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.X'ebrii Heil Pustakalciw
ETOA MUND A
WON
THE BATTLE
A Story About Tribal Life
Mahasveta Devi
Translator
Meenakshi Mukherjee
Photographer
Ravi Kant Dwivedi
TTJR1}
National Book Trust, India
1
The village is called Hathighar, the place of elephants, although no
elephants can be seen there today. When Moti Babu’s ancestors were
important landlords they kept elephants in stables built of stone. The
old stone mansion with its thirty rooms, where they lived, still exists
but the rooms on the ground floor now store rice, wheat and other grain
and the elephants’ stables have been walled up and are used as
store-rooms for paddy.
Etoa’s grandfather says that this village was once called Salgerya and
belonged to the tribals. Rows of sal trees stood like sentinels guarding
the village.
"Why was the name changed?”
“The Babus came and took everything away.”
“The tribals didn’t protest?”
“You talk too much, Etoa. Your father won’t have dared to ask
so many questions. We lost out because we didn’t know how to read
and write. We didn’t understand the laws of the government.”
“Just answer one more question, Aba. When did you leave your land
to come here?”
“Thousands of moons ago. Why do you laugh?”
“No one counts years by moons any more.”
“We’ve always done so, and I’ll continue to, until I die. Our
forefathers left their land when Sidhu and Kanhu led the Santals against
the British. What a fierce battle it was! When the British won, the
Santals dispersed all over the land to escape them. A group of them
came here, cleared the forest and settled down. All this happened a long
time ago.”
“Is that how we Mundas came here?”
The old villager, Mangal, looked at his grandchild. Young boy—he
doesn’t know anything. Does a tribal ever leave his land unless he is
forced to? “After some years Birsa Munda was able to organize the
Mundas to rebel against the British. That was another fierce battle.
Arrows flew from our side; they shot with bullets. Finally we had to
accept defeat, too. Like leaves before the wind, we scattered to different
places in Orissa, Bihar, Bengal and Assam. We cleared forests to make
new settlements. Today Mundas and Santals can be seen everywhere.”
“Is that how you came here?”
“We left Chhotanagpur and walked. We crossed the river Subarnarekha and when the Santals saw us, they were happy. More adivasis
meant more strength. You know that river which you call the Dulang?
We used to call it the Darangarha. The area was thickly forested then,
and many wild animals lived there. The Lodha tribals whom you see in
our village are really forest-dwellers. They worship god Baghut so that
tigers don’t take away their cattle and pray to goddess Baram for
protection. We cleared the woods together to make living space. But we
didn’t destroy the forest because the forest is our mother. The Lodhas
still live by hunting.”
“But the Babu says you adivasis have destroyed the forest.”
“That’s not true. There’s very little forest left now, but whatever is
there, provides us with roots, leaves, fruits, fuel, rabbits, porcupines,
birds.... The old sal tree is our village deity Garam. Why should one
destroy that which one worships and loves?”
“Why was the village called Hathighar?”
“When we cleared the space, the fertile earth seemed to smile. And
then the Babus came. That’s what always happens. We, being illiterate,
lost our land. They gave the village a new name. But that’s enough
talking, Etoa. What makes you so curious?”
How can Etoa explain? Everyday on his way to the Babu’s house he
passes the primary school hut and overhears the fascinating stories the
Santal school-master tells the students. He always begins his class with
stories... “Then their arrows darted through the air. The sky became
dark with them. How can I describe that fierce battle!”
Which is this battle the school-master talks about? Etoa doesn’t
know. Is it the battle of the Mahabharata? Or the Ramayana? Etoa has
been to Rohini village to see the jatra performances and knows all about
the Ramayana and the Mahabharata.
5
Etoa runs along with the voice of the school-master still ringing in his
ears. He works for Moti Babu, who is like the presiding deity of the
village. Etoa’s job is to take the cows and goats for grazing.
Hathighar is really very far from Calcutta. From Howrah you take a
train to Kharagpur, then board a bus and get down in front of the
Guptamani temple. Mother Baram, the protector goddess, is worship
ped there and the priest is a Lodha tribal. All trucks and buses that ply
the Bombay road stop to pay homage at the Guptamani temple. The bus
service from Guptamani to Rohini is rather irregular but if you walk
some seven or eight miles in a south-western direction you’ll cross a
clear little stream and come to a cluster of small adivasi villages. Then
cutting through the large Rohini village you go south along the river
Dulang. The river dances along with you until you see one tall sal tree
trying to reach the sky, and next to it an arjun tree. Then you know you
have reached Hathighar.
At the root of these trees you’ll find a large terracotta elephant and a
large terracotta horse. Many small replicas of these surround the roots.
Everyone in the village—tribal and non-tribal—comes here to worship
the village deity Garam.
7
Some distance from here the Dulang river merges with the Subarnarekha. The confluence of the rivers looks like an ochre ocean. You
can take a dip here if you like; you won’t drown. Although the current
is swift, the water is only waist-high. Etoa has often crossed over on the
back of his favourite buffalo.
What does F.toa do? He takes cows, buffaloes and goats for grazing.
Why is he called Etoa? Because he was born on a Sunday—etwar. Had
he been born on a Monday he would have been called Somra, Somai or
some such name. Tribals often name their children after the day of the
week on which they are bom. Those who wish to give them Bengali
names do so. Etoa was named by his grandfather Mangal Munda. In this
State, the Mundas, the Lodhas, the Santals know Bengali, but they also
speak their own languages.
Etoa looks like an untamed colt always eager to bolt. He is only
ten-years-old. He has a shock of thick reddish-brown hair, and his eyes
are bright and sparkling. A pair of khaki shorts is all he ever wears.
Though young, he has had to learn many hard lessons from life because
his grandfather is very old. Etoa notices every fallen twig, dead branch
or dry leaf and collects it for fuel.
There is a weekly market-day in the village. Etoa got a gunny-sack
from the shopkeepers there in return for sweeping their stalls. He
always carries this sack with him. While grazing the cows in the old
mango grove, he picks up fallen unripe mangoes and bits and pieces of
wood; he digs up thick tuber roots and pulls out green leafy vegetables
from the bank of the silted pond. All these go into his gunny-sack.
Then he crosses to the lush grass banks on the other side of the
Dulang. Leaving the cattle to graze, he runs to where the Subarnarekha
flows in a narrow stream. He throws his wicker-work fishing net there.
In such moments he feels like a king—the king of the river, the sky and
the green fields. He tells himself, “We’ll eat fish today if I’m lucky.
Otherwise the leafy vegetables can always do. I’ll try to exchange the
tuber with grocer uncle for oil, salt and spices. If he doesn’t agree,
Grandfather and I will eat it ourselves.”
Thinking of what he is going to eat, Etoa forgets his hunger. Dancing
with joy, he addresses the waters of the river, the white catkin reeds, the
wild flowers and the wide sky, “Do you know about that battle? What a
9
fierce one it was—arrows flew, cannon roared, the clatter of horse
hooves resounded. It was a dreadful battle!”
Etoa doesn’t know which battle it was that the school-master
described to his students. Was it the war of 1857-58? Or another where
arrows had to counter gunshots? The master talked of different battles
on different days. Etoa doesn’t know, nor does he care. So long as there
10
was a battle, he isn’t interested in the details. The sky, the humming
insects that fly about in the grass, the wild flowers that sway in the
wind, the herd of cows—none of them know that little Etoa is talking
of a battle that was very fierce indeed. No one takes an adivasi cowherd
seriously. The Dulang and Subarnarekha smiled and flowed on though
it is said that the fierce battle had raged on the banks of these rivers.
Etoa doesn’t believe these stories. He might as well believe the tales
told by the old Lodha Bhajan Bhukta. Bhajan says that once there was a
mighty tribal king. When outsiders came and took away his kingdom,
he jumped into the Dulang with his copper gong and magic bow. Even
today if you pray to him earnestly the king beats his gong from below
the water, and emerges with his magic bow, riding an elephant. Roaring
like a tiger, making the skies tremble, he will ask, “Who is calling me?
