एकश्लोकि महाभारतं (Ekashloki Mahabharatam)

 

एकश्लोकि महाभारतं

Ekashloki Mahabharatam

In Sanskrit, eka means one, and shloka is a couplet; thus, ekashloki is any composition of just a couplet. The objective is to say something in the fewest words. Of many ekashlokis, you may be familiar with the following:

Ekashloki Mahabharatam (EM)

एकश्लोकि महाभारतं

आदौ पाण्डवधार्तराष्ट्रजननं लाक्षागृहे दाहनं

द्यूतं श्रीहरणं वने विहरणं मत्स्यालये वर्तनम् ।

लीलागोग्रहणं रणे विहरणं सन्धिक्रियाजृम्भणं

पश्चाद्भीष्मसुयोधनादिनिधनं ह्येतन्महाभारतम् ॥[i]

Total Words – 16 only and 24 if you perform Sandhi Vichhed!*

Why EM?

No idea about the author of EM, but for people who have no time to read the entire epic, he made a very brief, handy gist. However, it is notable that EM focuses only on the feud between the Kauravas and Pandavas which constitutes only a little more than one-fifth of the epic, and the rest of the epic deals with many other myths and stories (Nala and Damayanti, Savitri and Satyavan, etc.), and didactic songs and sermons including the Gita and the Anu-Gita.

How long is Mahabharata?

Guinnessworldrecords.com credits Marcel Proust’s ‘Remembrance of Things Past’ with 9.6 million characters (each letter or space is counted as a ‘character’) or about 1.3 million words as world’s longest ‘novel.’

Vedavyasa’s Mahabharata is much longer than Proust’s book. It has about 95000 shlokas with almost two million words, and is about seven times the length of the Iliad and the Odyssey combined.

English translation of the unabridged Sanskrit Mahabharata by Kisari Mohan Ganguly (1883 – 1896) has 5818 pages (1.75 million words apprx.), and M. N. Dutt’s translation has 6340 pages (1.9 million words apprx.).

If ‘Reading the Mahabharata in full’, whether in Sanskrit, English, or any other language, is in your bucket list; you may like to begin right away. Godspeed!

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[i] Though you may need no help, word-wise meaning is given below:

·      आदौ – Beginning with पाण्डवधार्तराष्ट्रजननं – birth of Pandavas and Kauravas

·      लाक्षागृहे दाहनं – Palace of Lac burnt  (attempted murder of the Pandavas)

·      द्यूतं श्रीहरणं – losing the game of dice, and disrobing of Shree (Draupadi)

·      वने विहरणं – exile of 12 years in forest

·      मत्स्यालये वर्तनम्  - Incognito stay for one year at the palace of the king of Matsya

·      लीलागोग्रहणं रणे विहरणं – Pandavas foiling attempt of Kauravas to steal cows from king Virata

·      सन्धिक्रियाजृम्भणं  - Krishna’s failed attempt to broker peace

·      पश्चाद्भीष्मसुयोधनादिनिधनं – Thereafter, the War resulting in death of Bhisma, Suyodhana (Duryodhana’s real name), and others

·      ह्येतन्महाभारतम् – That, in brief, is the gist of Mahabharata

***

* Sandhi Vichhed

JNU's School of Sanskrit and Indic Studies has a tool - Sanskrit Sandhi Recognizer and Analyzer - to help with Sandhi Vichhed: Link: 

http://sanskrit.jnu.ac.in/sandhi/viccheda.jsp

References

1.     The Mahabharata 1 - Translation by Bibek Debroy

2.     Encyclopaedia Britannica – article by Wendy Doniger

3.     sanskritdocuments.org

Word-Meaning by Bing AI

Not familiar with the Sanskrit word जृम्भणं, I sought Bing AI’s help. It scoured the net, checked EIGHT sources, and got me the answer quoted below in a flash. Very impressive!

“The Sanskrit word सन्धिक्रियाजृम्भणं (sandhikriyājṛmbhaṇaṃ) appears in a verse that summarizes the entire Mahabharata epic in one sloka⁴⁵. The word means **bursting open of the peace treaty**⁴⁵ and refers to the failed attempt to avoid the war between the Pandavas and the Kauravas by negotiating a peaceful settlement. The word is composed of three parts: सन्धि (sandhi) meaning **peace**, क्रिया (kriyā) meaning **action** or **operation**, and जृम्भणं (jṛmbhaṇaṃ) meaning **opening** or **expanding**. The word is in the accusative case, singular number and neuter gender.

