Suddenly one day three persons died with interval of half an hour or
hour. It created great panic in our locality. During night, again 3-4 deaths
took place. In the morning our whole locality and everyone looked mortally
frightened. Doctors rushed to our village and declared that it was a cholera
epidemic. People were dieing like flies. Some people died in the burial place
who had carried the dead bodies there. People were scared to lift the dead
bodies. Doctors were giving anti-cholera injection. Nobody was sure that he/
she would be alive the next hour. My elder brother was consoling our people. He
was almost on hourly basis carrying a dead man or woman or child to graveyard.
Once, while returning from the burial ground, he noticed that my sister
Bhagirathi was running high temperature. Within half an hour she became
unconscious. My brother noticed that she had cholera. We all were standing
around her. Medicine, injection did not work. She was sinking every minute.
With a big jerk she shouted asking for my elder brother, “Where is Dada?” (i.e.
our elder brother). In fact my brother was having my sister’s head on his lap
only. She was repeatedly asking for him when my brother was very much near to
her. We could hear her sinking voice. Then she asked him to bring his ears
close to her mouth. She asked him whether he was listening to her. He replied
affirmatively. She gathered her total strength and said – “Dada, do you hear
me. Promise me that you would look after my two sons. You would not send them
back to my home. Promise me, now I am dieing”. My brother said – “I promise, we
shall not neglect them”. My mother was sitting by her side, we, Raghunath and
I, were standing there helplessly. We all heard Bhagirathi. When she listened
to my brother’s voice, she opened her eyes for a second and again slowly closed
them. She was no more.
The whole event was over within
an hour. My brother and our two neighbours carried her body, buried and
returned, mortally afraid fearing to see another dead body. No exaggeration –
my uncle – a neighbour – was already dead.
Within a period of 10 to 15 days almost every family lost at least one
of their nearer and dearer, father or mother, sister or brother, son or
daughter. Everyone was hesitant to go to the dead man’s house to
carry the body. The whole locality looked like a crematory or like
people’s burial ground. Nobody would dare to talk about the deaths and
cholera. Mute silence cast all over our locality. But the voice of my
dieing sister was making a terrible and fearful noise in my ears.
Anyway, the cholera epidemic was over.
Now we faced other problem which was unbearable for us. My diseased sister left
her two sons behind, taking promise from my brother of their care at the time
of her death. First son was about three years old and the second son was hardly
3-4 months’ infant.
When we ourselves were unable to buy even one meal, to purchase lactic
powder or milk daily for the infant was just beyond our capacity.
My mother would take the child to fields and I accompanied her to take
his care while mother worked. A little quantity of milk mixing with water was
being fed to the child. In fact it was my duty to do it during my mother’s
working hours. But I was not able to go daily due to my school and my mother
had to leave the child alone in the field under the shadow of the tree.
Whenever the child cried, mother would rush to feed him, but it would affect
her wages adversely. And inevitable happened. Gradually the child became weaker
and weaker and one day, seeing our helplessness and the child’s condition,
perhaps Bhagirathi took away her son from us. The infant relieved us from our
daily worry. Our poverty could not save the child. My brothers, Gunaji and
Raghunath buried Bhagirathi’s son in her own grave just 5-6 months after her
death. My brother’s promise got defeated but determination to overcome and
defeat the poverty started taking shape in my mind subconsciously. Poverty
worked as stimulant for my thoughts.
On the other hand my brother Gunaji’s missionary work was carving place
in my mind. His discussions with society’s local social workers, his stage
performances and more importantly my reading of “Janta” – Dr. Ambedkar’s weekly
newspaper for our people, who would gather without fail in front of our house
to listen to its reading that made me realize the degraded, humiliated and
inhuman treatment being meted out to us by high caste Hindus all over the
country.
As I did not want to be a mute witness to the starvation and hunger of
my mother, brother, family and myself, I was not prepared to be a silent
spectator to the society’s condition as well. But what exactly I should do? I
had no answer!
Not that the people of my locality were illiterate. Majority of them
could read and write. But it was a collective reading of the 'Janta' to know
the trends and teaching of Ambedkar who was expressing his thoughts in simple
but detailed manner so that the commonest man of his communities could
understand. “Janta” was read column-by-column, item-by-item and literally every
word. Subjects were discussed and messages were implemented. Usually it was
done by my brother Gunaji. In his absence the job of reading would be assigned
to me. Elders would immediately understand the messages; while it was getting
stored in my mind whether I understood it or not. The atmosphere used to get
charged with high emotions, anger, hatred, shame and pride. They would react
sharply. My brother would give me writings of Mahatma Phule (1827 - 1890), whom
Dr. Ambedkar considered his Guru i.e. Teacher.