Where are my soldiers? How long shall I wait to regain my kingdom
and see the earth covered with forest, wild animals and the men of the
forest?” He says this and rings his bell. One can hear him on a stormy
night.
Bhajan Bhukta is blind. On market-days he sings and tells stories
sitting in the market centre. Etoa often escorts him home and says to
him, “Grandfather what wonderful stories you told today. Everybody
listened attentively. See how many ten-paise coins you’ve collected!”
“You are a good boy, Etoa. My only regret is that you don’t go to
school. Our boys don’t go to school because we hire them out to graze
cows or collect fuel. But we have a school in our village now and the
Santal school-teacher is really very good. He goes from house to house
asking people to send their children to school. Our boys and girls must
learn to read. But we think of our stomachs first. When I was young
one had to cross four miles of forest to get to school—now there is a
school in every village. Still... Go, home, son. I can walk on my own
from here.”
11
2
What does Etoa do all day? Like the sun god, Etoa can’t afford to
rest for a moment. He and his grandfather live in a broken-down hut.
Since his parents died a long time 4go, his grandfather has been both
father and mother to him. Etoa ties his two goats to the trunk of the
jackfruit tree that his father had
planted. His closest friend, Ratan
Tudu, a Santal boy will take them
along when he grazes his own
goats.
Inside their hut, they sleep on a
raised bamboo bunk. Mangal goes
out before daybreak. When Etoa
gets up, he eats some of the previ
ous night’s left over fermented
rice, putting aside a portion for his
grandfather. He then runs to Moti
Babu’s where a lot of work awaits
him.
First he has to sweep the large
inner courtyard. Then he has to
pump water from the tubewell and
water the vegetable garden adjoin
ing the house. Afterwards he will
go to the cowshed and call the cows
and buffaloes by name, and take
them out grazing.
Everyday on his way to work
Etoa pauses to listen to the school
master:
“On one side there were cannon
and modern guns. On the other,
only swords and old-fashioned
muskets. Our soldiers fought with
real courage. If the British finally
won, it was because of their superior weapons and disciplined army.
Our soldiers had only their patriotism and their valour. But it was an
unforgettable battle. The fighting was fierce indeed!”
Etoa too has to battle every day to fill his gunny-sack—but it's a
battle he is unaware of. He washes his gunny-sack carefully in the
Dulang. It serves as his raincoat during the monsoon, his blanket
during winter. Of course, they also have a patchwork quilt, which
Mangal made from old clothes brought from Ganoar at the weekly
market. Etoa covers Mangal with it at night. He is old and feels the
cold more. Etoa can manage with the sack.
It’s a pity that Etoa doesn’t go to school. Mangal was so very keen
that he study.
*
Etoa wqs 1)91'0 on the day of the Bandhna or Sohrai festival, which
usually (jdU afU'r Diwali. In Hathighar, tribals and non-tribals live
peacj.fufly, They yelebrate Durga puja and Kali puja and enjoy
watching the jatra performances. But the tribals have their own jatra
troupes, too, and prefer the jatras performed in Santali or Mundari.
The actors are friends and they understand the language better.
16
Although there are hardly any tigers now, on Bandhna day, Baghut,
the god who protects cattle from the tiger which once took a heavy
toll of their livestock is worshipped. Leaves smeared with vermilion
paste are spread in front of the god and everyone has to drive his cow
across the puja-ground. The first cow who eats a vermilion-covered
leaf is considered very auspicious. Its horns are smeared with oil and
vermilion. The people gather around its owner who according to
custom, has to invite all the tribals to a feast.
At night the men go around the cowsheds, beating their drums and
singing in praise of the cow. The cow is their greatest friend.
Etoa has often gone around with them and joined in the
.singing:
Wake up mother Bhagavati
Wake up mother Bhagavati
Wake up on this night of the new moon.
The owners of the cows give money to the singers which is later
spent on a feast.
The next day the women clean the cowsheds and draw white designs
on freshly clay-smeared floors. The design of the cow-hoof is essential.
Then the three chief deities, Buru Bonga, Haram Burhi and Dharam
are worshipped and a red cock, black hen and white hen are sacrificed.
The puja is followed by a feast and then, after the women have
smeared the horns of the cows with oil and vermilion again, they are
taken to the fields.
The next day, all the cows and buffaloes are tied to poles in a
courtyard and people sing and dance around them.
This is how Bandhna is celebrated in Etoa’s village. In some villages
they don’t worship Baghut but pray to some other deity. In some
communities Bandhna is celebrated for five days; in some places for
three. Even those who don’t own cows join in the festivities.
17
When Etoa was bom during this festival, people said he was a lucky
child who would do well in life. The naming was done according to
custom. A vessel was filled with water and, in the name of the village
god, a grain of paddy and a blade of grass were floated on it. Uttering
the word ‘mangal’ silently, a second grain of paddy was floated. If the
new-born happened to be a boy, the grandfather's name had to be
taken for the ritual. If the second grain touched the grass he would
have been called Mungra or Mungla, but that didn’t happen. The
child’s father wanted to give him a Bengali name but the grandfather
said that since he is born on a Sunday—etwar—we’ll call him Etoa.
When he was six-months-old, his ears were pierced in the Tukui
Lutr ceremony. (The adivasis don’t have the rice-eating ceremony).
Paddy was spread in the courtyard and a wooden plank placed on it.
Etoa was made to lie on this plank while his ears were pierced.
Rice-cakes made with jaggery were eaten by those attending the
ceremony. A black cock was sacrificed and after a community feast all
the adivasi mothers brought a little oil and baskets of paddy. The oil
was rubbed on Etoa’s head and the paddy was placed in a heap as a
present to the child.
Mangal couldn’t afford to feed the whole community but the custom
among the tribals is that when one is invited to a feast one brings
whatever one can—rice, dal or vegetables.
Etoa lost both his parents when he was one-year-old. So long as
Mangal, his son and son’s wife all worked in the fields.things were not
too bad.
The tribal new year begins with the month of Magh and is marked
by the Magh Chandu or Maghe Sim festival. Girls and young married
women go to the elders, wash their feet and seek their blessing.
18
Every year during the harvest season the Santals, Mundas and
Lodhas of Hathigarh worked in the fields of Kanak Babu who lived in
the city. After harvesting the paddy they took their share home. This
year, however, unknown to them Kanak Babu had sold his land. The
new owner employed his own labourers. The tribals had no idea that
they won’t be allowed to harvest the crop they had planted. Instead of
a daily wage they were paid in grain. This year they were denied even
that.
Santal Chand Murmu lost his temper and shouted, “How is it that
we weren’t even told that the land had been sold? We have sowed the
seeds and we shall reap the harvest.”
Trouble followed. The police came and arrested the Hathighar
tribals. Subal, Chand’s father, and Mangal walked twenty-six miles to
the city to meet the Santal lawyer, Jaichand. “Your father was my
friend Jaichand,” Subal said, “and you belong to the village where my
daughter has been married. Please help us. Get our people released
from police custody.”
Jaichand was a good man. He managed to get all the thirty-six
people released, but it took him several months. On the way back
from the city, Etoa’s parents must have eaten something which gave
them food poisoning. They died in the city hospital. Chand Murmu
brought little Etoa back and placing the child on Mangal’s lap, stood
silently, head bowed.
“What did they eat, Chand?”
“Over-ripe fruits perhaps. Or rotten sweets. I really don’t know.”
“Where did they get the money?”
“Uncle, we thought instead of returning home empty-handed we
would work somewhere for a few days. They were working in a brick
kiln.”
“Chand, how can I, an old man, bring up a child, and earn a living?”