Source: Conversation with Bing, 25/5/2023

(1) Raja Thatha's stotra translations: Eka sloki BHaratham. https://stotrarathna.blogspot.com/2022/10/eka-sloki-bharatham.html.

(2) EKA SLOKA MAHABHARATAM – venkatvanaja. https://vanajaweb.wordpress.com/2021/10/12/eka-sloka-mahabharatam/.

(3) Sanskrit Dictionary. https://www.sanskritdictionary.com/.

(4) Sanskrit to English Translation - ImTranslator.net. https://imtranslator.net/translation/sanskrit/to-english/translator/.

(5) Sanskrit Dictionary Online Translation LEXILOGOS. https://www.lexilogos.com/english/sanskrit_dictionary.htm.

(6) ekashloki mahAbhArataM - Sanskrit Documents. https://sanskritdocuments.org/doc_z_misc_general/ekashlokimahAbhAratam.html.

(7) एक श्लोकी महाभारत. https://www.vedadhara.com/ekasloki-mahabharatam-hindi.

(8) Eka Sloki Mahabharata - Vedadhara. https://www.vedadhara.com/ekasloki-mahabharatam-lyrics.”

***

India is on the Moon, BUT…

 

India is on the Moon, BUT…
आदमी गइल चांद पर

If you have never heard a Bhojpuri song, or your familiarity with Bhojpuri folk music is limited only to Arrah hile Chapra hile Balia hilela (probably due to the ‘visual’ appeal!); I seriously recommend the poem by Ramnath Paswan of Muzaffarpur. The humble, unknown poet has composed this mint-fresh poem and has recited it for a TV channel. Deservingly, he video has gone viral.

Here is the link for the video:

https://youtu.be/xhSh8uDz624?si=6u3lrX84KwVBFlQj

The poem is so simple and earthy that anyone who follows Hindi will appreciate and enjoy it. No knowledge of Bhojpuri is needed.

What is the poem about? It is a poem about the India that reached the moon on August 23, 2023 and the Bharat that is still mired in illiteracy, superstition, and darkness of ignorance.

The opening lines constitute the prologue as well as the summary of the poem: 

अशिक्षा अनहरिया में ओझा कमाइन है
आदमी गइल चांद पर गांव में डाईन है

The rustic poet is concerned about the darkness of ignorance in his Bharat while literate and scientific India has reached the moon.

The son of the woman labour who grazes cattle is down with fever, the neighbours summon the ojha who fumigates the sick one with chili and other substances and administers jhadphunk and such merciless beating that he dies. Ojha declares that the boy died owing to the vaan (killer magic weapon) sent by Batesara ki Budhia who has mastered the Kamakshya dark magic. The villagers are enraged, grab the forlorn, helpless old woman, strip her, brand her body with hot iron rods, put her on a donkey and parade her around the village while the Panch members watch with pride.

Why blame only the illiterate, even the literates are no better, mourns the poet. Change the way we think, change the way we look at matters, at least now that we have reached the moon.

I thank Sudhir Prasad, my friend for sharing this beautiful poem with me.

I salute Ramnath Paswan for his thoughtful, and passionate poem. His heart beats both for Bharat and India!

***

Seth shouts at Collector  

In 1986, two years before thekedars were ousted from tendu patta trade in Madhya Pradesh; about fifteen workers from a collection centre in Dharamjaigarh, a sub-division in Raigarh district, then in Madhya Pradesh, met the Collector and appealed to him to get their wages paid.

They were skilled workers from Gondia hired every season by the thekedar for buying good quality patta from the gatherers, drying, curing, and bagging of the leaf-bundles, and delivering the bags to the forest godown for joint custody till the stuff was sold by the trader after paying royalty to the department. The thekedar had paid only a small advance to the workers, a token weekly payment for ration, and after the bags were transported, had refused to pay the balance due.

Collector spoke to the DFO: ‘Are you aware of this issue?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘What have you done to get them paid?’

‘Nothing can be done, Sir.’

‘Why so?’

‘It is a little complicated, Sir. Theka has been awarded by auction to the highest bidder. Government has fixed the rate for payment to the patta pluckers, and the forest department has ensured such payment by the thekedar. There is no complaint against him.

