by Venkat Iyer
It took me a week and a lot of discussions with the other villagers to realize what the game was. It was Moru Dada who had instructed Baban to ensure that I used the tractor in my field for the monsoon season. I learnt that Moru Dada had helped Baban financially a few years ago and he was indebted to him. Moru Dada was the only one who had a tractor in the village. He used to make a neat packet every time he rented out his tractor. There were not many around who had the resources to hire a tractor and he was keen that I hire it from him.
I knew that I had to break out of his grip at the earliest or I would be bankrupt pretty soon and heading back to the city. I went to the village alone one evening and visited each house asking for bulls and a plough on hire. It was not long before I had found Jairam Kaka who agreed to do the work for me. I learnt that Jairam Kaka had three marriageable daughters and was always looking for work. Renting out the bulls and the plough to me meant a lot of money for him. I fixed the rates with him and he promised to turn up the next morning. I decided to be frank with him and told him about Moru’s interest in this activity. Jairam Kaka was clear and firm when he replied, ‘I do not work for Moru nor do I have anything to do with him. I shall be there tomorrow morning.’
The next morning Baban was shocked when he saw Jairam Kaka with the plough and the bulls ready to till the land. I took this opportunity to explain to Baban that I did not have much money and this was the only way I wished to till the land. He realized his game was up and confessed that he had been told by Moru Dada not to engage any help from the village but to convince me to hire his tractor.
I knew that this development would not be well received by Moru Dada and so I called Raajen the next day and asked for his help in convincing Moru Dada that I did not need his assistance at the farm. The call did the trick and since that day Moru Dada never interfered with my farm activities. We never spoke of the incident and were still very cordial to each other. If I needed any advice I still went to his house and he was more than helpful. Only this time around it was information that he gave me and we had no financial transactions together.
Village Community
The village is a huge community. Everyone is related in some way or the other. A single death in the village and almost half the men in the village would have shaved off their hair. Every family tilled their own land and only a few in the village could afford to hire outside help. Other than agricultural activity, the other major events were weddings and religious festivals. Both were celebrated with pomp and splendour and everyone was part of the celebrations.
Since I stayed in the village, I was invited to these weddings too. I usually attended them and though they were initially very different from city functions, over the years, buffet dinners, event managers and DJs have brought them up to scratch. The women of the village cooked the food at the weddings and the village boys usually did the serving themselves. I too took part in the serving of the food at the weddings.
I could not help but compare this with living in our flat in Goregaon where we hardly met our neighbours and sometimes did not meet or speak with them for months together. We were all so busy with our jobs that we had no time to meet except during the usual bimonthly society meetings where it was more of a slanging match.
The village community brought back memories of my childhood in the railway colony where we all lived together as one family. Every festival in the Hindu calendar is celebrated with gusto at the village. For Janmashtami, little pots of milk and curd or dahi handi are strung up at varying heights for human pyramids to break just like Lord Krishna is supposed to have done in his childhood. The money attached to one such dahi handi is a princely sum of Rs 165, a far cry from the lakhs at stake in Mumbai. Gangs of boys or men form a circle under the handi. They sing a few traditional bhajans and songs, which warn everyone that they are going to break the handi and steal the curd from it. At this point the women of the village gather around and throw large quantities of water in a bid to discourage them.
The teams don’t give up and form small human pyramids with the youngest person climbing right to the top. He then proceeds to break the pot and take the loot from inside. The pots are filled with milk, curd and a lot of fruits. As the loot falls down all the children rush to gather the fruits and the money that has spilled down while the pyramid collapses in a huge tumble. The first time I saw this, I was pleasantly surprised at the simple and orderly manner in which they had enacted the legend of Lord Krishna. It was so unlike in the city where we had blaring film music and shoving and pushing as people tried to break the handi.
Diwali is extremely quiet compared to the noisy and polluting one at Mumbai. There is no money out here for them to burn. Each family made sweets and distributed them to the guests. Again, I was reminded of the Diwali we had at the railway colony with tons of sweets and fun.
Navaratri is one occasion where the women and the men dance together. I go for these evening dances but usually return home early as in the night drinks flow like water and most guys get pretty drunk. Not that they did any harm but they would all cosy up to me and give great advice about the farm and make rash promises of help.
The Ganapati festival is like a trip down memory lane. The idol is not made from clay but bought from the nearby shop. This reminded me of the lovely idol my mother used to make of clay and the gala time we had immersing it.
Over time, I have built a good rapport with the children in the village and encourage their cricket tournaments and even accompany them to matches. Every village has a tournament and these limited-overs matches are played over two days between teams of eight players each. Our village too organizes a tournament for which we sponsored the first prize one year. It was extremely touching when I was invited on stage at the inauguration and honoured with a shawl for doing so. Till date our village has not won the first prize but we have not lost hope.