19
Alomani,
the
elderly
woman of the village, whom
everybody called aunt, said,
“Give the child to me,
brother. I’ll look after him.”
“Go, take him away. Lucky
boy, after devouring his own
parents!”
“How is it his fault, Un
cle?” Chand intervened.
Alomani said, “Let him
speak. He’ll feel better.
Otherwise the fire within his
chest will keep smouldering.”
Mangal sat in his hut for
two days stony-faced. On the
third day, he went to Aloma
ni, “Give me the child. I’ll
have to be both his father and
mother; his aba and enga
now.
With the child on his shoulder, he went to Moti Babu, and asked for
work.
“Can you manage what your son did?”
“At one time I did all the work Babu, don’t you remember? My son
went to school then.”
“That was your big mistake. If you people send your children to
school, who’ll work in our farms and gardens? Who will graze the
cattle? You can’t say I cheat you. I give you one meal a day and some
snacks. Two sets of clothes a year and, in addition, seventy-four kilos of
20
paddy. Let no one say that Moti Babu cheats his workers.”
“I know what you give, Babu. Most of my life has been spent in your
service. I so wanted my son to be educated.”
“Then why didn’t you let him continue in school?”
“How could I? When his mother died, I lost my helpmate. What you
gave didn’t fill both our stomachs. So I had to hire him out to your
brother as a cowherd.”
“Everything’s in the hands of God, Mangal. Who’ll be educated,
who’ll not, is decreed by fate!”
“Let’s not talk about fate, Babu. Tell me, are you going to give me a
job or not?”
“You speak too roughly, Mangal.”
“I am an uneducated adivasi. How could I know sweet speech? My
son and his wife are dead. Do you expect honeyed words from me
now?”
“I see. Is that how things are these days?”
Moti Babu’s mother said, “Moti, is that the way to talk to Mangal?
He is an old man, respected by the adivasis. One word from him and no
adivasi will come to work for you.”
“All right, let him work.”
“I’ll have to bring the child with me.”
“Then how will you work?”
“That’s my problem. As long as you get your work done you should
not worry.”
Among the adivasis, an orphan is looked after by the community.
Chand Murmu’s wife said, “Uncle, I am already bringing up two
children—my son Singrai and nephew Ratan. Etoa will be my third
child. They’ll all be milk brothers. Think of your age and give him to
me. ”
“Etoa is all I have.”
21
“All right, then. But if you have to go out, or when you go to the
market, leave him with me. Take him back after work.”
“Agreed.”
Since then Etoa, Singrai and Ratan have been very close. From the
time they were six, the three friends had been famous.
Karam puja is another important festival for the adivasis. It is
celebrated in the month of Bhado-—for prosperity in agriculture.
Women fill closely woven bamboo baskets with sand and plant seeds of
different grains in them. After some days these seeds sprout.
The next morning a courtyard is cleaned and swept for the worship of
Karam devata. After fasting the whole day, women bring their baskets
of sprouting grain there. Singing and dancing to the beating of drums,
men and women go to cut a branch of the karam tree. This branch
becomes the god. The last time, Etoa and his two friends went with the
group and danced as they sing:
We go to cut the branch of the sacred Karam
See how the tree welcomes us!
This branch is our king Karam
Look how handsome is our king!
The branch is planted on an earthen altar and, after the puja, the
women sit in a circle around the priest.
The tale of Karam devata is very fascinating. As the priest narrates the
story, he occasionally asks the women to offer flowers to the god.
23
When the story ends, the women go home, dancing and singing, to
break their fast. Then the men begin their dance, and when the women
return, they join them.
Karam puja is Etoa’s favourite festival. Bhajan Bhukta tells him that
when the Santals and Mundas lived in their own lands this festival was
celebrated in a much grander way. The fields used to be green with
crops.
“Grandpa, what happened to those fields?”
“Everything has vanished, as if by magic.”
“Then why do we still celebrate Karam puja?”
“Some of us still have a little land. And a seasonal festival has to be
celebrated when the season comes.”
Subal Murmu tries to explain the rituals to Etoa. Ratan says that in
the high school they even celebrate Saraswati puja.
“Of course, they do. At least ten of our adivasi boys who studied
there have become school-teachers. Without proper education, there is
little hope for the adivasis.”
Alomani said, “In our childhood, we didn’t have such opportunities.
Now even girls can go to school. My brother has sent his daughter to
the boarding-school in town.”
Subal said, “The schools were very far away in those days. Also our
parents didn’t understand the importance of schooling. Even men didn’t
study much—not to speak of the girls.”
“Because we keep our children illiterate, we suffer so! Everyone can’t
be as lucky as my uncle Gura Sing!”
Everyone laughed at the mention of Gura Sing. Etoa thought, one
day I must hear the story of Gura Sing.
25
3
When Etoa was seven-years-old, Mangal said, “Come, I’ll take you
to school. I have repaired your shorts. The shirt is a bit torn, but it is
clean; it will do.”
The Santal school-master Gangadhar Hembrom, wrote Etoa’s name
and roll number and said to Mangal, “Please buy him a slate and chalk.
I’ll give him books, notebooks and wooden pencils.”
“When will you give him the books?”
“When the government sends them to us. This year classes have
begun, but we haven’t received the books yet. I’ve been running to the
town every other day. And you know the condition of the roads.
Uncle, can you introduce me to the organizers of the Hathighar Adivasi
Club?”
“Yes, I will. But, Master, please see that the boy learns to read and
write properly. I also wanted his father to go to school. But when the
adivasi doesn’t have land, he doesn’t have food in his kitchen either.
That’s why we have to send our boys to work in the Babu’s house.”
“It’s a problem all of us face, Uncle, specially the adivasis. I had to
fight with my family to go to school in Mohini village. I had a
scholarship but I had to work in the Babu’s garden also. I had to run to
school. At the end of the year when I stood second in the primary
examination, my father relented.”
“Because we didn’t know how to read and write and were afraid of
the law courts, the Babus gradually took everything away from us—our
land, our cattle...”
“Yes, Uncle. Education is very necessary. Because we are illiterate,
we don’t know what schemes the government has introduced for us.”
“I am leaving my Etoa in your hands.”
“Don’t worry. Listen Etoa, when you get a jaggery cake do you eat it
alone or do you share it with your friends?”
“I share with them.”
“All good things must be shared. School is a good place—you must
bring your friends.”
“I’ll ask them to come.”
“Today I’ll show you how big our country, India, is.”
“I-N-D-I-A. Is India our country?”
“Look, this is called a.map.”
“Where is Hathighar?”
“Here is our State, West Bengal. This is our district Midnapur.
Hathighar should be here—somewhere in the south-west corner.”
“Why can’t I see it?”
“I’ll bring a map of the district from the town. But tell me how will
you be able to locate Hathighar?”
“Why? I’ll learn to read. I’ll know.”
“That’s what I want to hear. Now look at the blackboard. This is the
first letter of the alphabet, ‘Aw’, that you’ve got to learn.”
“Aw, Aw, Aw.”
“Now copy it on your slate. I’ll show you how.”
From that instant Etoa fell in love with the teacher. How kind he
was, how patient. But Etoa had one regret. During his days in school,
the teacher didn’t begin the lesson with stories of battles.
»
»
On his way back from school, Etoa ran across Moti Babu on his new
cycle. He stopped and asked, “So Mangal is sending his grandson to
school?”
“Yes, Babu.”
“He’s making a mistake. I told Mangal that one of these days I’d give
a job to his grandson.”
Etoa stood silent.
“If you people go for education who’ll do the work for us? In any
case, how long can you study? Have you enough food at home?”
Etoa ran to his grandfather as soon as the Babu vanished beyond the
28
big peepul. The tree was old and people said snakes lived in it. It
couldn’t be true. Etoa knew that snakes lived in holes in the ground and
only climbed the tree to eat the eggs from birds’ nests. Snakes were
treacherous. They entered houses stealthily to bite people. Water snakes
or rat snakes weren’t poisonous but rat snakes could lash at you with
their tails. Those Santals who ate snakes swore that their meat was very
tasty.