However, thekedar engages skilled workers and supervisors at orally agreed upon rates for preparing the patta for bagging and transport. Forest department has no jurisdiction in the matter.

Following their complaint, the statement of the workers has been recorded. The pending wages, they claim, are about 8000 rupees.’

‘Who is the thekedar?’

‘Kharsia ke Seth. But the theka is in the name of a mazdoor.’’

‘How so?’

‘All thekas are in fictitious names. The real traders operate behind the scene, provide the finance, and pocket the profit. That is how tendu patta trade operates in the entire State.’

Collector had joined only two months ago, and had little knowledge of the tendu patta trade. He had no idea who the Seth was.

‘Have you spoken to him?’

‘I tried, but he did not take my call.’

‘Aren’t the bags in the forest department’s godown, can you not impound it till the wages are paid?’

‘Thekedar has paid the required royalty to the forest department, and sold the patta to a beedi company which has already lifted the entire stock from the godown.

‘How about the licensee’s bank account? You could request the bank to freeze the amount till the pending wages are paid.’

‘We have checked. The balance in the account is five hundred rupees only.’

‘Can you send your SDO to the thekedar and call him for a meeting tomorrow at 11.00 AM at my office?’

‘I’ll, Sir.’

Later in the day, the DFO informed the Collector, ‘Sir, he refused to come. I’ve nothing to do with that theka, he said.’

The young Collector was angry and called Kharsia police station. Head Constable picked up the phone:

Shriman, Kharsia thane se Pradhan Aarakshak Mathura Prasad Pandey bol raha hun. Thanedar Sa’ab dehat gast par hain. Hukum kiziye.

‘Please go to the thekedar’s place right now, tell him to meet me tomorrow at my office at 11.00 AM and make sure to bring him along with you. Tell this to Thanedar, too, when he returns.’

Next day, at 11.00 AM a short, rotund, bald man in his early sixties wearing a spotless white kurta paired with a dhoti, and followed by eight or ten of his chamchas barged into the Collector’s office and shouted at the officer: Maine bahut Collector dekhe hain; aapki himmat kaise hui sipahi bhej kar mujhe bulane ki? Kya samajh rakha hai apne aap ko?

The livid visitor was in no doubt whatsoever about his wealth, status, and clout.

Coll: Aapko van vibhag ne baithak ke liye bulaya tha, aapne inkaar kiya, toh thane se khabar bhijbaya.

Seth: Kahiye, kis liye bulaya.

Coll: Aap mazdooron ka vakaya bhugtaan kar diziye.

Seth: Kis teez ka bhugtaan? Woh theka mera hai hi nahin. Maine zile mein kahin bhi patta theka nahin liya hai. DFO se puch liziye.

Coll: Naam kisi aur ka hai, par theka to aapka hi hai. Mazdooron ne apne vayaan mein yehi vataaya hai.

Seth: Vayaan se kya hota hai? Theka mera nahin hain. Aapko jo karna hai kar liziye. Kya mujhe giraftaar karenge? Kariye giraftaar.

Coll: Jaroot hone par wah bhi karoonga. Abhi toh vakaya bhugtaan ka mamla hai.

This was the young officer’s first posting as Collector, and he had naive over-confidence in his power and ability to solve just any problem right away. He had assumed that summoned by him, the contrite petty patta thekedar would come trembling into his chamber, and settle the pending wages then and there. Problem Solved. Collector ki Jai Ho!

In his eagerness to act fast, he had not checked the antecedents of the Seth before summoning him through a police constable, an insufferable insult for the richest man of that little town. He had also put his foot in the mouth by threatening arrest. Why make a threat which he could not execute?  The Seth could not be compelled to pay wages for a theka in which his name figured nowhere.

By this time, a little crowd had assembled outside the Collector’s chamber. The Seth, a loud-mouth who could be easily heard from a distance, wanted his angry outburst against the top officer of the district to be heard by one and all including the local press-reporters always hanging about in the Collectorate, to remove any doubt about who the top dog in the zila was.

Later, the Collector learned that the Seth was the richest man in Kharsia, and the State Vice-President of a major political party, and that most district officials were in awe of this irascible and abusive neta-cum-moneybag-cum-thekedar, even though his party was not in power.

