A Tale Of Two Sisters


AT first this may look like a twisted tale, a journey into perversity or voyeurism. A vicarious reassurance of personal well being and normalcy. Quasimodo ringed by hundreds of slavering spectators gawking at his deformity. And as many would suggest, a freak phenomenon that is best hidden from public view, swept under the carpet rather than exploited for crass exhibitionism and profit. But in essence this is a story about another human journey. Greed, survival, poverty, pain. But also of love, and the triumph of the human spirit that infuses an eerie normalcy and a vision of a thousand tomorrows into a contorted existence.

It's been like that for 26 years for Ganga-Jamuna described in medical parlance as Siamese twins. In all likelihood, in a country where female infanticide is still practised, this two-he aded, three-legged newborn joined at the waist would probab ly have been discarded by its horrified parents at birt h. Ganga-Ja muna-as their parents named them-share two kidneys, two hearts, one liver, one uterus, a common vaginal passage, and two legs. A third leg is a withered tail-like ap p e n d age. Their public existence has been a series of seemingly unending exhibitions where their unique physiognomy is on display-for a price-at village fairs and festivals. Twenty-six summers ago, when they were born in Keshabpur village in Basirhat, West Bengal, crowd s from places as far away as Farakka and Malda began pouring in to catch a glimpse of this quirk of nature. Their father, Belatali Mondal, was one among the countless wretched of the earth-a landless lab o u r e r. Call it agro tesueirony of fate or a blessing from a perverse god, his fortune turned after the b i rth of his twins. Villagers offerd money in superstitious awe. Encouraged by the donations made during the first two months of their birth, Ganga-Jamuna's uncle, who is also their manager, suggested taking them around for shows. And the show still goes on, holding rural Bengal in thrall. In the beginning they charged 19 paise per individual. Now it's Rs 2. But in places l i ke Gangtok, the tickets could be as costly as Rs 5.

PARADING Siamese twins-described in medical terminology as Detrabrachius Dipus- f o r their curiosity value is nothing unusual. The eponymous ones, Chang and Eng, who were born in a Chinese family in Thailand(Siam)in 1811,went through the same motions in America in the last century. What is unusual though is that they are born at all-the odds in favour are less than one in a million. Rarer still is for them to survive. Reason enough for Ganga-Jamuna to attract so much attention.

Out of the public glare, Ganga-Jamuna are neither the she-devils that some rural folk believe them to be, nor are they the reincarnation of some forgotten goddess. They are as human as the young woman next door. They share acommonsexual urge and, according to members of their troupe, their guardian, Gadadhar, is their lover.Three years ago, they conceived and delivered a baby girl who died a few hours after birth. According to doctors of the R.G. Kar Medical College and Hospital in Calcutta the delivery was possible after an hour-long Caesarean operation.

The doctors discovered that Ganga- Jamuna shared on e uterus and two ovaries. Waist down, they were like any normal woman. The twins can conceive again but their doctors believe this would endanger their lives and suggest sterilisation.

In the public glare. Sitalkuchi, a dusty little town in West Bengal's Cooch behar district is bristling with excitement. The annual fair. a time for merriment. The customary merry go round. The giant ferris wheels. Cheap toys and bindi stalls. Rasgoollas. Posters of film stars. In one corner, a tent advertising the twins as a "wonder of the world". Inside, as men, women and children file around the ringed barricade in silent awe, the twins recline unmindfully on a charpoy at the centre. Dark, rickety and sinuous.

They raise their torso on their four hands and two legs, slither around the cot like a spider weaving a magnificent web. They tire easily waving the spectators on with a contemptuous dismissal.

The villagers are dumbstruck. Those who find expression liken the spectacle to nothing they have seen before, "not even at the Calcutta zoo ", as 10-year-old Bandana says, but with a total lack of malicious judgement.

Ganga-Jamuna are now inured to some of the more vicious uttera n c e s such as "animals" or "devil incarnate". Their attitude ranges from a display of pure elan to earthy cynicism to stoic disdain tinged with a brut ally disarming and philosophical fatalism. "Who bothers as long as the cash box is brimming," quips Ganga. "We were born to be displayed like caged animals," adds Jamuna. Ganga concurs wryly: "Our deformities are our biggest strength."

