Malinda Words: The Mangala Sabhava

There have always been, it seems to me, proposed marriages and love marriages. Formal ceremonies are common to both. The ‘Mangala Sabhava’ is associated with formal ceremonies. ‘Wedding Council,’ doesn’t do justice to the term. The relatives, friends and all guests in fact gather around the newlyweds, there’s a master of ceremonies and speeches, at least one from each party. A closing ceremony, one could say.

It’s got more elaborate now, at least in the case of grand weddings and even hotels that aren’t really grand but grand enough for the particular families. There are video clips made from photographs and footage of the bride and groom which the guests are invited to watch.

Pre-shoots too and that’s a term that didn’t exist a couple of decades ago. It sounds vulgar and some pre-shoots are woefully lacking in good taste, but what of that if the couple and their families are ok with it, I tell myself. These modern mangala sabha also have speeches. Toasts. The newly weds sometimes say a few words. Their friends talk about their single-days. All good, all good.

The good old Mangala Sabhava, if you can call it that, was a simple affair. Essentially some introductory remarks by whoever conducts the sabhava, followed by speeches, where the virtues of the bride and the groom are detailed along with the proud history of each family. More or less.

There are two such occasions which are unforgettable. The first because it was funny and the second because it was profound on many counts.

The first. I was invited for a reason: ‘if things go wrong, you have to rescue me.’ The groom, a fellow journalist and friend, didn’t think his in-laws to be were impressed with him. The groom’s party consisted of his parents, university roommate and two other journalists, one a photographer and the other invited because our friend needed a witness. The would-be witness chickened out at the last minute and I, designated rescuer, rose to the occasion.

Things had gone well. Anticipated whispering had not occurred. Time to leave, I thought. No, said my friend. ‘You have to represent our party at the Mangala Sabhava,’ he said. Signing as a witness is easy. Making speeches? No! And there I was, trapped in someone else’s wedding.

The bride’s aunt, a teacher, was the first to go. A long speech. Full of advice for a couple considered wayward by the bride’s family. It was all intended to rein in the naughty young people.

My turn. There was nothing to say. So I blurted out the following: ‘At important occasions such as this, there are many important things to say. The lady who spoke just now said it all. She said it all so beautifully and so succinctly that I have nothing to add except to wish the bride and groom all the best in their wedded life.’

Passed. According to ‘our party.’ Our friends still laugh about that day and that moment.

The second. Happened many years before the first. In Gampola. My friend’s sister was the bride. When proceedings began, I realised that there was no one who had been assigned the task of speaking for the family. Inquiries revealed that there was no one willing to do the honours either.

The representative of the groom’s party went first. According to him, the young man was the best son any parent could have. He was the best brother, best friend, best employee and best citizen. That too was a long speech.

Our turn came. Glances were exchanged. Embarrassment rose. And then it happened. The bride’s father, a retired employee of the Railway Department and a music teacher, wearing a national dress, stepped forward.

‘The symbol of innocence, the epitome of innocence is the animal called the rabbit. More innocent than the rabbit is this daughter of mine.’

That’s it. Done. To this day, I consider it the most appropriate and beautiful speech I’ve heard at a Mangala Sabhava.

I don’t know what kind of weddings my daughters have planned for themselves. I don’t know if there will be a Mangala Sabhava of any kind. I don’t know if I will be alive and if alive, I feel that would be the day I die. I don’t know if I would be called upon to speak.

I know that I cannot do better than my friend's father. I can’t even come close. In fact, I think I would be lost for words. And that, perhaps, would be the most eloquent speech that I’ve ever made.

['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is a new series. Links to previous articles in this new series are given below]

28 March 2023

The Mangala Sabhava

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