“Does it taste like field rats?”
“A little different.”
Mangal doesn’t eat these things, but Etoa has tasted all kinds of meat
with his friends—field rats, porcupines, snakes.
When Etoa reached home, he told Mangal that Moti Babu was angry
about his going to school.
“I know, I know. Moti Babu doesn’t want our children to be
educated. But the government has given us schools in the adivasi areas
for adivasi children. The adivasi must learn to read and write. Everyone
can’t be as lucky as Gura Sing.”
“What did Gura Sing do?”
“I’ll tell you one day.”
Together they brought the goats inside. Etoa filled the pitcher from
the tube-well. As Mangal lit the fire for cooking, he told Etoa to cut the
fish.
“Aba, don’t say you’ve spent your money on fish!”
“Just a little. Your first day at school deserves something special.”
Subal Murmu came to chat and smoke a bidi with Mangal. Mangal
and Subal had been friends from childhood—and both were good
archers. They had won many prizes in local competitions. Adivasis are
often good sportsmen and athletes. Archery tournaments are held in
these areas often—be it Annual Day in the high school, Birsa
Munda’s anniversary, Martyr’s Day in memory of Sidhu and Kanhu or
29
a Sport’s Day. Some of the Lodha girls too are excellent marksmen but
they don’t enter these contests.
Etoa told Subal in a low voice, “The teacher says Singrai and Ratan
should also go to school.”
“I know they should Etoa, but Moti Babu’s brother has fifty cows
and buffaloes. I’ve given him my word that I’ll send the boys to look
after his cattle.”
Mangal sighed. “How long will this go on? For one meal a day, a few
clothes and a portion of paddy our children remain illiterate. The whole
world is moving forward but the adivasi children will remain where
they are—illiterate and ignorant.”
“That’s true. Everyone can’t be as lucky as Gura Sing.”
Etoa said, “You must tell me about Gura Sing today.”
“I will, I will,” Subal assured him. “But first clean and cut the fish.
Let me see if Mangal remembers how to cook. He used to be an
excellent cook, you know. He cooked the meat after our hunting
festivals. Where have the animals vanished, Mangal? Where have the
forests gone?”
Mangal said in a Hry voice, “Some tracts still remain around
Nayagram near Orissa. The new bridge across the Subarnarekha might
be of some benefit but whatever forests we have will disappear; we will
be left with a desert.”
“Before that happens let’s take the boys there once. Let them see how
the adivasis live entirely on the forest.”
“Yes, let’s go.”
Etoa asked, “Live entirely on the forest? How do they do that?”
Subal answered in a dreamy voice, “They use the oil of mahua seeds
for cooking and lighting their lamps. They dry the mahua flower and
make small cakes. They live on roots, leaves and fruits. They also eat
deer, birds and small animals. They use sal leaves for plates and press oil
30
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out of neem and sal seeds.”
“Seems a wonderful life.”
“Once all adivasis lived like this. The forest is our mother, we are her
children. Even when we farmed, we didn’t give up the forest. But times
have changed, Etoa. The adivasis must move with the times to survive.”
“Subal, that’s why I say send the boys to school.”
“Let me see. If not this year, maybe next year...”
“Aren’t you going to tell me Gura Sing’s story, Aba?”
“Why should you wait for Mangal to tell you the story. I’ll tell you.
Now that you are going to school, you should hear it. Adivasis can
learn many a lesson from his story...”
“Well. It happened only the other day but it seems like a long time
ago. On the banks of the Subarnarekha there were a number of Munda
and Lodha villages and Gura Sing had a lot of land there. This reminds
me, Mangal, your Etoa is a gem. On market-days he walks home with
Bhajan Bhukta. Bhajan also owned land once. So... Let me see. Yes,
Gura Sing was a big landowner. He had five sons and ten heads of
cattle. But his sons were all foolish and illiterate and, moreover, Gura
Sing was fond of liquor.”
“Subal my friend, we adivasis don’t drink liquor—it’s liquor that
devours us.”
1 “We drink to drown our sorrows, Mangal.”
“Hendia, the country brew, doesn’t harm, but the liquor that’s
distilled in the markets does.”
“That’s what finished Gura Sing. Gopi used to tell him, ‘Why do you
want to pay, Gura? Drink your fill. I’ll put it on your account; you
only have to put your thumb impression on this white paper’.”
“And he did that?”
“Yes, that’s what he did. At the end of the year Gura found that he
had only ten bighas of land—the rest was in Gopi’s possession. He
32
came to us crying, ‘I am in deep trouble, brother. Gopi is taking me to
court. I have to make a statement that I have sold this land to him.’ His
sons also came asking for help. Then Mangal, I and the others made
Gura take a vow that he would give up drinking. Then we fixed a day to
go to the town with him to meet a very clever Santal lawyer.”
“An adivasi lawyer?”
“Yes, child. Adivasis can be lawyers, school-teachers—and now
many of our girls too have become teachers and nurses. So the lawyer
first said, ‘This Gopi needs a beating and so does Gura Sing.’ That’s his
way of speaking. Finally he said, ‘Gura, when you’re in court just
repeat whatever the magistrate says. Do not utter a word of your
own’. ”
“Then what happened?”
“In court the peon called out, ‘Gura Sing! Gura Sing!’ And Gura
repeated, ‘Gura Sing! Gura Sing!’ They said, ‘Answer properly. Are
you Gura Sing?’ He echoed, ‘Answer properly, are you Gura Sing?’ It
went on like this for some time. The magistrate was in a dilemma.
Gopi’s lawyer said, ‘Are you an ass? Why are you behaving so
foolishly?’ Gura repeated, ‘Are you an ass? Why are you behaving so
foolishly?’ The magistrate said, ‘Can’t you understand the simplest
words? Are you such a fool?’ Gura repeated the same words to the
magistrate. The magistrate lost his temper. He said, T refuse to conduct
this case. The case is dismissed. Why have you brought an idiot to
court?”’
“Then?”
“Then the Santal lawyer explained everything to the magistrate. Gopi
was humiliated; he also had to pay a fine. They found out that he was
going to buy adivasi land which is illegal.”
“Gura Sing got his land back?”
“Of course. Then we all went to the teashop. Gopi came there and
33
shouted, ‘Gura, I’ll kill you for this.’ Gura replied, ‘Gura, I’ll kill you
for this.’ And we all chased Gopi out of the teashop.
“Gopi ran away and never returned. That was the end of his attempt
to cheat the adivasis of their land by getting them drunk. We even
succeeded in removing his shop from the market-place. This is the story
of Gura Sing. It was the only time that an illiterate adivasi managed to
outwit others and keep his land.”
Mangai said, "If he had been literate, he would have been able to hold
on to his land. It only proves that whatever the obstacles, the tribals
must get educated.”
By the time Etoa received his new books, the summer vacation was
on them. The teacher said, “Learn the alphabet well during the
holidays. Then we will begin the lessons in school.”
“Are you going home for the vacation, Sir?”
“Yes. I have to study too.”
“Why? You’re already a teacher!”
“I’m studying to become a better teacher. You must learn to read
well. Who knows, one day you might come first in your class.”
Yes, Etoa wanted to study very much, but he knew he would have to
help his grandfather, too. There was a lot of work in Moti Babu’s
house. Mangai couldn’t possibly manage everything by himself.
Many things happened during that summer vacation. Ratan, Singrai
and Etoa began to play together again. When Etoa told them the story
of Gura Sing they were very amused. They laughed a lot.
Then there was Bhajan Bhukta’s granddaughter Sona’s wedding.
35
Bhajan told Etoa, “I’m a poor man, I can’t invite many people but you
must come.”