The summer holidays are fun, too. All the kids who are away studying would return to the village. It is also the time when most of the trees bear fruit. There would be plenty of jamuns, black berries and dates at the farm. The kids would come to the farm in the evenings and we would leave in a big group looting all the fruit trees. On those days I had to skip dinner as I would be too full with just the fruits. I went back to my childhood during those days and would eat along with these young kids without any embarrassment.
The other exciting activity is fishing in the river. Sometimes we fished with nets or with fishing rods. We hardly caught anything but it was the activity that was enchanting. Just sitting by the beautiful green water with a rod in your hand, waiting for a bite, is a feeling difficult to describe. There is hope, joy and a feeling of relaxation. In case we did catch something, I would give it away since I don’t eat fish. The riverbank has scores of dragonflies of various colours. Once, I tried to catch a blue one to test my hand-eye coordination. After a couple of attempts, I had a blue one in my palm. I was thrilled that I was still quick. Of course, there was no Rex or Krishna, my childhood friends, to impress. I just let it go.
Shh . . . The Gods Are Coming
Like most villages in India our village too has a Gaon Dev or a village deity. Under the huge banyan tree in the village full of beehives is located a three-foot-high statue of the Gaon Dev. It has a human face with big eyes and ears. The earlier statue was made of wood and had started to rot. The local carpenter cum sculptor Baban Thakur made the new one out of stone. The stone deity is covered with vermillion or kumkum.
The deity is worshipped twice a year. Once before the rice is sown and once after the rice is harvested. Money is collected from each house and a couple of goats are bought. In the evening the menfolk gather around the deity and start howling. This is supposed to bring the deity to life. Then the goats are sacrificed amidst more howling. A fire is lit and the entire goat is barbecued. The smoked goat is then apportioned to each family which has contributed to the festivities. Depending on the size of the goat one usually got about 200–250 grams of mutton.
I did get my share of the offering but could not eat it. The smell of burnt flesh was not exactly appealing to me. Until recently I would send my share back with Baban. After we got Pepper, my share went to her and she just loved it. Besides the biannual Gaon Dev celebrations there is a ritual performed every ten years to cleanse the village of evil spirits.
Decades ago, on the eve of the first new moon after the monsoon harvest, the over-six-foot-tall head of our village, Rama Thakur, would patrol the narrow lanes, looking into each house after sunset. This was to see if any womenfolk or roosters or cattle had been left behind. Any violation would result in a fine and confiscation of the animal.
Thakur has passed on but there is a diligence in observing the Gaon Dev ritual in some tribal villages in our district till today. On the eve of the designated day, all the women and girls from the village, along with the animals (though there are exceptions), cross the River Surya and stay for twenty-four hours in the open on the opposite bank of the river. Only the men are allowed to stay back. The doors of all the houses are kept open. All night long the men sit under the huge banyan tree around the statue of Gaon Dev and intermittently beat drums and let out blood-curdling screams. This is to invite the gods to visit each home and rid them of any evil forces. The lamp near the god is to be kept lit and the men ensure that it does not go out all night.
An early morning walk through the village and I cannot spot a single soul except old Pavan Kaka hobbling to the riverbank to check if his wife has survived the cold winter night on the opposite bank. She was not keeping too well and had slight fever when she left for the opposite bank the earlier evening. The silence is broken only by bursts of crackers and the screams of men huddled under the banyan tree.
Over the years the patrolling by the village head has been done away with but the villagers still recollect those strict days. Sakharam recounts a time when his family had forgotten to take a rooster and for some reason it never crowed. As luck would have it, it crowed just as Rama Thakur was patrolling near their house. The bird was immediately killed with his catapult and his family paid a fine of four annas (twenty-five paise). The bird was a handy sacrifice.
Though rules have been relaxed and no one takes animals with them across the river now, the tradition of paying fines for violation still exists. One resident of the village had to marry off his son a week before the Gaon Dev ritual was performed. It was a love marriage and the bride’s father could not listen to reason and refused to delay the marriage by even a day. The village council decided to levy a hefty fine of Rs 10,000 for violation. It was after much pleading and requests that they finally settled for Rs 4000.
The next day, as a sign of gratitude to the gods, animals are sacrificed. Last year there was enough money to buy five goats, one pig and a few chickens. The meat which is roasted on a wood fire is then distributed equally to all the villagers.
The elders of the village build a makeshift gate at the entrance to the village using two silk cotton tree branches to hold up a garland of mango leaves and flowers. The women who have spent a freezing night in the open are welcomed back home in the evening and enter the village through the gate. The dinner that night will be meat and rice.
While the entire village followed the rules set centuries ago, not everyone seemed to agree to it. Some of the villagers I spoke to felt that it was wrong to expect women to spend an entire night out in the open. Some even said that it was not required in today’s world as they did not believe in ghosts and spirits. But the question none was willing to answer was, ‘Who would be the first to oppose this and invoke the wrath of the Gaon Dev?’