Mahatma Phule was the first real social
reformer of the 19th century, who opened crusader against Brahmanism,
caste system, untouchability and stupid Hindu religious rituals, He opened his well
for untouchables to take water, he was the first to start remarriages of
widows, stop their tonsuring, accepted orphans, opened schools for girls of
untouchables, taught his own wife to make her a teacher. Speed was fast. It was
too high to understand for me. But my brother gave me Phule’s book “Satyarth
Prakash” – (Light of Truth) and told me to read it. For any reading, he would
say “Read it, go on reading it, do not worry about its meaning. One day you
will understand it”. Thus, “reading” became my habit and addiction!
As reading of thes “Janta” –
weekly newspaper edited and published by Dr. Ambedkar, became a regular job for
me. Slowly but surely my mind started reacting to the stories of atrocities on
untouchables, their being ex-communicated by caste Hindus, ban on their
entering caste Hindu localities and many such news items which were being
published in “Janata”
My brother read “Janata” for regular gathering of our people, my reading
was just mechanical. But with the passage of time and especially having seen
sharp reactions of the people and their spontaneous loud slogans, would also
raise hairs on my body and thus I was getting convinced about the humiliating
place of our people in the
Hindu society. Though our people in my village i.e. Jawla never
experienced harsh reality of untouchability, but this much I did understand
that we belonged to the untouchable caste. On one hand, mind was getting
imprinted with these sad pictures, and on the other hand “stomach” was getting
empty. What stuff I should bring to fill it? The sky looked empty and the
nature vaccum!
But nature seldom helps the poor. Nature’s favourite are the rich
people. In order that my family members should get rid of the starvation, I
used to pray the God daily. Many a times I thought to go to mountain and do
meditation to please thes God, almost simultaneously second thought would come
which frightened me of tigers, snakes and all sorts of ghosts which compelled
me to abandon the idea of mountains. To many, this would sound childish or
fabricated thoughts. But this will be understood only by those who could not
see a glimpse of a morsel of bread even in the dreams!
I had different jobs in three different seasons to perform. In fact no
season was good for us. But among the three i.e. monsoon, winter and summer,
the last was just horrible. During summers, conditions would become worst.
There would be no work in the fields. Scorching unbearable heat and the wind
would bring hot breeze like fire. People rarely would come out of their houses.
Cattle would not move out from tree-shadows and even birds could be seen
silently perching on the branches, preferably because of the green leaves.
But if we remained in the house, it would mean no food. Summer stretched
from end of January to end of June. So to search something which will give us
little money was must.
My mother would take me with her to collect wood or cow dung cakes dried
by summer heat naturally in the fields or on the cattle going routes. My elder
brother Gunaji would take me to collect fallen tamarind. He would climb
tamarind trees, which had ripe tamarind, shake its branches heavily causing
fall of fruits. Beneath the tree my
job was to collect the fruits and put it in the sack. We were moving
from one tree to another, one field to another and one village to another. My
brother was also going to pluck raw mangoes, although the mangoes were for
mango owners. The other jobs were to collect honey and gum. I was invariably
required to accompany him.
Bare footed on the hottest dusty routes, no shirt, and half pant torn at
many places and rotten gunny bag on the shoulder with collected stuff inside.
But one good feature of these summer jobs was whenever I felt hungry I would
eat the stuff sufficiently collected in the bag. To quench thirst, was a real
problem. Wells were everywhere but how to fetch water up! When someone happened
to be working in the fields, watering his crops, the mere sight was so
delightful and to drink that water meant forgetting all the pangs.
All these jobs gave us a meagre amount by way of its sale. But it was
must and daily.
Many times I saw my mother collecting fresh cow dung in nearby
crop-thrashing grounds. This cow dung contained a good quantity of grains of
sorghum. My mother would take such dung to the river, scan it in the water and
collect the grains. Then she would dry it in the sun heat and would grind it in our crushing stones. It
being in a very small quantity, she would prepare a jelly of the flour. And
that was our dinner. It was incredible. But no, it was a truth, a harsh reality
which I witnessed during my childhood in all summer seasons.
