The Severed Threads of the Mangalsutra

“Marriages are made in heaven”—I do not believe it. With all my heart, I believe in every institution outside the confines of marriage. Made for each other—that seems far more relevant. Yet this cherished maxim, through constant overuse, has become so burdened with vulgar suggestion that even Plato’s imagined lovers might sink into despair. The irony of modern society lies here: old sayings survive intact—with commas, semicolons, and full stops—yet their meanings shift and curdle with time. The phrase Made for each other has borne witness to such a transformation, and those who have lived its bitter philosophy know the truth better than anyone.
 
Let us first glimpse this idea through the eyes of a man. A successful man desires a beautiful woman. If he is greatly successful, he will want the woman to possess a little learning, a touch of intellect to go with her looks. The proportion is simple arithmetic: if the man holds a master’s degree, the woman must at least be a graduate; if he is a graduate, the woman should have passed her higher secondary. And of course, the father-in-law’s wealth must be considered. Yet above all—does the girl’s father have another earning son? For then, after marriage, the newlyweds will not have to bear the weight of in-laws.
 
Now from the family of the girl, let us see. Their first requirement: the groom must be earning. A well-established businessman takes the first place. Next, an executive in the corporate sector. If not that, at least a government officer or a school teacher. If the young man is a mere clerk in some small private company, he may still qualify—but only if his father is wealthy, if the family owns a three-storied house or a spacious flat in Calcutta. And if the groom is a doctor or engineer, if his income is robust, then age ceases to matter; his looks, too—fat or thin, fair or dark, tall or short—become irrelevant. Directly—madhuren samapayet! A happy ending.
 
Thus “made for each other” is calculated through countless such equations. The dowry system may have withered in so-called civilized society, but the obsession with pomp and spectacle at weddings has swollen to grotesque heights. And if one steps into the courtyard of such an arranged marriage, one sees corruption seep through its very pores.
 
Recently, I had such an experience myself. At a relative’s daughter’s wedding I observed the rituals closely. At first there was the familiar gaiety of a Bengali marriage house. But later I realized—beneath the sheen of silk and flowers, greater business was transacted than in a Marwari godown of Burrabazar. The day passed in mirth; I ate my fill at the wedding feast. But on returning home, guilt gnawed at me. I felt complicit in a conspiracy, in an injustice, in a sin. As an ordinary moral being, I should have raised protest; instead, I lent silent support by partaking of the banquet.
 
Here was a so-called “civilized, educated” family—both the bride’s and the groom’s—showing, at every step, that marriage is nothing but a nakedly transacted business. The girl’s father, a goldsmith, approved the match because the groom’s father owned a flourishing hardware store, a marble-floored house, and other trappings of wealth. The groom himself was forty years old, working in a private firm in some high position—though no proof of this was shown. A round, fleshy man, with a sly, calculating look, who, beyond money and drink, seemed to know nothing of the world. The bride’s father too was wealthy, a man of taste like his would-be samdhi. They seemed drinking partners already.
 
And the bride? She was seventeen. Young, beautiful, twice failed her secondary exam. In that household, education had little place, for they were newly risen to affluence. The groom’s father had only two conditions: the girl must be beautiful, and she must be poorly educated. A young, lovely bride—that every man desires. But that a father should give his daughter, still almost a child, to a man twice her age! This might not surprise in itself, yet what astonished me was the deliberate desire for an undereducated bride. Was this caution against the tide of women’s emancipation? Was it fear of a strong, independent daughter-in-law who might dominate? They wanted beauty, but beauty chained to the hearth and bed. Too much education, they feared, would pull her gaze outward.
 
What cunning, what collective deceit hides beneath the polished surface of arranged marriages! None outside can suspect the craft with which they are negotiated. The young girl herself, innocent of life, perhaps understood nothing of these machinations, yet gave her silent consent. Surely there was a reason—why her family had rejected ten other proposals earlier. But what reason can justify the sale of her youth?
 
I felt a deep sorrow for that girl, a cousin. Despite her father’s wealth, she was denied higher education, denied the chance to understand why knowledge is power. She was denied the ability to choose her own partner.
 
The matrimonial advertisements in newspapers tell the same story: gone are the days of “what is mine is thine, what is thine is mine.” Instead, marriage has become a fortress built of economics and expedience, severing the tender bond of hearts. And so, in this city, we see the rise of bride-torture, divorce, adultery, domestic crimes. Dark-skinned women toil at jobs for years, unable to find a groom. Jobless young men grow old without marriage. Some men fear the very thought of an arranged match, for to them marriage is but a legalized transaction. Many who fall in love find themselves trapped, for to sanctify love before society, one must pass through the same mercantile institution. A few defy this—registering marriages quietly at home or temple, bypassing the market of matrimony. But they are few.
 
Others withdraw into shells. Some live together without marrying; some choose lifelong singleness. A doctor friend told me that in her hospital, nearly thirty percent of the women under thirty are unmarried or divorced. I know a wealthy man who never married, fearing that no woman would love him for himself—only for his money, or as the fulfillment of her parents’ ambitions.
 
For women the burden is harsher. After a certain age, social pressures force them to seek “shore.” And when they do, they often end up with whatever man fate throws their way. Some who have loved and lost, or suffered divorce, accept arranged marriage as a kind of ritual cleansing—a way to exit sin.
 
But what does this leave us with? A male-female bond reduced to mere economics. Across the world, the rate of happy marriages declines, divorces rise, unhappy unions multiply. Of course, unhappiness is not only due to money. Dostoevsky once wrote: “There is no truly happy couple in the world.” Freud explained why—man was once an animal, polygamous by nature. Civilization imposed monogamy by law, and thus unhappiness seeped into marriage, a rebellion of instinct against morality.
 
Yet sometimes arranged marriages, chosen with careful arithmetic, appear outwardly smooth. And perhaps that is enough. For what is happiness but a matter of adjustment, of comfort disguised with wealth and convenience? Happiness is a relative illusion. What remains undeniable is this: money is the final arbiter. Money is next to none.
 
And so, men increasingly trust men, women increasingly turn to women. Male-male and female-female unions grow more common. Perhaps man and woman, in their ancient pairing, no longer fit as before. Some primal discord creeps into the eternal bond.
 
Standing on the busy streets of Calcutta, I watch men and women walk together in countless combinations. My heart longs to peer into their lives. Were all these relationships mere equations of arithmetic? Do men still win women with wealth and status, while women ensnare men with beauty—like the tale in Tolstoy’s Kreutzer Sonata? Has intellect, morality, love truly no place?
 
Though I cannot accept it, I know: when material gain enters the equation, guilt rises in the heart of a simple soul like mine.
 
One could almost accept arranged marriage as pure economics, if only the human heart did not protest. But the heart demands a place. Once we believed marriage gave us that shelter. Yet when that primordial purpose—yaditam hridayam mama, taditam hridayam tava (“what is mine is thine”)—is shattered, then we must hold the institution accountable. What is the worth of marriage if one cannot find the companion of one’s soul? Better then to be a free bird, soaring alone. At least there is peace in solitude unshackled by false bonds.