Spells and Curses
In the year 2010, the villagers decided that they would not opt for the canal water. The land had been abused for a few years and they all decided that taking a break would be good for the soil. The canal authorities were informed and the water was stopped just before it reached the village.
While the refusal to use canal water may have been good for the land the villagers were faced with a serious problem. The groundwater level in the village dropped and soon the village wells started drying up. Women had to get up early in the morning and just managed to draw a vessel or two of water for drinking.
At the farm, it was groundnut harvest season and work was in full swing. One afternoon a woman sauntered in with a huge bucket full of soiled clothes and an empty vessel. I did not recognize her and asked her what she wanted. She rudely replied that she had come to wash clothes and take water. I said, ‘Why here? You can go to the river and wash clothes.’
She turned around to leave. As she neared the gate she said to me, ‘If you don’t want to give water just say so.’ I could not believe what she had said. The groundwater levels were dropping and this woman wanted to wash clothes using this precious water when there was a river flowing by.
Later I learnt that she was B’s wife and was slightly eccentric. I dismissed the matter as an unnecessary irritant in the days of heavy harvest work. A few weeks after this episode which I soon forgot, I was faced with a strange problem. I would feel hungry and take food on my plate, but halfway through the meal I would start retching and could not eat. On most days half the meal was thrown away.
At first I ignored it, thinking it was the food or that I was not hungry and so on. But the problem just did not subside and soon Meena too noticed it. She remarked that I was wasting a lot of food which I rarely did. I was also losing a lot of weight and looked drawn and tired.
I got myself checked by the doctor and did the mandatory blood tests. All parameters were normal and there did not seem to be anything wrong with my body. But the retching and the reduction in food intake still continued.
I discussed this with Baban and his wife, Babita, who immediately said it was a curse and I would have to break it. A non-believer in voodoo or witchcraft, I dismissed her. As weeks passed, I was at my wits’ end and finally agreed to try out the witchcraft option. Vaman Kaka from the village was an expert in breaking spells and his service was solicited.
On the designated day I reached Baban’s house in the evening. Vaman Kaka made me sit cross-legged on the floor. He then proceeded with his voodoo spell-breaking ritual. He took a handful of rice and moved his hand all over my head and body. He then splattered the rice on a plate and stared at it for a few minutes, all the while chanting something. Then he asked me to close my eyes while he gathered the rice into a leaf. A few minutes later he wiped my eyes with water and sat in front of me. After ten minutes or so he broke his silence and told me, ‘It’s a woman’s curse, but I have broken it. You will be fine.’ I gave him Rs 50 as fees for his services and fell at his feet to seek his blessings.
In the meanwhile I learnt that C, B’s only daughter, was getting married. C was a sweet girl who used to come to the farm to work and I was fond of her. The next weekend when we went to Mumbai I asked Meena to buy a nice sari and blouse for C.
On my return, I visited B’s house and gave the sari and blouse to C. I explained that I was giving it before the wedding so she had time to stitch the blouse and wear it for one of the functions. I also included a small cash gift for her. As I was leaving the house B’s wife fell at my feet and muttered, ‘Maff kara, chuk jhala tar (Forgive us if we have sinned).’
I thought it was strange for her to have done that, but dismissed the whole thing. A couple of weeks later I noticed that I had started eating well and the retching had stopped. A month later I gained 1 kilo. I could not figure out how the problem had vanished.
Many months later, as I mulled over the incident, I started connecting the dots.
Could it be that B’s wife had cast a spell on me for my refusal to give her water?
Could it be that Vaman Kaka’s spell-breaker had worked?
Could it be that C’s mother had decided to break the spell as I gave gifts to C?
Why did she fall at my feet and seek my forgiveness?
I had no answers. All I knew was that my problem had been solved.
I had no idea how it had happened. I resolved that whether it was true or not, I would be careful in my future interactions with the village folk.
The Mahalaxmi Temple Fair
Every year, on the full moon day after Holi, the festival of colours, the Mahalaxmi Jatra begins at the base of the mountain with the cave temple. It lasts for fifteen days and is an event the entire village looks forward to. The crowds at the jatra are huge and on certain days run into lakhs of people. Busloads of people come for the jatra from as far as Gujarat. The deity is considered to be very powerful. The temple is only a few kilometres from our village.
As one enters the road leading to the temple, you can see stalls on both sides of the lane. There are a number of shops selling crockery, bangles, jewellery, clothes, vessels and even tin drums which are a hot-selling item. Meena too got one for herself. A little away is the kids section with a giant Ferris wheel, a merry-go-round and the circle of death where a man tries to defy gravity as he goes round and round on his motorbike in a globe.
The entrance to the temple is covered with rows of stalls selling sarees and coconuts and flowers and on certain auspicious days, one has to brave long queues. The temple itself is a small structure and the goddess stares at you with her big dark eyes set in an orange face.