Whether we liked it or not summer was to go and so it would end. In
fact, when summers heated our stomachs with hunger without or with a little
food – if at all it was to be considered a “food”; monsoons’ rains drenched our
breads so much turning them in jelly or pulp or paste making them not eatable
but drinkable. But the winters were
not so merciless, They
generously provided us plenty eatable vegetations from the forest of the
natural creepers’ leaves! Strangely enough, none of my family made any
complaints or grudged about it (except myself – blaming kind hearted God when I
always asked reason for making us so poor!). But it always gave me strength and
determination to fight it on and see its end as early as possible. But how? I
had crossed only 4th step and thus was too young to do anything to
end it!
Simply because we suffered in all the seasons, nature would not change
its cycle. Once it so happened that June was closing its last page, we
started looking up in the sky to see the opening of rains. Many days passed and
there was no sign of rains, no flotilla of black clouds and streak of
lightening. We were eagerly waiting for rains.
Grazing grounds were dried up. Farmers were worried. They had prepared
farms keeping them ready for sowing. But heat was intense and fields had become
completely dry and long cracks would be seen all over it. There was no fodder
for cattle. Bushes and green trees lost their greenery. There was very little
water in our river. Water was available only in small ditches all over the
riverbed and scattered at long distances. In result, peacocks, deer, monkeys
and even foxes started coming to the wells of our locality, which luckily had
yet quite good water.
Sometimes black clouds would appear in the sky. The faces of the people
would glow with joy. “Now it would fall. Now it would be down pour”, everyone
would say looking up in the sky. Suddenly wind would start blowing and within
minutes black clouds would disappear, making the sky crystal clear!, In fact, I
could understand land owners’ worry and anxiety as in the absence of rainfall,
they would not be able to cultivate their lands and reap harvest. But I thought
why we landless agricultural labourers should so desperately look up for rains?
It troubled my mind but seldom, I got convincing explanation at that age! Was
that were loosing our wages and with it
food too? But the wages were so meagre we could hardly purchase enough sorghum
– our staple food grains.
At last, monsoon started and we all took a big sigh of relief. But
during these days many utensils – as it is – they were bare minimum – were sold
in the pawnbroker’s shop. It was a regular feature occurring during the drought
and even when it was wet period caused due to continuous heavy rains. So we
were used to it. But such scenes were more than
rare,
My job commenced. My brother Gunaji would wake me up early in the night.
We would walk a very long distance crossing bushes and grass and sprouted crops
in the pitch dark. I was to follow him. Occasionally he would look back to see
me that I was following him. I used to get scared whenever I crossed shadows of
trees in the thick jungle and in
the pitch dark and that too in the drizzling rains.I would collect the Jamun fruitst, I have
already narrated its process in the
preceding pages In the evening he would return with some flour, some money
earned by selling the fruits. My brother and sisters-in-law would be back from
the fields. A sort of eatable vegetable naturally grown up on bank of the river
was abundantly available. During rainy season, it was a daily dish in our
evening meals. Quite boring to read it. no! But it was delicious for us.
During rainy season variety of fodder grass grew in the fields. I used
to go early in the morning in the fields to cut grass. It was tied with long
creepers and after attending the school; I was selling the bundle of grass in
the common market place in the evening. It would fetch some money. My mother
was unhappy to see me going so early in the morning for cutting the grass.
With a sharp edged sickle in right hand, holding a bunch of grass with
the left hand, the grass was cut. Cutting of the grass was done clandestinely
i.e. without being noticed by the farm owner and generally in the wee hours.
Once I was late and it was already dawn when I started cutting the
grass. Fearing that the farmer would come, in hurry I cut a small snake along
with the bunch of tender grass. I noticed blood oozing from the palm of my left
hand. I was frightened to see two pieces of the snake. When I saw my palm
closely I found that I had also -cut a
big piece of skin from the palm of my left hand. I left the grass there itself
and returned home. It was a deep cut which caused the scar that remained
permanently on my palm clearly visible.
Winter was much sympathetic and considerate for us. Frequency of
starvation was much less and occasionally meals were available. Full meals
meant enough bread of sorghum, green chili, green vegetables brought from the
fields and green raw pulses which were cooked afterwards in the house.