When Mangal heard this, he wanted to know who would mend the
fence if Etoa went to the wedding.
“The wedding will be only one day. I’ll put up the fence after that. I’ll
bring cactus branches from across the Dulang and plant'them. That’ll
teach the goats a lesson. And when the rains come these branches will
grow, won’t they?”
“Yes, they will. But you must study, too.”*
“I’ll study and do everything else. You’ll see.”
“All right, you can go to the wedding. Bhajan is fond of you.”
The paddy left in the field after harvesting is called tung. Everyone in
the village is allowed to collect it. But human beings have to compete
with field rats. These rats dig a maze of tunnels and, their families build
secret storehouses under the ground. Adivasi children try to ferret out
this rice and some of them eat the rats.
Even today the Lodhas eat rats, monitor lizards, snakes, crabs,
fish—whatever they can lay their hands on. As a result they are experts
in the secrets of the forest. Even the Lodhas who are now engaged in
farming have not forgotten fheir hunting skill. They use goat-skins to
make chhangu drums, which they beat while dancing and singing.
Whatever other gods and goddesses they worship, the festival of
Sheetala still remains the most important.
Etoa told Mangal, “During the vacation I’ll take the cows for grazing;
you water the vegetable garden. And I can easily sweep the Babu’s
courtyard, too.”
“But when will you study?”
“I’ll study in the evening. You’ll see.”
“Well, be careful.”
“Why, what’s on your mind?”
“I was thinking I can’t sit around idle all day. I’ll cut date-palm leaves
and weave them into mats. That’s what I used to do earlier. ”
When Etoa was taking the cattle out of the cowshed, Moti Babu saw
him. He seemed pleased.
“So you’ve decided to help your grandfather!”
“Yes, during the vacation, Babu.”
“What, are you going back to school?”
Etoa only nodded. How could Moti Babu know what the school:eacher had told him. He said that he was going to bring all the Santal,
Munda and Lodha children to school. When the school reopened, he
vould bring story-books and he would read them out to them. After
37
Bhajan told Etoa, “I’m a poor man, I can’t invite many people but you
must come.”
When Mangal heard this, he wanted to know who would mend the
fence if Etoa went to the wedding.
“The wedding will be only one day. I’ll put up the fence after that. I’ll
bring cactus branches from across the Dulang and planvthem. That’ll
teach the goats a lesson. And when the rains come these branches will
grow, won’t they?”
“Yes, they will. But you must study, too.”’
“I’ll study and do everything else. You’ll see.”
“All right, you can go to the wedding. Bhajan is fond of you.”
The paddy left in the field after harvesting is called tung. Everyone in
the village is allowed to collect it. But human beings have to compete
with field rats. These rats dig a maze of tunnels and, their families build
secret storehouses under the ground. Adivasi children try to ferret out
this rice and some of them eat the rats.
Even today the Lodhas eat rats, monitor lizards, snakes, crabs,
fish—whatever they can lay their hands on. As a result they are experts
in the secrets of the forest. Even the Lodhas who are now engaged in
farming have not forgotten their hunting skill. They use goat-skins to
make chhangu drums, which they beat while dancing and singing.
Whatever other gods and goddesses they worship, the festival of
Sheetala still remains the most important.
Etoa told Mangal, “During the vacation I’ll take the cows for grazing;
you water the vegetable garden. And I can easily sweep the Babu’s
courtyard, too.”
“But when will you study?”
“I’ll study in the evening. You’ll see.”
“Well, be careful.”
“Why, what’s on your mind?”
“I was thinking I can’t sit around idle all day. I’ll cut date-palm leaves
and weave them into mats. That’s what I used to do earlier.”
When Etoa was taking the cattle out of the cowshed, Moti Babu saw
him. He seemed pleased.
“So you’ve decided to help your grandfather!”
“Yes, during the vacation, Babu.”
“What, are you going back to school?”
Etoa only nodded. How could Moti Babu know what the school:eacher had told him. He said that he was going to bring all the Santal,
\4unda and Lodha children to school. When the school reopened, he
vould bring story-books and he would read them out to them. After
37
the examination he would give them prizes out of his own money.
“In the old days, Etoa,” the teacher had said, “it was enough to have
your bow and arrow. These days education is your weapon for
survival. ”
When Etoa crossed the Dulang with the Babu’s cows and his own
goats and arrived at the sandbanks of the Subarnarekha, he suddenly felt
free and happy. He spread his arms and pirouetted. He jumped, he
danced. After setting the fishing-net he walked into the tall grass. He
saw that the old rabbit was still there. Let it stay, he thought. Etoa
would never kill it nor would he tell anyone about it. He plucked some
edible leaves for home and managed to catch five or six small fish; then
he found some abandoned birds’ nests. He thought, let me take
these—they are great for starting the cooking fire. Two more days are
left for Sona’s wedding, Etoa thought. Today and tomorrow. The
marriage is the day after. As he put the nests inside the gunny-sack he
shouted to the sky and the wind, “What do you know, I’ll be able to
read everything—aw, aa, e, ee.” As if in response the sky leaned down,
the long grass waved with joy.
The next day Sona’s brother came to call Etoa. “There are so many
rituals before the wedding. Don’t you want to see them?”
Etoa went with him. He saw the women take a new earthen pot to
Garam the village deity and consecrate it by singing. Today Sona’s
father would cook fish and rice in the pot and make an offering to his
ancestors. Spade in hand, the women went singing and the men beat
drums. They took three spadefuls of earth from the root of the old
Sidha tree and put it in Bhajan’s courtyard where the wedding platform
would be erected. Before striking the spade on the ground, mother
earth has to be worshipped and her forgiveness sought for the hurt
inflicted on her.
The women then went in a group to the Dulang river, singing. By
shooting an arrow a part of the water was marked out and, they filled
their pitchers from the marked portion. Then a messenger was sent to
the bridegroom with a pot containing pressed rice, sweets, a mirror, a
comb and a pair of bangles. Sona was already looking like a bride in a
new sari. She had a red string around her neck, yellow threads around
her wrists and her body was bright with turmeric. Nobody would
believe that only the other day she was romping around the forests,
grazing her goats.
Bhajan said, “Eat with us, Etoa.”
“Not today, Grandpa,” Etoa replied. “I must get back to Aba.”
39
Etoa found Mangai in the old mango grove. He had collected a
bundle of firewood and looked tired, very tired. Etoa had not noticed
how old his grandfather had become.
“Go home, Aba, I’ll graze the cows and water the garden and bring
the bundle home.”
“Let me rest here awhile. Take this pile of wood to the grocer and ask
him for some oil and salt. When you reach home put the rice to boil.”
“Come with me.”
“I will shortly. Tell me, what did you see in Bhajan’s house?”
“Many of their customs are like ours.”
“What present will you give Sona?”
“What can I give?”
“Why not the mat I’ve woven?”
“That’s too pretty. You’ve put colours in it, too. It will fetch at least
five or seven rupees in the market.”
Mangai spoke in a faint voice, “You shouldn’t go to a wedding
empty-handed, Etoa. Among adivasis marriage is a shared responsibi
lity. Each one brings whatever he can afford.”
“What do those who live in the city do?”
“They come to the village for their wedding, don’t they? How would
I know what they do in the city to keep up our customs?”
“Chand Uncle says that the customs in the villages where we
originally lived were different.”
“He should know. He has travelled a lot. But, however much times
change, we try to hold on to our customs and rituals, festivals and way
of life. Not that we can maintain them exactly as they were. Earlier,
during the Sarhul Baha or Surjom Baha festivals hundreds of sal trees
would be in flower; the flame of the forest and the silk cotton blazed
with colour. The men and women danced in the forest the entire night.
Those were the days! Now we don’t even have enough trees!”
40
“Our teacher says that we’ll plant lots of trees to celebrate
Independence Day.”
“That’s good. Now get along to the grocer’s.”