Collector bristled with impotent anger. The unpaid workers were on a hartal, having set up a little shamiana not far from the Collector’s residence, and in front of the only local daily which everyday carried on front-page an update about the unpaid wages and rubbed salt, as it were, to the wound. Every day, as the Collector went to office and returned, he remembered the ugly altercation in his office chamber, and his failure to get the workers paid their pending wages. They raised no slogans, but sat in stoic silence with a few placards ‘vakaya mazdoori ka bhugtaan karo’, ‘garibon ke saath nyaya ho’.

Several days passed before the morning paper reported a minor accident in the only cinema hall in Kharsia. While a show was under progress the previous evening, a small chunk of concrete had fallen from the ceiling of the building. Luckily, it had fallen a few feet from the front row, no one had been hurt, but a little stampede had occurred, the show had been disrupted for a while, and had resumed after the police had arrived and the manager had assured that it was a freak occurrence and that there was no danger.

Collector spoke to the DEO (District Excise Officer): What happened at Kharsia yesterday?

DEO: Nothing serious, Sir, a minor incident. I will bring the report in the forenoon.

Collector perused the report, and asked: Who is the licensee?

DEO mentioned the name. It rang no bell.

Coll: Who owns this cinema hall?

DEO: Nagar Seth, Sir. License is in his son’s name.

On ground of risk to life of movie-goers, Collector suspended the cinema licence for a period of one month, directed the licensee to undertake necessary repairs, and the EE, PWD to inspect the building and submit a Fitness Certificate on structural safety after which revocation of the suspended license would be considered.

DEO had recommended for the issuance of a show cause notice to the licensee and was surprised at the Collector’s order of suspension which he thought was harsh in view of the ‘minor incident’, but he kept his counsel to himself.

Licensee undertook the repairs and requested the EE to inspect the building and provide a Fitness Certificate. However, in the meantime, Collector had given the EE, PWD a long list of roads and bridges in need of urgent repair as represented in writing by the MLAs and MPs; and had directed him to submit his inspection report in fifteen days without fail. So, the EE could not find time to inspect the cinema building for two weeks or more.

Collector was surprised and a little amused when a senior local leader of the ruling party (and also a business man) dropped in for a ‘personal’ request:

Sir, it is festival season now and the cinema hall is losing a few thousand rupees every day. He has received adequate punishment for his misdemeanour. Please revoke the suspended license!

‘Sure, I’ll consider the matter as soon as I receive the Fitness Certificate,’ assured the Collector.

DFO rang up the Collector the next morning: Sir, the wage arrears have been paid in full. The hartal is over. Before leaving for Gondia, the workers wish to meet and thank you.

Coll: Who paid the arrears?

DFO: You know who, Sir. He had sent his munim with the cash.

The EE’s Fitness certificate arrived soon thereafter, and the suspension order was withdrawn. But the Seth never met the Collector again, and possibly never forgave him.

***

 

Chapda Chutney

Gordon Ramsay[i], celebrity British chef, during his visit to a Dhurva tribal’s home at Bastar was offered to sample a home-made side-dish.

‘Is it very hot?’ he asked.

‘Yes, it is,’ said his host.

Tentatively, Gordon put a little of the paste on his tongue and gasped. It was a fiery chutney.

‘What are the ingredients? he asked.

‘Our secret recipe. Let us walk to the jungle, and you would see how we collect our basic ingredient.’

They walked to the nearby forest, a man swiftly climbed up a tall tree, and chopped a small branch which was expertly caught by another on the ground. It was a leaf-nest swarming with red ants. The guide pulled apart the nest to reveal thousands of white eggs, took a few in a pinch and chewed it. So did Gordon, and said, ‘It’s very sour.’

‘Yes, like tamarind.’

‘Did I eat the chutney made of this?’

‘Yes. This is our secret ingredient.’

Back at the Dhurva home, Gordon crushed with a flat stone slab and a round stone pestle the white eggs and such tenacious red ants who had refused to desert their nest. Tomato, ginger, chilli, coriander leaves, salt and sugar were added to garnish the chutney.

Gordon tasted the chutney made by himself from freshly harvested chapda, the leaf-nest of the red ants, and exclaimed, ‘It’s ant caviar!’

(Image Source: Wikimedia Commons)

There is a video on You Tube of Gordon’s tryst with red ant chutney, also called chapda chutney in Chhattisgarh.

