Yesterday, we took the mountain road from Bijaipur to Dera Khairwa and saw another face of Indian people. The mountains are part of an extremely old range... so were not offering towering heights or dramatic valleys. A large part of India belongs to the ancient continent of Gondwanaland... of which Australia was a part... and the mountains looked like the low ranges we see on the west coast of our country. Fascination did not come from the landscape... but once again came from the people.
Let's go on a travelogue along one out the most 'remote' parts of Rajasthan. Remote is a relative term... During our 5 hour drive, we passed villages accommodating at least 250,000... but for India... that is remote.
Our first 'stumbled upon' feature was a market being used by the nomadic people to rebalance their sheep and goat herds as they progressed towards their winter pastures. At the top of a steep climb, we looked down on a large field... almost hidden from view... to see about 20 men with brightly covered turbans ... and any other couple of hundred animals being mustered in a sales-yard fashion. No village was in sight... the nomads had chosen a location to do their commerce without interruption. I was surprised to see the numbers of nomads. They are quickly reducing in numbers... but there are still plenty of them. In the countryside, the bright coloured turbans of the men make them easily identifiable. They tie their turbans in a different fashion to other people... much more flamboyant!
We passed a couple of water-wells where oxen were being used to lift water up 50 meters from the well to the irrigation canals. Rajasthan has received good rains this year... and the level of the watertable has risen... the lakes appear to be nearly full... and the crops look green and healthy. Our driver found one well located where he could safely get off the narrow road... and we all (8 of us) clammered down the slope to the well and introduced ourselves to the landowner. He was only too happy to give us our photo opportunity. It was surprising how much water the string of buckets could lift in a short time. The holy cows doing the heavy lifting had plenty of time to contemplate things spiritual and mystic... as they went round-and-round. I find it confusing how a Holy animal can be pushed to do demeaning work... or left to eat cardboard to survive in its declining years... but there are lots of circumstances in India that are difficult to understand. This farmer lives off a small plot of land that is growing wheat. He needed to tend the crop carefully to get enough food for the summer.
Our next point of interest was passing the local women on the road carrying bundles of sticks on their heads. Men cut down dead limbs or fallen trees... the women carry the sticks long distances into the next village and sell their load... door-to-door. A load of sticks usually sells for 100 rupees... about $2... not bad for a day's work. Some of the men climbing trees to cut branches carried chainsaws... and some of the trees had been denuded within an inch of their lives. I assume the men doing the trimming are experienced and leave enough leaf for the tree to survive.
Our scheduled stop for the morning was a magnificent temple belonging to the Jain sect of the Hindu religion. The temple is located in an area abundant in marble... and the architect took full advantage of the resource. Each column... each surface... has been intricately carved. Non-practicing Jains were not allowed into the inner sanctuary that houses the particular god for the temple. Excuse my not remembering which god it was... there are 3 million of them and the more popular gods have nick-names and different regional names.
You may wonder how gods come into being. We had an example shown to us today. At a corner of the road, we came across crowds of people milling around a tiny structure. Our guide invited us to get out of the bus for a look. The people were stopping to gain good luck from a shrine built by a father to his son... only some 20 years ago. The son was riding a motorbike that crashed into a lorry... resulting in his death. The police tidied up the crash scene and took the bike back to the police station. Mysteriously, the bike disappeared... only to be discovered back at the crash site. The police again took the bike back to the station... only to have it mysteriously return to the cash site. It was left there. One night shortly thereafter, a lorry driver had a flat tyre at that same crash site. He had no money to buy a new tyre. Out of the dark, a young man emerged offering to loan the money to the lorry driver, saying "After your trip return here to repay the money. If I am not here, repay the money to my father"... and he gave him the address. After the trip the lorry driver came to the father's house to repay the money." How could you borrow money from my son... he has been recently killed at a road accident just out of town ". The father was amazed to learn of the incident... and erected the small shrine on that site. Many people now claim to see premonitions when driving past. Thousands of believers visit the site each week... hoping to gain good fortune for themselves and relatives who have recently deceased. In a couple of decades, this young man may well become another of the 3 million gods.
Another 'stumbled-upon' event was passing a nomadic clan moving house to their winter pastures. They will stay there until the first of the monsoonal rains... when they will make the reverse trip to their summer pastures. Chickens, baby goats, tents... all their belongings were stacked up on the camel wagons. The young children were herding the goats and sheep along the road. It looked like a tough life.
The place we slept last night was in a village unaccustomed to tourists. We were welcomed like royalty as we wandered around the village at sunset. Usually it is only the kids who ask to have their photos taken... but in this village, all the folks wanted to be in the picture. We managed to get some special shots of the older citizens with faces marked with many years of scorching summers... their faces seemed to tell the stories.
No comments:
Post a Comment