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| Mani Jyothi, as painted by June Steckler |
Eyes carefully lined in black, tiny red bindi meticulously painted on her forehead, checkered blue shirt neatly tucked into a worn blue skirt, Mani Jyothi is prepared for the day. Her younger brother and sister follow closely behind her, but she warns them not to walk along the ditch. At the ages of 6 and 5, they are not as sure-footed as she is. The caravan of children all have the same smooth caramel-colored skin, the same dark, almond eyes. The small ones follow their confident sister as she leads them on the road to the village school. They pass piles of trash, wandering buffalo, scavenging dogs, naked toddlers, and a few closet-sized shops to reach their destination.
School is the best part of Mani Jyothi's day. Now that she has been here for over a year, she has gotten past the difficulty of adjustment and become one of the best students. "Maths" is her favorite subject, followed by English. At the weekly moral classes, Mani Jyothi always volunteers to perform in some way. She will recite a poem, sing a song, dance.... anything to be in the spotlight; anything to amuse her classmates and teachers; anything to feel beautiful and special. Mani Jyothi strives to please her teachers and succeeds. She is naturally smart and catches on quickly in all her classes. She excels and drinks in every word that the teachers say.
It's a good thing, too, because she does not have the luxury of study time at home.
When the day of classes is over, Mani Jyothi corrals her rowdy brother and gently persuades her baby sister to follow her back along the ditch-lined roads to their hut at the other end of the village, in the neighborhood designated for their caste--a class of people whose occupation has always been sorcery. The walk back is not as joyous as their morning jaunt. She knows what awaits her at the end.
Arriving at the doorway of the small hut, made of clay and roofed with palm leaves, Mani Jyothi pushes aside the curtain and steps inside, carefully laying her bag of books in the corner of the tiny dirt-floored room. Her father, a thin, wiry man with a mustache and the same toffee-colored skin of the children, reclines on a thin mat on one side of the single-room hut. His snores--and the sickly-sweet scent of alcohol--tell Mani Jyothi that he has been drinking heavily today.
The slight girl quietly goes about her duties, sweeping the hut and the ground outside with a bundle of sticks that passes for a broom, keeping track of the little ones as she goes. She carries water from the well, chops vegetables, and gently rouses her father as the curry simmers over an open flame. She doesn't want her mother to know that father has been sleeping all day. Their loud fighting tears at her heart and keeps her little siblings awake at night. It's better to do the extra work and avoid trouble.
Mother comes home from a day of work. As part of the sorcery caste, Mani Jyothi's family casts spells for a living. They travel door to door, selling charms and potions that promise to heal people, bring wealth, banish evil spirits. They are mystics with a flair for trickery... her mother is especially hypnotic, with a steady stare and empty eyes. In spite of her talent for spell casting, the family is remarkably poor.
"What are you doing with those books?" Mother berates Mani Jyothi as the girl sneaks a peek at her Telugu homework, trying to get some done on the sly. Her grades suffer a bit, in spite of her brightness, because she rarely completes homework.
"Just learning my Telugu by heart, Amma," Mani Jyothi replies meekly.
Her father chimes in gruffly, "You don't need that garbage. You should be learning charms and selling them with your mother. I don't see why we send you to that foolish school anyway. Girls don't need to read books."
Mother sits, silent and sullen, staring into the flame of the cooking fire. She knows the reason they send Mani Jyothi and her siblings to the small school. They can't afford to feed their children. They can't afford to educate them. And the school is free. The children receive a daily meal there. The allure of food was too strong to pass over, in spite of her husband's reluctance for girls to be educated. Mani Jyothi couldn't be of much help selling potions anyway. Though she could be of more help around the house, Amma reflects hazily, slowly rousing herself from a drug-induced stupor. Part of sorcery is opening the mind to the other world through medicinal agents. And Amma's mind is always open.
At night, as Mani Jyothi curls up on the dirt floor next to her sister to sleep, she closes her eyes tightly and whispers a prayer to the Jesus she's learned about at school. The Jesus who has promised to be her best friend. The Jesus who loves her. She hides her prayers under cover of darkness, only daring to talk to her friend when no one else is watching or listening. When she first learned of Jesus, she came home and told her mother all about Him, about how He promised to care for her and love her, about how He was always there, about how He wanted only good for her unlike the harsh gods she grew up worshiping. Mother had yelled, had slapped her daughter across the face with her open palm, had warned her to not speak to her father about this Christian god.
So Mani Jyothi prays only in bed or at school. She whispered to her teacher one day after class, "Jesus is my best friend." Her voice was soft and her eyes were full of joy. But her face fell into sorrow as she asked, "Please pray for my family."