“What a pile of wood you’ve collected, Aba!”
“It’s all from that dying mango tree.”
“Don’t sit under it, Aba. A branch might fall on you!”
“No, no. That tree is my friend.”
“How can a tree be your friend?”
“It is. I know each one of these trees. All these mango trees are
married, you know.”
“Married?”
“The Lodha bridegroom has to get married to a mango tree before he
can marry his bride. Similarly a girl has to first marry a mahua tree.”
"What strange customs!”
“They are good customs, Etoa. One should be strong like a tree—and
like a tree be useful.”
Etoa dragged the bundle of wood to the grocer’s. After getting oil and
salt he would make a fish curry and add the roots he had collected the
previous day. Grandfather brought home some rice everyday. The
Babu must be giving it to him and adjusting it against his due at the end
of the year. There was water to be fetched, the yard to be swept. How
could Aba do so much work by himself.
Did Etoa miss his parents? He couldn’t remember either of them. His
grandfather was his entire world. He knew that his mother used to sing.
Etoa, too, sang well. One day he would join the Munda jatra party and
act the part of the king, brandish his wooden sword and punish
wrongdoers.
After harvesting if the crop was good, the adivasis held jatra
performances. The Adivasi Club of Hathighar was going to start its
own jatra party.
41
When he had finished the work at home, Etoa fastened the
door-chain, ran to Moti Babu’s garden and watered the vegetable-beds.
Moti Babu was very pleased. He said, “How quickly you work, Etoa!
In the blinking of an eyelid the job is done. If you worked for me I
would feed you well and give you good clothes, too. Not just a pair of
shorts, but a shirt and a shoulder-cloth as well.”
“But...”
“Yes I know Mangal is pig-headed. Look at Ratan and Singrai. They
are living like kings in my brother’s house.”
Etoa tried not to listen.
The next day, Etoa put on a pair of clean shorts and a shirt, and
carrying the new mat under his arm, set off for the wedding. The
bridegroom was a sturdy young man from another village. Sona looked
like a golden oriole. Her brother Manik told Etoa that the bridegroom
was very brave. He had killed a bear once.
“Where?”
“In their village by the forest. I’ll also go there for hunting.”
The women were singing:
The bride will be married to the mahua tree
The groom will be married to the mango
How happy will the wedding be
The groom’s name on the mango leaf
The bride’s name on the mahua leaf
How happy will the wedding be.
Sona bathed in the water, ritually marked out by the arrow, collected
the previous day. Then she came out wearing a red-bordered white sari,
holding her brother’s wife’s hand. The bridegroom was accompanied by
his brother’s wife. The Lodha priest tied their hands with a thread and
42
after sprinkling water upon them, untied their hands. Sona was taken
around the bridegroom in a clockwise direction. When he took her
home, he would put vermilion in the parting of her hair.
The wedding was followed by a wedding-feast with rice and mutton.
Before sunset, a covered bullock-cart came to take Sona to her
husband’s village. Sona wept but more than her, wept her little sister.
Old blind Bhajan said, “My favourite granddaughter goes away today,
leaving an emptiness in my heart.”
There is no system of dowry among adivasis. The bridegroom’s party
had to pay one hundred rupees as bride price to take away the bride,
who shone bright as gold.
Mangal said, “Now that Sona’s wedding is over, you must
concentrate on your studies, Etoa. And come to the Adivasi Club this
evening. There’s a meeting.”
“Can children come to the meeting?”
“Yes, this time children will also attend.”
“Why is your voice so faint? Aren’t you feeling well?”
“I’m getting old. How can I be as I used to?”
“But you’ve to remain alive till I grow up and go from this school to
the school at Mohini where there is a hostel. One day I’ll be a
school-teacher. If you don’t live long enough to see this, I’ll never talk
to you, Aba.”
“I pray to Birsa Bhagwan that I live to see that day.”
The summer vacation was full of excitement. Every year the
Hathighar Adivasi Club arranged tournaments and celebrated SidhuKanhu day on 30 June in commemoration of the great Santal rebellion
of 1855-1856. On 15 November they observed the birthday of Birsa
Bhagwan, the great leader of the Mundas. In the evenings, they read
books and journals in the club-room and played carrom. Jiten Murmu
who worked in a bank in the city sent sports magazines, weeklies and
books for the club. The older boys trained the younger ones in football
or organized them for drills and work-outs.
Praharaj Sing Munda was a senior school-teacher in Lalbari village.
He said, “Get some education and be good at sports. It will help you get
jobs.”
The Adivasi Club also arranged cultural functions—dance and song
competitions and even recitations in the tribal languages.
But this year everything was different.
Praharaj said, “It’s a pity that our children mostly don’t go to school
and when they do, they don’t do well.”
Chand said, “When the parents can’t provide food, how can they
afford to give them education?”
“Don’t I know this? Still, they have to go to school!”
“Even when they can’t follow what goes on?”
“That’s precisely what I want to tell you. Jiten has given us a
petromax. Those of us who can, will give extra lessons here in the
evenings. But we need a one-rupee subscription from each family to pay
for the expenses—oil for the lamp, books, slates, etc.”
46
“Well, even if they do study what’s their future? They’ll ultimately
end up as cowherds.”
“How do you know? We elders, have to listen to the teacher too. We
are partly responsible for their neglect. Our children will go to school
and we’ll help them with their studies in the evening.”
Bhairo Sing Munda had become more and more short-tempered with
the years. He shouted, “That’s all very well, but what about our roads?
Because we don’t have a road, buses don’t come to our village. Because
there is no water for irrigation we can’t raise two crops a year.”
“We’ll educate the people and put forward our demands jointly. Even
to get milk from its mother a child has to cry. But education is the first
priority. ”
47
Mangal gently reminded Bhairo Sing of Gura Sing’s story. Praharaj
repeated, “Yes, remember Gura Sing’s story. Never put your thumb
impressipn on blank paper and try to go slow on drink.”
“What else?” Bhairo challenged.
“Well, we’re told we destroy the forest. We know who is actually
responsible. This year our children will plant trees at the club, in the
school and around our homes.”
“Who’ll give you the seedlings?”
“The government.”
“When will you start the evening school at the club?”
“Why not from tomorrow? We’ll also teach the children to sing and
play the flute. Etoa, Ratan, Singrai all sing well; I have heard them,
while grazing cattle. And look at Uncle Mangal—even at this age he
works so hard so that his grandchild can go to school. Can’t young men
like you learn from his example?”
“Well, the new school-teacher seems to talk sense. Let’s see what we
can do to help him.”
“Look, among the Lodhas even a girl has become a graduate. Uncle
you must admit that if you make an effort, you’re bound to succeed.”
Etoa was full of joy. The club which was the preserve of adults would
now also be open to children.
While grazing the cows the next day Etoa sang loudly. Addressing
the waters of the Dulang he announced, “You’ll see now, you’ll see.
Everything is going to change. Our teacher is wonderful, do you know
that?”
Adivasi children have some special problems in school. Because they
live in the open, in the midst of fields and rivers, sitting inside a
school-room for long spells, gives them a feeling of suffocation. If their
teacher is an adivasi, they are more at ease. They can understand him
and he follows their problems. Although most of the tribals in this
48
region speak Bengali, the poor illiterate village children cannot totally
follow the Bengali spoken by the urban people. But they have no
difficulty understanding the language of Moti Babu. After all, he
belongs to the same village.
Suddenly Etoa saw a golden land monitor. “Run away and hide,” he
told the creature. The Lodhas search for a golden land monitor on the
second day of Durga puja. According to legend, on this day their king
Kalketu went to the forest to look for the magical blue flower without
which one could not worship the forest goddess, Aranya-Chandika. He
didn’t find any flowers, but caught a golden land monitor instead. He
tied it with creepers and brought it home. On arrival it changed into the
forest goddess who helped Kalketu found a tribal kingdom. But
outsiders attacked him and took away his kingdom. The Lodhas,
hunters by profession, believe that killing a golden monitor on the
second day of Durga puja makes a man brave and valiant like Kalketu.