These red weaver ants (Oecophylla smaragdina)[ii] are called kai in Odisha. Tribal women of Mayurbhanj district have reportedly filed for a GI tag for Kai Chutney. However, red ant chutney is not made only in Mayurbhanj, but in Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand, and the North-eastern states, too. In Thailand, they serve an omelette garnished with red ant eggs.

                                        (Image Source: Wikimedia Commons)

These ants and their eggs are a rich source of protein, calcium, zinc, vitamin B-12 and other minerals, including folic acid. Maybe, it is a superfood that we know little about.

Tribal people believe it has medicinal properties, and cures asthma, cough and cold, and even malaria. A person with fever sits under a tree infested with red ants and encourages the ants to crawl over his body and sting. A guaranteed cure for fever, it is believed.

Long ago, I spent a year in Bastar, and had seen chapda chutney being sold and eaten in the weekly haats. Local tribals love to pair their salphi drink with this chutney. Alas, I wasn’t bold enough to taste this amazing cuisine. Next when I visit Bastar, I hope to sample it. No issue for me since I am a non-vegetarian, though guilt from infanticide may mildly bruise my conscience!

Post-script

* Binati Jamuda, a dear friend, has promised to send me a small jar of this chutney when she next visits Mayurbhanj. Thanks, Binati. Looking forward to savour it.

* Pratap Bisi, a dear friend from Sambalpur tells me that kai chutney is sold by tribal women in the weekly haat at Ainthapali, on the road leading to the backwaters of Hirakud Dam. So, if you are at Sambalpur and okay with a little culinary adventure, go ahead to buy a dona and sample it.

* B.V.Selvaraj, a dear friend, shared this note: In all the Weekly Haats in Jharkhand, white coloured sabudana-like but a little bigger and oval in shape eggs of certain ants, I think, are regularly sold kept in the "donas" made of saal leaf. 

Are you aware of it? What's it called?

* Ajay Tirkey, a dear friend, thinks it (Ref Selvaraj's note) might be Demta chutney, but he is not sure.

Kai Chutney of Shimlipal

Kai Chutney of Shimlipal, Mayurbhanj, Odisha won GI Tag, reports Telegraph, 19/01/2024.

Kai is the local name for the red ant.

 https://www.telegraphindia.com/my-kolkata/food/experts-from-mayurbhanj-orissa-share-their-insights-on-red-ant-chutney-as-it-snags-a-geographical-indication-gi-tag/cid/1994930?

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·       [i] Internationally renowned, multi-Michelin starred chef Gordon Ramsay has opened a string of successful restaurants across the globe, from the UK and France to Singapore and the United States. Gordon has also become a star of the small screen both in the UK and internationally, with shows such as Kitchen Nightmares, Hell’s Kitchen, Hotel Hell and MasterChef US. https://www.gordonramsay.com/

 

·       [ii] Aggressive arboreal ants that use larval silk to weave together leaves to form their nesting cavities. A mature colony of Oecophylla smaragdina can entirely dominate a tree (sometimes several) with nests distributed throughout their heavily defended arboreal territory. https://www.antwiki.org/wiki/Oecophylla_smaragdina

 

 

Tree of Life: Salphi

Upon reaching our destination, a half-hour drive from Narayanpur, we saw a forlorn, modest mud hut with a thatched roof, and no other houses.

Where is the village, I asked?

‘This is the ghotul where the dancers would perform this evening. The village is at a little distance. Ghotul is located away from the village to grant privacy to the members,’ said the primary school teacher, a local Gond and our guide and translator.

I was curious and excited since this was my first visit to a ghotul, a highly organized but much-misunderstood societal institution of the Muria Gonds of Bastar. It is an exclusive club-cum-dormitory for the unmarried young men and women of the village to train them for future 'adult' societal roles, and for their dance and song, dating and bonding, leading to selection of partners for life. The boys are called chelik, and the girls motiari.

They believe that Lingo Pen, an ancestor, established the first ghotul, and they sing several songs in his honour. The ghotul is sacred and considered a Lingo Pen shrine. 

Verrier Elwin's 1947 book The Muria and Their Ghotul provides exhaustive details about this institution, and he mentions that he had visited 347 ghotuls during 1935-1942 to gather information for his book.

‘Is it okay if we take a look inside the hut?’ asked someone from our group.

