou,” she whispered in prayer. “Thank you for today and for the Sun and the beauty I see before me. Thank you, Eusou. Be there with me through my trials this night.”
“Priya!”
Beyond the freshly cleaned pen, Priya could hear Mamae calling. The sun was setting and it was time. Priya glanced at the sky once more, seeing the sign of The Mother beginning to shine in the twilight sky. She hovered above the village, twinkling, watching, guiding, and aiding.
“Be with me tonight, Mother,” Priya prayed.
Brushing her hands on her linens, Priya waved farewell to the horse who responded with a low, fluttering blow through its nostrils. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, closing the gate behind her.
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The walk to her house was short; a quick turn from the barnyard and she was there on the doorstep. She lifted one foot after the other, brushing dirt from them. Lifting the handle that barred the door, a lever that was mirrored on the inside, she stepped inside.
A low fire burned in the hearth. Priya sighed at the immediate feeling of warmth. Mamae had already lit several candles for the evening, the wax from previous burnings forming a chaotic cascading mound that cast shadows on the table that danced with the flickering flames.
“There you are,” Mamae said, coming to Priya. Her hands ran over Priya’s linens, gently traced her face, pausing as they plucked a piece of hay Priya had missed out of her hair. Mamae was already dressed for the night, in a white, simple shift. Her hair was braided down her back. “Are you ready, beloved?”
Priya nodded.
“Good,” Mamae said, smiling. “Now, come. We must hurry.”
Their house wasn’t large, but it wasn’t small either, at least in comparison to the other structures in the village. It was the perfect size for Mamae, Papai, and Priya. It was one big room with a table for preparing and eating food and places to sit around the fire when the nights got cold. In the northern corner of the house lay a mound of hay and blankets where Mamae and Papai slept. A blanket hung from the rafters as a curtain providing them a modicum of privacy. The same was setup in the opposite corner for Priya, albeit with a smaller bed.
Mamae drew back the blanket and led Priya into her own sleeping space. A bowl of water from the spring sat on the floor. Mamae knelt before it and Priya did the same. Dipping a small cloth into water, Mamae wet it through, and began to gently trace it over Priya’s face and neck. Each time the cloth returned to the water, the spring water became murkier and murkier, but Mamae didn’t stop until Priya’s arms, hands, each finger, foot and toe were clean. Or as clean as they could be.
Pulling Priya’s bedcover aside, Mamae pulled out a white shift, very much like her own that had been hidden. Priya smiled, shimmying out of her dirty linens, shivering slightly as the cool air pimpled her skin. Mamae held the shift out for Priya to slide into–first one arm, then the other, followed by her head, the two smiling as their eyes met. Mamae guided the shift down Priya’s body, covering her nakedness. Priya smiled, running her hands down the shift, letting her hips twist slightly causing the bottom of the shift to bounce side to side.
“Thank you, Mamae,” Priya whispered.
“Mamae is the name you gave me when you were a child. After tonight you are a child no longer. You are to call me the name the other women in the village call me, Priya.”
“Yes, Anissa,” Priya replied, stuttered slightly over the unfamiliar name on her lips.
Anissa smiled. “Even though you are a woman, you are still my daughter. Do not forget that.”
“I won’t,” Priya said, wrapping her arms around her mother’s waist.
Beyond the curtain, Priya heard the creak of the wooden door as it opened. “Papai?” she called.
“Yes, little one, it is I,” returned the voice of her father.
She pulled back the bedsheet curtain. “I am no longer a little one, Papai.”
Her father smiled, his eyes twinkling. “You will always be my little one, Priya, until you have a little one of your own to take on the name.” His eyes shifted to Anissa, his smile widening slightly as he caught her eye, then back to Priya, taking the whole of her in. “You look beautiful, Priya.”
“Thank you, Papai.” Her mother nudged her with her elbow and Priya corrected herself. “Sorry. Aaron.”
“Ah, Priya,” her father sighed. “I will miss you calling me Papai after tonight. Perhaps you could call me that here, inside our home? Our little secret?”
“Aaron,” Anissa scolded. “That is not why we have these traditions. We can’t bend them to our own likings.”
“Aye,” Aaron said. “Your mother is right. But perhaps one day I’ll be Papai once again.”
“Hush,” Anissa tsked. “Priya is only just entering into womanhood. There will be no talk of grandchildren or of husbands or of any of those things. There are still many things for Priya to learn and grow into. There is a time for all of that, but it is not now, and it will not come for some time.”
“I know, I know. Forgive your silly father, girl.”
Priya ran the few feet that separated them and wrapped her arms around her father’s midsection squeezing him tight. “Nothing to forgive, Aaron,” she said. Then whispered almost silently, “I love you, Papai.”
Aaron squeezed her back.