After collecting some roots and leafy vegetables Etoa climbed on the
back of his favourite buffalo. He knew so little about Sidhu or Kanhu or
about Birsa Bhagwan. But he shouted to the sky, “Once I learn to read
I’ll find out all about them.”
Etoa didn’t know that it was his last day of happiness; his excitement
about learning to read was to be short-lived. On his way home, while he
was lying on the back of his buffalo and singing aloud, he suddenly
heard the noise of people running and shouting, “Etoa, where are you?
Mangal has been crushed under a tree.”
“No!” Etoa screamed and ran towards Chand and Bhairo. Why were
they looking so pale?
“Go to Moti Babu’s mango grove.”
49
“What’s happened?”
“A branch fell... Go
ahead, I’ll put the cows in
the cowshed.”
“It must be that dying
tree.”
Yes, it was the dying tree.
People had managed to lift
the branch, get Mangal out
and make him lie down. But
his right leg was so swollen
and his forehead was so
beaded with sweat that it
was obvious that he was in
great pain.
“Aba, Aba!”
“Etoa, you were right.
The dying tree. I leant
against that branch to light
my bidi, and it fell pinning
me to the ground...”
Chand said, “You were
lucky it didn’t fall on your
chest!”
“Take me home....”
The men made an impro
vised stretcher to carry him
home. One of them called
the tribal doctor, Shashi
Lodha.
Praharaj Sing had often taken patients from the village to the town
hospital for treatment. He immediately said it wasn’t a case for Shashi
Lodha. “Go ask Moti Babu for the bullock-cart with the rubber tyres.”
“Will the Babu agree?”
“He’ll have to. Uncle Mangal works for him. He was injured while
doing his work...”
Mangal protested faintly, “I’ve never been to a hospital in my life.”
“Uncle, there’s a first time for everything. This time the Health
Centre at Mohini won’t do.”
“Our Shashi can fix the broken bones of the cows and goats.”
“You’re neither a cow nor a goat. You must also think of Etoa.”
Chand said angrily, “This tree of Moti Babu has to be cut down. Who
knows when it will kill someone.”
Alomani tried to say something about the evil spirits in the tree, but
the men stopped her. Moti Babu was somewhat hesitant but he lent his
cart. He couldn’t, however, resist saying that if Etoa had come to work
instead of his grandfather the mishap wouldn’t have occurred. “It was
all due to Mangal’s stubbornness, ” he added.
Moti Babu also gave some money. He reasoned that when living in
water, it was better not to displease the crocodiles. He was surrounded
by adivasis; if they got angry they might send their special messages to
other villages by couriers who carried the knotted barks of sal trees.
Then they would all attack his estate with their bows and arrows.
(This refers to a system of sending messages that is common among
adivasis. The inner bark of a sal tree is stripped and knotted, and carried
by four couriers to four villages. Three knots mean that the event is to
take place after three days. From each village other couriers are sent to
more villages and so on. In this way news spreads with the speed of
lightening.) Lately the tribals had learnt to speak up for themselves.
Moti Babu isn’t so stupid as to annoy them now.
52
Mangal’s main anxiety was for Etoa. Alomani assured him, “We’ll
look after your grandson and your goats. We’ll light your evening lamp
every day. Why do you worry?”
“The boy will have to sleep alone.”
“Aren’t we there?”
Etoa did not utter a word as he accompanied them to town. Praharaj
knew a lot of people. After admitting Mangal to hospital he spoke.to the
doctor and insisted that the X-ray be done the next day.
At night they slept in the house of Shankar Sing Munda, a peon in the
Education Department. They had their meal at a roadside hotel. The
53
town people didn’t serve enough rice. The helping was quite inadequate
for Etoa.
The next day the X-ray showed that Mangal’s leg had a compound
fracture. The leg would need to be put in plaster for a month. The
doctor couldn’t say whether he would be fit to get back to work after
that. He wasn’t God after all, was he?
Mangal said, “I’ll come back, Etoa. You’ll go to school.”
On their return journey Etoa was silent. School seemed like a dream.
The branch of the mango hadn’t only broken Mangal’s leg, it had
shattered Etoa’s world. On the way Praharaj bought Etoa some sweets
and a bit of mango jelly. They rode the bullock-cart back to the village.
5J.
Praharaj brought news from town that Mangal would have to stay in
hospital another month. Old bones take longer to heal.
Now it was impossible not to fall into the hands of Moti Babu. Subal,
Chand, Alomani, Bhairo all advised Etoa to accept Moti Babu’s offer.
They said, “Work for the time being. It’s foolish to ignore his offer. We
know that your grandfather wants you to go to school. Let him come
back; you can go to school then.”
Etoa grew up a lot in those few days. He knew they had only a small
hut, a courtyard and a few goats. If he worked for Moti Babu, he would
at Feast be able to live in his village, among the people he knew.
Moti Babu was pleased at his decision. “Now you’re being smart.
You see if God had meant you to be educated, your grandfather won’t
have had this accident.”
Etoa didn’t reply. After the day’s work, he and Ratan tried to study,
but couldn’t remember much. Nor could he go to the club in the
evening for who would have looked after the goats?
When school resumed, the teacher noticed his absence. The boys told
54
him what had happened. He said, “I must go and see him and find out
how he is managing alone.”
But Etoa avoided him. He was afraid he might start crying. He only
cried when Mangal returned from hospital and slapped him hard. “It
would have been better if I’d died. So you’ve become a cowherd again! I
so wanted to save you from being an illiterate farmhand, a slave of the
Babus. Why didn’t you sell the jack fruit tree? Why didn’t you sell the
goats? Why didn’t you go hungry till I returned? Why did you have to
do this, Etoa?”
“Aba, the Babu wouldn’t have waited. He would have employed
someone else. And you know that you won’t be able to work so hard
now. ”
“Why not?”
“You have to walk with a stick. How can you do any hard work?”
Alomani said, “Be sensible Mangal Dada. Etoa will go to school some
day. Things won’t remain like this forever.”
Mangal kept quiet but the next day he went and cut some date-palm
leaves. Why should he sit idle? He would weave mats. An adivasi
cannot stay at home doing nothing.
Etoa didn’t go to school but he chose to go to the Babu’s house at
such a time that on the way he could listen to the school-master telling
stories to the children. Etoa knew that the teacher had brought
story-books from town. As he had promised earlier, he read out the
tales of battles and wars.
Yes, there was a fierce battle once. Sometimes there were arrows on
both sides, sometimes the arrows had to face cannon and guns.
Etoa also wanted to tell these stories to someone. He called out to the
sky, the grass and the water and narrated these tales. He could see that
55
battles were being fought constantly, everywhere. Didn’t the old rabbit
have to fight to stay alive? At the sight of a shadow—be it of man or
animal—he pricked up his ears and ran inside the reed forest. When
Etoa cast his net in the water there was a regular battle in the world of
fish, a scramble to stay out of its reach. Or look at the wild flowers.
Every monsoon they had to hide under the red water of the
Subarnarekha, and come out again when the water subsided. There
were only battles and combat in life.
One day, the teacher caught hold of him. “Don’t run away, Etoa.
Tell me, why don’t you come to school?”
“I have to work for Moti Babu.”
“Do you know you’ll get a stipend if you come to school? You’ll also
get a snack in the afternoon.”
Etoa stood digging the dirt with his big toe. Then he gathered up
courage and said, “You talk of a fierce battle every day. Is the battle
over, or is it still going on?”
The teacher put his hand on Etoa’s head and ruffled his hair. “There
have been many battles, Etoa.”
“Is it all over?”
“Why? Do you want to go and fight if there’s a battle on?”