‘The ghotul is accessible only to members; no other villagers, elders or children may enter this hut. But you are guests, so you may take a quick look; but no photograph, please, and be quiet and respectful. They have a dev inside who is worshipped before the evening’s revelry.’

The mud hut was partitioned into two equal halves, one for men and the other for women, with no door separating the two units, only a mud wall with an opening. Stacked along the wall of the dormitory were their musical instruments - drums, cymbals, flutes - and  anklets and other accessories for the dance; and in a corner was an earthen pitcher and a few leaf-cups. The young people were getting ready for the evening’s performance.

After our ‘inspection’, we were seated below a mango tree on rope cots placed in a semi-circle facing the hut. Two young men brought for each guest the welcome drink - a whitish, foamy liquid with a strong, pungent smell - in a large leaf-cup filled to the brim, which we held carefully on both palms outstretched.

What is this, I asked our guide?

Salphi, he said. They drink salphi before they dance and sing, and they offer it to guests.

Is it alcoholic?

Yes, it is. Outsiders call it Bastar beer.

I took a little sip. Sour, far from pleasant, and not my idea of a welcome drink. It was already dark. There were only two lanterns with rather feeble light– one inside the hut and another near the clearing where they would dance. I tried to discretely put the leaf cup under the cot, but our guide noticed it.

‘Sir, they would feel very offended if you spurn their hospitality. Please drink it,’ he whispered. It was a command, not a request!

I closed my nostrils, gulped it at one go, abhorred it; but after a few minutes it felt rather good, and when a second cup was offered, I drank it happily, to hell with the foul smell and sour taste. The first drink was feeling rather lonely and rooting for a mate, I guess!