This girl is far from conventional in the context of her family, and she travels farther and farther down the path of unconventionality as she grows in her abilities and her beliefs. Her confidence blossoms. She sees beyond the trap of ignorance and bondage to the possibilities opened before her by education.
Mani Jyothi hides her faith from her parents like she hides her homework. But she cannot hide her smile. Even in her moments of sorrow, her eyes betray a deep, powerful hope.
It's a good thing, too, because she does not have the luxury of study time at home.
When the day of classes is over, Mani Jyothi corrals her rowdy brother and gently persuades her baby sister to follow her back along the ditch-lined roads to their hut at the other end of the village, in the neighborhood designated for their caste--a class of people whose occupation has always been sorcery. The walk back is not as joyous as their morning jaunt. She knows what awaits her at the end.
Arriving at the doorway of the small hut, made of clay and roofed with palm leaves, Mani Jyothi pushes aside the curtain and steps inside, carefully laying her bag of books in the corner of the tiny dirt-floored room. Her father, a thin, wiry man with a mustache and the same toffee-colored skin of the children, reclines on a thin mat on one side of the single-room hut. His snores--and the sickly-sweet scent of alcohol--tell Mani Jyothi that he has been drinking heavily today.
The slight girl quietly goes about her duties, sweeping the hut and the ground outside with a bundle of sticks that passes for a broom, keeping track of the little ones as she goes. She carries water from the well, chops vegetables, and gently rouses her father as the curry simmers over an open flame. She doesn't want her mother to know that father has been sleeping all day. Their loud fighting tears at her heart and keeps her little siblings awake at night. It's better to do the extra work and avoid trouble.
Mother comes home from a day of work. As part of the sorcery caste, Mani Jyothi's family casts spells for a living. They travel door to door, selling charms and potions that promise to heal people, bring wealth, banish evil spirits. They are mystics with a flair for trickery... her mother is especially hypnotic, with a steady stare and empty eyes. In spite of her talent for spell casting, the family is remarkably poor.
"What are you doing with those books?" Mother berates Mani Jyothi as the girl sneaks a peek at her Telugu homework, trying to get some done on the sly. Her grades suffer a bit, in spite of her brightness, because she rarely completes homework.
"Just learning my Telugu by heart, Amma," Mani Jyothi replies meekly.
Her father chimes in gruffly, "You don't need that garbage. You should be learning charms and selling them with your mother. I don't see why we send you to that foolish school anyway. Girls don't need to read books."
Mother sits, silent and sullen, staring into the flame of the cooking fire. She knows the reason they send Mani Jyothi and her siblings to the small school. They can't afford to feed their children. They can't afford to educate them. And the school is free. The children receive a daily meal there. The allure of food was too strong to pass over, in spite of her husband's reluctance for girls to be educated. Mani Jyothi couldn't be of much help selling potions anyway. Though she could be of more help around the house, Amma reflects hazily, slowly rousing herself from a drug-induced stupor. Part of sorcery is opening the mind to the other world through medicinal agents. And Amma's mind is always open.
At night, as Mani Jyothi curls up on the dirt floor next to her sister to sleep, she closes her eyes tightly and whispers a prayer to the Jesus she's learned about at school. The Jesus who has promised to be her best friend. The Jesus who loves her. She hides her prayers under cover of darkness, only daring to talk to her friend when no one else is watching or listening. When she first learned of Jesus, she came home and told her mother all about Him, about how He promised to care for her and love her, about how He was always there, about how He wanted only good for her unlike the harsh gods she grew up worshiping. Mother had yelled, had slapped her daughter across the face with her open palm, had warned her to not speak to her father about this Christian god.
So Mani Jyothi prays only in bed or at school. She whispered to her teacher one day after class, "Jesus is my best friend." Her voice was soft and her eyes were full of joy. But her face fell into sorrow as she asked, "Please pray for my family."
This girl is far from conventional in the context of her family, and she travels farther and farther down the path of unconventionality as she grows in her abilities and her beliefs. Her confidence blossoms. She sees beyond the trap of ignorance and bondage to the possibilities opened before her by education.
Mani Jyothi hides her faith from her parents like she hides her homework. But she cannot hide her smile. Even in her moments of sorrow, her eyes betray a deep, powerful hope.
For more information about June's sweet painting of Mani Jyothi, please visit her website at junesteckler.com.
(Mani Jyothi is a student at New Hope school. The spirit of this story is true to Mani Jyothi's experiences, though some of the details have been imagined.)
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