“I? I?...Listen, Sir, you cook your own food, don’t you? If I bring
you a large tuber root will you accept it? It’s very tasty.”
“Come to school first.”
“Aba also wants me to go but he broke his leg. The Babu threatened
to employ someone else. That is why... and besides there was no food at
home. ”
“Do your friends have the same problems?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you come to the club in the evening?”
“I’m tired after the day’s work.”
57
Etoa shook his head and ran off. The school-teacher watched him as
he went away. Etoa Munda, too, was a brave warrior. He was also
fighting a battle, only he didn’t know it.
Alomani brought drinking water for the school-teacher every day.
The teacher told her, “The adivasi children don’t come. The govern
ment will close down the school. How can it run without students?”
“Don’t tell me these things, son, what do I know about them. My
sons started life as cowherds and ended up being farm labourers. But
when they celebrate Birsa Munda Day at the club, you tell them about
school. ”
“Will everyone come to the club?”
“Yes. It’s a meeting organized by the club. They’ll have to come.”
The next day, the teacher came out of the class-room and stopped
Etoa as he was passing.
“Come here, Etoa. Look at this picture.”
“Who is it?”
“Birsa Munda, Birsa Bhagwan. Have you heard of him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know anything about him?”
“No.”
“Have you heard the names Sidhu and Kanhu?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know about them?”
“No.”
“Etoa, you like stories of battles, don’t you? Birsa, Sidhu and Kanhu
were all valiant fighters. They died fighting. If you had learnt to read,
you could have read about them. Then your friends could also have got
to know these stories.”
58
Today Etoa crossed the river and went to the sandbank. There he
danced and lifting his hands to the sky called out to the river, the reed
forest and the flying birds, “Listen,” he said, “it was a fierce battle and
our people fought it. Do you know our Birsa and Sidhu, and our
Kanhu. Do you hear?”
The waves of the Dulang river carried Etoa’s words to the
Subarnarekha. On the horizon the Rameshwar temple seemed to lean
forward to hear them, and the striped grasshoppers hopped from flower
to flower to relate Etoa’s story.
“Aba, do you know about Birsa Bhagwan and Sidhu and Kanhu?”
“I know their names, but don’t know their stories.”
“What did Birsa Bhagwan do, Aba?”
“I don’t know, child.”
“Aba...I want to go to school.”
“How? Why after so long?”
“You’re much better now. I’ll plant chillies in our yard after school
and sell them in the weekly market. We’ll sell the old goat and buy a
new one. If the goat has kids think of the money we’ll make.”
“I always wanted you to go to school, Etoa—you gave it up. Let’s see
what the others say. Moreover, I’ve given my word to the Babu.”
“You haven’t put your thumb impression on blank paper?”
“No, but I promised that I’d work for him. An adivasi always keeps
his word.”
“But he would have employed someone else if I hadn’t turned up.
Don’t Babus have to keep their word also?”
‘ All I know is we have to keep our word. They act according to their
rules, we according to ours.”
59
Birsa
Day—15
November.
The previous day Etoa informed
Moti Babu that he wouldn’t be able
to come to work.
“Why?”
“Tomorrow is Birsa Day.”
“So what? That comes every
year.”
“This year there’ll be a large
gathering. We’ll have to decorate
the club.”
“Don’t make me laugh, Etoa.
You people have become too pre
sumptuous. The times are bad so
we have to keep quiet. But this is
going too far! Birsa Day! A large
gathering! Primitive barbarians like
you have learnt words too big for
your mouth!”
Etoa was livid with rage. But fear
of Moti Babu was too deeply in
grained for him to be able to retort.
He came home without uttering a
word.
“Aba, are we primitive bar
barians?”
“Who says so?”
“Moti Babu. Why should he say
such a thing? Is it because we’re
uneducated, poor, dark-skinned
and live in mud huts?”
“So we’re primitive barbarians, are we? Who’ll do his work but for
these barbarians?”
“I won’t work for him any more.”
“Come. Let’s go to the river and wash these clothes with washing
soda. We can wear torn clothes to the meeting tomorrow but we
shouldn’t wear dirty ones. And look at your hair—it looks like a crow’s
nest. Come, let me wash it.”
The next morning Etoa was thrilled when he looked at the vast
crowd, and heard the enthusiastic slogans, “Long live Birsa Munda!
Long live Sidhu, Kanhu!” He was very pleased to see Ratan and Singrai
also there.
“Did the Babu let you take the day off?”
"Who asked the Babu? We came because we wanted to.”
“What a large crowd there is this year!”
“Do you know our teacher is the president?”
This year Mangal, Bhairo, Subal, Alomani and Bhajan were all seated
on the stage. Praharaj was adjusting the mike. It was battery-operated.
Never before had they made such elaborate arrangements.
“Silence! Silence!” Praharaj yelled into the mike.
“Our President, Gangaram Hembrom, will speak to you.” Gangaram stood up. He was slightly built and his voice was rather soft, but
today he looked imposing and sounded impressive.
“We have no pictures of our great heroes Sidhu and Kanhu which we
could use to draw their portraits. But we do have of Birsa Bhagwan. I
am holding it before you. Please stand and pay homage to him and I’ll
tell you his life-story which will inspire you with courage. You’ll realize
that you may be poor, but you’ve the strength to overcome all
obstacles.”
What a portrait it was! Painted with black charcoal on white paper
61
pasted on a bamboo mat. What a powerful face under the turban! The
eyes like burning torches. Suddenly from the crowd, Etoa shouted:
“Birsa Bhagwan! Birsa Bhagwan! He fought a fierce battle for us.” The
rest of the crowd took up the chant, “Hail Birsa Bhagwan! Hail Birsa
Bhagwan!”
Etoa’s small chest seemed to burst with pride. Primitive barbarians
indeed! Do barbarians have a great hero like Birsa Munda? Etoa seemed
to grow taller with happiness and joy. No, Etoa knew they weren’t
barbarians. Their lives couldn’t be limited to being cowherds and field
labourers. Etoa would study and find the answers to the questions that
plagued him. Why did they live in mud huts? Why did Aba wear a
tattered dhoti? He must know. His chest seemed to overflow as if the
Dulang and the Subarnarekha were flooding his insides.
This was the end of Etoa’s life as a cowherd. The -leaders of the
various tribal groups agreed to find a way to send their children to
school. They had to fight to get an adivasi school sanctioned for their
area. After a long struggle they got an adivasi teacher for this .school. All
these efforts would be wasted if the adivasi children didn't attend
school.
Moti Babu was furious! “What, no cowherd will come to work! I’ll
show them!”
But his elder brother reasoned with him. “What will you do? We are
only six families—there are hundreds of them. Plead and persuade them.
The days of shouting are over.”
So Moti Babu went to Mangal.
“What’s happened, Mangal?”
“Why, Babu, what’s happened?”
“Etoa’s stopped coming to work. Didn’t you know?-”
62
“He won’t come to work, Babu. He has to go to school. He’ll get a
stipend, and books, and tiffin. When he gets all this, why should he go
to work?”
“All this reading and writing—what will it lead to? Will it make him a
king or something?”
“No, Babu, it’ll make him a man.”
“This is a conspiracy. But listen well, Mangal, at the time of planting
and harvesting I’m not going to employ any of you.”
Mangal scratched his head and replied, “Will that be wise, Babu? We
won’t allow that. The winds have changed, Babu. The barbarians have
united.”
Moti Babu had to swallow his anger and go home quietly.
Today the school-master took the root tuber from Etoa. Why
shouldn’t he? Can’t a teacher accept a small present from his student?
After school, Etoa ran across to the sandbanks of the river. He lay flat
on his back and told the sky, “Do you know what a fierce battle it
63
was?” The river, the sky, the grass all sparkled and laughed in the sun.
Foolish boy! Etoa Munda didn’t know that his fierce battle was over
and he had actually won the fight.
This is how Etoa’s story ends.
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