The Moghul

Unlike the Moghuls and the other Muslims, who have no caste and never know their purpose in life, a Rajput always knows."
    As they rode on through the countryside Hawksworth tried to understand the purpose of castes. Its absurdity annoyed him.
    Mukarrab khan was right for once. It's just a class system, devised by the highborn to keep the others in submission. But why do they all seem to believe in it? Why don't the so-called lower castes just tell the others to go to hell?
    As they neared the next village, he decided to try to guess who was in which caste. But the central road in the village was deserted. Instead all the villagers, men and women, were clustered around a tall, brightly painted pole that had been erected near one of the dingy thatch homes. Vasant Rao's face brightened when he saw the pole.
    "There must be a wedding here today. Have you ever seen one?"
    "No. Not in India."
    "This is a powerful moment, Captain, when you feel the force of prahna , the life spirit."
    Vasant Rao pointed toward a pavilion that had been erected next to the marriage pole. From horseback Hawksworth could just make out the bride and groom, both dressed in red wraps trimmed in silver. The groom wore a high turban, on top of which were ceremonial decorations, and the bride was so encrusted with precious metals she might have been a life-size ornament: her hands, wrists, feet, ankles, and her head were all adorned with elaborately worked silver rings, bracelets, medallions. Her necklace was a string of large gold coins.
    "Where'd she get all the silver and gold?"
    "Her father is probably a big landowner. Those ornaments are her savings and part of her dowry. Look, all the women wear thick bracelets of silver on their ankles. There's much gold and silver in India, Captain."
    As Hawksworth watched, a Brahmin priest, his forehead streaked with white clay, finished lighting a fire in a central brazier and then began to recite.
    "The priest is reciting from the Vedas, Sanskrit scriptures thousands of years old," Vasant Rao continued as they watched. "This is a ritual going back to the dawn of time."
    The couple began repeating the priest's verses, their faces intent and solemn.
    "They're taking the marriage vows now. There are seven. The most important is the wife's vow of complete obedience to her husband. See the silver knife he carries? That's to symbolize his dominion over her. But really, she will belong to his entire family when she finally comes to live at his house."
    "What do you mean by 'finally'?"
    "These things take time. To begin with, a marriage proposal must come from the family of the girl. As she approaches womenhood, her father will hire a marriage broker, probably the village barber, to go to surrounding villages to look for a suitable match. I remember when I was young and they used to come to my village." Vasant Rao's face assumed a faraway expression. "I didn't want to marry and I dreaded seeing them, but unfortunately I was a good catch. My subcaste is high, and I had many sisters, which meant more women to share the work in our house. Then one day my father ordered the priest to cast my horoscope and I knew I was lost. A broker had brought an inquiry from a girl who had a compatible horoscope. Soon after, the engagement ceremony was held in our house. The girl was not there, of course; I didn't see her until three years later. When we finally had the ceremony you see here."
    The bride and groom were standing together now, and they began to circle the fire while the women standing nearby sang a monotonous, repetitive song. Hawksworth counted seven turns of the fire. Then they seated themselves and the priest placed a red dot on the forehead of man and wife.
    "They'll feast tonight, and then the groom will return to his village." Vasant Rao spurred his mount to catch up with the caravan. "Later she and her family will go there for more ceremonies. After that the groom may not see her again for several years, until the day her father decides she's ready for the gauna , the consummation of the marriage. I didn't see my bride again for two years."
    "What happened then?"
    "She came to my village for a few days and stayed in the women's quarters—the men and women sleep apart in these villages—and I had to go there and try to find her cot. After that she went back home and it was several months later before I saw her again. Then she came back, for a longer time. Finally she moved to my village, but by then I was