Only one thing of winter that I did not like was not its severing cold
but my mother’s helplessness during night. My mother would untie her saree,
wrap the half portion of the saree around to herself and in the half portion
she would wrap me to protect from the severe cold: and being too young – I was unable to do much to alleviate it but
these
situations worked further to my determination to end it. We were
suffering. But my elder brother’s movement, his troupe and his missionary
dedication for Dr. Ambedkar’s work had made him most respectable person not
only in our village but in our entire Buldhana district. His reputation
automatically raised our prestige in the society. Though psychological but it
had its impressions on my tender mind.
He wrote farcical plays, short stories, songs and satires for his
troupe. All those writings were about condemning superstition, caste system,
man made superiority, inferiority, distinction between man and man, sacrificing
animals like goat, hens and many such practices and evil customs prevailing in our castes.
Most heinous way of worshiping Gods in the village fairs by our women
folk was their dancing with the belief that they were caught by some spirits. A
village named Gaigaon, a few miles away from Jawala was ill- famous for this
and women would go to its yearly fair only to exhibit their so presumed power
of spirit. We children did not understand a bit of it but yearly we were
visitors like pilgrims to this fair.
Satires were presented in a hilarious form, in the convincingly
dialogues on the stage before hundreds of villagers – mostly men, women,
children of our caste. My brother’s troupe created tremendous awareness and
awakening among our community people. The troupe consisted of our locality men
who played roles of jokers, buffoons, fake hypocrite Brahmins and drumbeaters
and also roles of women and they were so excellent performers who made the
audience laugh, weep and cry, amuse and even compelled them to seriously ponder
over the subjects like I had seen our
women dancing in the ugly movements in that fair.
I as a child. had seen a number
of stage performances of my brother’s troupe against such practices and
vis-a-vis our peoples’ positive response and also, though in a due course of
time I had also witnessed total stoppage of our women’s dancing in that fair.
In our ‘Maharwada’, our people would sacrifice goats and hens before the
Goddess known as “Marimay” on every “Dussera Festival” day. This practice too
was totally abandoned. This transformation was
mainly due to my brother’s troupe and “mass” reading of
Dr. Ambedkar’s teaching in his newspaper “Janata”.
There was another way of worshipping Gods and Goddesses on Dussehra Day.
These were small size metal made various statues of Gods in almost all houses
of our families. Those deities were also located at various places like
riverbanks, jungles, specific trees, etc. etc. around our village. My mother
would handover me a small plate with some rice grains, kumkum, some homemade
sweets and small sized lamps prepared out of wheat flour with oiled wick put in
it. My job was to go to these deities, worship them, put a lightened lamp, rice
grains before each of them and report back to my mother. Though I was just a
young boy it was my regular yearly assigned job. After returning, my mother
would put kumkum [red powder considered sacred] on my forehead saying these
Gods would bless me. Whole drill was taking place on each Dussehra Festival day
in the presence of my family members.
And on one such Dussehra Festival day it happened. As usual my mother
wanted me to go to these deities to worship. But there was no camphor or
fragrance sticks or wheat flour to prepare lamps. So my mother asked Gunaji to
purchase at least some camphor so that I could go for worshipping.
My brother brought some material on credit including some wheat and
jaggary (gur) so that we could get something to eat. Then he asked my mother,
“Mamma today is a festival day and we have been worshipping these Gods from
time immemorial. You have been sending Raoji (i.e. myself) for worshipping
these deities on festival days. You considered these all Gods powerful. Today
is festival and we do not have even ordinary food to eat. I brought all this on
credit. What sort of these Gods are, who see our stark poverty but do not do
anything to remove it, although you think they all are powerful. Mother,
Babasaheb has been telling us not to worship these high caste’s Gods because
they want us to remain poor forever as it serves their interest”. Gunaji
started elaborating uselessness of such deities and our worshiping them almost
forgetting our presence.
My mother was speechless and total silence prevailed in our house. In
fact we understood very little what he told. Only thing that struck to us
was really these deities could not stop our starvation despite the fact that
we had been working so hard and also worshipping these Gods|
Silence was broken by my mother herself. Although she too had seen
a number of his troupe’s stage
programmes on these subjects. She first time heard Gunaji – her son talking to
her directly face to face.
She got up quietly, calmly collected all the statues of the deities from
the house, put them in a big iron pan and asked me to throw them in the river
which was just 4-5 minute walk from our house. I was glad to hear her. For me,
the reason was that I was going to be relieved of that tiring job of going to
various Gods and Goddesses of far off places!
Like an obedient son I lifted the basket, walked up to the river and literally
threw all the statues in the water and reported it back to my mother.
“Gunaji is right”, she just murmured and wiped her tears.
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