The Lotus that never Bloomed

"Have you heard about a relationship that could go terribly wrong?
Have you ever seen a woman who has everything-fame, wealth and beauty- but fails to win her husband's love?
No?
Then you must read my story.
I was born as Kamala Kaul in an orthodox Hindu family. My childhood days were spent at our family mansion in Old Delhi. From a very young age, I was conscious of my beauty. Daddy's friends used to often say that I would bloom into the most beautiful Lotus one day. I basked in the light of all this admiration. After all, Kamala means 'Lotus'.
I had plenty of friends and the best childhood that one could hope for.
But one particular day changed my life forever.
A very famous and highly Westernized Indian man called Motilal Nehru (who was an emerging figure in the Indian National Congress) asked for my hand in marriage to his son- Jawaharlal who was studying in England then. My family gave him their consent immediately.
I was eleven years old then and not many girls are aware of the terms 'matrimony' and 'in-laws' at such a young age. But once I understood their meanings, I found a new reason to live- waiting for my Jawahar...
Almost seven years passed thus.
Finally, in the year 1916, my wedding-day arrived. My long wait was over, for my Jawahar had returned from England. The Nehrus were extremely wealthy and Motilalji adorned me with huge chains of gold. My Jawahar rode to our family mansion on a white horse. He was much more handsome than the Jawahar of my dreams. We exchanged vows just after midnight. My sister-in-law described me as "one of the most beautiful women" she had ever seen. My joy knew no bounds.
But soon, I realized that my Jawahar did not share this happiness of mine. He maintained a gloomy expression all through the marriage proceedings. My first assumption was that he was shy. But later, I was proved wrong. When I heard the raw truth, my heart shattered into a million pieces.
After our marriage, my husband left me under the care of my in-laws and set off on a dangerous expedition to the Zojila Pass where he boasted of a narrow escape from death itself. Later, he plunged into Indian Politics and had absolutely no time for me. He was always cold and distant and seldom spoke to me. I soon learnt (mainly from the maids at the Nehru household) that he had married me against his will, under the compulsion of his father. He had, in fact, told Motilalji that he could never "fall in love with a photograph" and that the entire concept of an arranged marriage was "unromantic". He wanted his wife to be brave, smart and modern like the many English women whom he had met during his stay at England.
From then onwards, I began to have horrible thoughts. Every time I saw him speak to a female colleague, I would wonder 'Whether he loved her more than me' and worse still 'Whether he loved me at all!' The birth of a daughter- Indira Priyadarshini did not change his attitude towards me. I soon began to suffer from terrible headaches and that awful illness called tuberculosis. My condition only changed from bad to worse when my premature baby boy died just two days after his birth. I tried to draw from my husband's family a consolation of some sort (I had long since discarded any attempt to win my husband's love and sympathy) but they looked down upon me as 'ignorance personified' since I was barely educated. It pained me to hear them call Indira 'an ugly child'. And the irony of the situation was that my husband and I were hailed by our fellow-Indians as the 'Adarsha Jodi' - 'Ideal Couple'.
What my husband never understood was that I had modern interests too- I was passionate about women's rights and I urged my Muslim friends to educate the women in their family and to remove the purdah system.
Despite the problems pertaining to my health, I held demonstrations at Allahabad in favour of Emancipation Of Women. I also courted arrest twice and gradually (though my husband never realized it) I transformed into a spirited and politically active woman.
But this new-found solace did not last long. I soon fell ill and Jawahar (who was at that time serving a prison sentence for speaking out against the British regime) was allowed to visit me on one condition: that he should stay away from Indian Politics.
This condition angered me for I did not want to be a hindrance to my husband's freedom struggle. Though I was barely conscious when he arrived, I managed to whisper in his ear, "What is this about you giving an assurance to the Government? Do not give it!"
After this incident, Jawahar would read out to me pieces of his favourite poems and would also try to spend as much time as possible at my bed-side. Whether this sudden change in his behaviour towards me was an act of love or sympathy, I did not know and may never know..."

Soon after this, Kamala's condition became serious and she was taken to a clinic in Germany. Jawaharlal was released from prison on compassionate grounds but soon he had to mourn the death of his wife - Kamala.
Sadly, Kamala never knew that on the day when she had bravely persuaded her husband to pursue his jail sentence, Jawaharlal had realized the fact that his wife was naturally endowed with the qualities that he had tried to find in other women.
But it was too late.
He had lost an opportunity to love and respect his highly gifted wife and finally, the least that he could do was to dedicate his autobiography : "To Kamala, who is no more."


Note to the Reader: I have sketched the life of Kamala Nehru in the form of an autobiography only to make the article an interesting read. As to whether Kamala penned down her thoughts, I have no idea. But all the facts expressed above are accurate and true to the best of my knowledge.