There is little time for regret for never having been to school or having played like normal children-time when the two miss being normal people. As they hop from one place to another in tarpaulin-covered trucks to add attraction to village fairs, their family is beginning to prosper. At Sitalkuchi, the daily turnout of spectators has been around a thousand, which makes it around Rs 2,000 a day. "If we had not been deformed, we probably would have starved and died by now," says Jamuna.

Their father already owns 40 bighas of land. As the cash keeps pouring in, there are plans for acquiring more. As Iman Ali, Ganga-Jamuna's uncle and their show manager, puts it: "Money has drowned our family's sorrow."

REDUCED to exhibits, each day is drearily similar to the preceding one. Nobody is turned away, and even while Ganga-Jamuna eat their breakfast, people go past them. People watch them till it is night and they go to sleep. The constant in t rusion into their privacy irritates them. But that's only a professional hazard. As Jamuna puts it: "We are public property."

That is also the reason why the two have to field a constant barrage of questions from the public. How were they born this way? Don't they feel uncomfortable? Are they married ? Each query evokes a curt reply, mostly from Ganga. "So what if we are made this way," she retorts. Pay your money, take a look and go away. You have had your money's worth-you don't get to see such a spectacle elsewhere.

The twins handle most questions with ease or with bored, repetitive platitudes. The one that stumps them is: Are you one or two? Jamuna hesitates and answers: "We are two separate beings. Though lodged in the same body, we have two minds after all."

They even have two ration cards. They are registered separately in the voters' list. Still, not everyone is convinced. Only very recently was their plea for opening a joint account turned down by the manager of the bank back home in Basirhat.

Ganga complains: "It's blatantly unfair to club us as one." Despite the similarities, differences abound. Ganga adores Amitabh. Jamuna hates him, her favourite being Akhshay Kumar. Ganga loves fish. Jamuna prefers meat. Ganga enjoys listening to music. Jamuna finds a sound sleep more tempting.

The differences spell trouble. Quarrels are a regular feature. "There are times when I love to hate her," says Jamuna about her twin sister. But the two are forced to patchup. "That's a compulsion. For there is no me without her," explains Ganga. And the two have had to surrender to biological compulsions. There are occasions when Ganga is in a chirpy mood but Jamuna is running a fever. Which means that Ganga is forced to sulk till Jamuna recovers.

But they do have common desires and aspirations. They would like to be married and raise a fami ly. And both have given their hearts to Gadadhar, a member of their troupe who runs errands for them. Gadadhar too is deeply in love. Whom does he love more: Ganga or Jamuna? "I love both equally," vouches Gadadhar. His parents at his native village in Midnapore would be outraged to find Siamese twins as their daughters-in-law. It also is likely to be a social scandal back home. Yet both Gadadhar and the twins are hell-bent on tying the knot.

But they are up against heavy odds. Ganga-Jamuna's uncle and manager is dead set against the marriage. The rest of the troupe-12 of them in all, ranging from cook to gateman to booking clerk-are also opposed. Even Ganga-Jamuna's parents are not willing. There are compelling reasons to oppose the marriage. The fear is that, once married, Ga dadhar woul d take ove r the p urs e strings. The rest of the family would be left high and dry.

THERE are legal obstacles to surmount as well. At all their stopovers in the last six months, the twins have discreetly enquired local marria ge registrars if they would be willing to solemnise their marriage. None has agreed so far: nobody is certain as to whether the marriage would be tantamount to bigamy.

Marriage obviously would have to wait till someone sorts out the technicalities. But that's no deterrent for either Gadadhar or Ganga-Jamuna for weaving dreams. When the show ends every night, they steal some time together in the tent in private, beyond the watchful gaze of the uncle. "We live for those few private moments," admits Ganga.

Daybreak ends their privacy. There aren't many breaks. Not even in the monsoon-for that's the time for the chariot festival fairs in smaller tow ns and there is more money to be made.

They have been in Sitalkuchi for 10 days and they haven't stepped out once. "I wish I could go out and buy some bangles," rues Ganga. "I would have loved to have a ride on the merry go round," whispers Jamuna. But that's not to be since being seen outside would invariably mean a loss of business. "Spectacles don't come free," reminds the uncle. And for extracting the price, the twins have accepted the cage that is their life.

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