That was my first and only taste of  salphi, and I think the drink made the evening of dance and song by the young men and women of Bastar  even more memorable.

~~~

Thereafter, during my extensive travel in Bastar for a year, I noticed the ubiquitous salphi tree, and learned what a prized possession it was for a tribal household. Parents of a nubile girl were disinclined to approve of the groom if his family did not own at least one salphi tree, I was told. Sometimes, a salphi tree was also given as a dowry.

Salphi* is the fishtail palm (Caryota urens,L) tree which is tapped for palm wine. Early in the morning, the foamy white liquid has a bland taste, less sweet than neera, but as the sun ascends the drink is fermented by heat and bacteria, and by the evening it is a potent alcoholic drink much favoured by the tribals. No human processing is needed, the sun and the bacteria brew it for free!

(Photo credit: By Pakshya - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=38178223)

In the famous weekly haats of Bastar, a venue not merely for buying and selling, but also for revelry and entertainment, salphi (and also mahua and landa) is sold by the glass. A friend checked from a source at Jagdalpur - a glass of about 200 ml salphi currently sells for five rupees. No liquor or cola vendor can match that price!

I had obtained a salphi** sapling from the forest department's nursery, and planted it in the garden of my official residence at Kanker. That was in 1985. I wonder how the tree is doing and whether any of my successors thought of tapping it for its elixir.

***

* Verrier Elwin's book has a whole chapter on 'The Sago Palm'. The tree is called gorga marra in Gondi and salpi rukh in Halbi. Murias have a song on the tree: Waliya wato gorga ale maamaale - O uncle, the sago-palms are everywhere.

Before the first tapping, the tree is offered a sacrifice - usually a chicken or a pig.

** This tree is called Salapa in Odisha, Jillugu in AP & Telengana, and Bagini in Karnataka.

***

Comments & Inputs from Readers

S.P. Thakkar, Hyderabad

In A.P. and Telengana, the tree is called jilluga and the drink jilluga kallu. Long ago, we distributed these saplings to the tribals in the Araku valley.

Ramesh Babu Lingamneni, Hyderabad

Kallu is very popular in tribal areas in Andhra and Telangana. Interesting how knowledge travels through tribal areas.

S.C. Khuntia, 

S.C. Khuntia, Bangalore

Very interesting. This palm tree is called Bagini in the coastal areas of Karnataka and a kind of toddy is made from it that is more potent than the one from date palm. It was a called fishtail palm in English. I  witnessed a tribal dance in Paderu area of Vishakhapatna district, but thankfully they did not offer me the welcome drink.

Madan Upadhyay, Bhopal

बस्तर के जीवन में ghotul परंपरा का बहुत प्राचीन इतिहास रहा है। बस्तर से बाहर रहने वाले लोग इस संस्कृत और ऐतिहासिक परंपरा को अधकचरा ही समझ पाए हैं और उसके पीछे की जो गहरी सोच है उससे नावाकिफ रहे हैं ।

बदलते समय मे यह परंपरा अपना मूल स्वरूप होती जा रही है

मनोरंजन और मदिरापान का पौराणिक समय से अपना विशिष्ट स्थान रहा है ।शायद इसके पीछे यह सोच रही हो की मनोरंजन में हर्षोल्लास के समय जितना व्यक्ति अपनी दिनभर की समस्याओं से दूर रहे उतना बेहतर होगा ।आपके लेख में भी यही बात उभर कर सामने आती है की पहला घूंट करवा ही सही उसके अनुभूति के परिणामों के बाद दूसरे घूट में वह कड़वाहट शेष नहीं रहे। 

जनजाति क्षेत्र में देसी मदिरा बनाने की प्राचीन परंपरा है और मध्य प्रदेश तथा देश के अनेकों भागों में अभी भी स्थानीय ग्राम वासियों को देसी  की छूट प्राप्त है ।अब तो देसी मदिरा आधारित विशिष्ट ब्रांड भी कई राज्यों ने तैयार कर लिए हैं। 

इन मदिराओं में तीखापन होने के कारण अपनी एक विशिष्ट पहचान है और इस विशेषता  की मार्केट भी है।

Dr. Prafulla Kumar Tripathy, Cuttack

Response in Sambalpuri

ପାରଳାଖେମୁଂଡି-ବାସୀ (୨୯୬୯-୧୯୭୨) ହେଇଥିଲା ବେଲେଁ ଆଖର୍‌ ପାଖର୍‌ ଆଦିବାସୀ ଗାଆଁକେ ଯାଇ ସଳପ ରସ କେତେ ଥର ପିଇଛେଁ। କେଭେଁ ଟଂକା ଦେବାକେ ନାଇଁପଡ଼ି। ଯାଚ୍‌ଲେଁ ଭିଲ୍‌ ସେମାନେ ନାଇଁନିଅନ୍‌।

କାଇ ଚଟେନ୍‌ ନୁହେ ଚାଖେଁ ତାଏଲ୍‌।

Translation

During my stay at Paralakhemundi (1969-1972), I sampled salapa juice several times. Our hosts refused to accept any payment from us despite our request. I am yet to taste Kai chtney.

Naxalite Threat

When Hanuman Prasad Tiwari (HPT), Additional Superintendent of Police, North Bastar barged into his office one afternoon in April, 1985, the Additional Collector and Additional District Magistrate (ADM) feared the worst, and braced himself for bad news - maybe a mobile police party had been abducted or even killed by the Naxals somewhere in the remote area.

Mukhbirs (informants) of police reported periodic movement in remote forest villages of Naxalites who travelled on foot after nightfall and avoided confrontation unless chased or cornered by armed police parties. For these nocturnal visitors, the tribal people had a name in Gondi which in Hindi meant raat wale log. A few months ago, HPT had led an encounter in which Ganapati, a senior Dalam leader had been killed.

‘SP Saheb, sab khairiyat toh hai?’ he asked. ‘Aap kafi pareshan nazar aa rahe hain.’

HPT liked to be addressed as SP Saheb. This was his last posting, he would retire in a few months and seemed to regret that he had not been made SP of a district, but derived some satisfaction from being the de facto SP of North Bastar, a vast area including Kanker, Kondagaon, Narayanpur, Pakhanjur, and Bhanupratappur.

He was not very tall, but stocky and well-built. A little paunch notwithstanding, he was a strong, muscular man. A nose-to-the-ground, hardworking police officer, he had moved up the ranks from his first appointment as Assistant Sub Inspector, a Class III position.

‘DM Saheb, I was selected under the Sports Quota,’ he had once mentioned with justified pride, ‘I was a State-level hockey player, a pehelwan with several wrestling trophies, and an excellent football player.' The young officer was not yet District Magistrate; but ADM, Kanker in charge of North Bastar!

He thrust a thin, yellow piece of paper, a little bigger than a postcard, on the table and said, ‘Yeh toh zyadati hai.’

ADM picked up the paper - a pamphlet in an unfamiliar script.

‘What is this, SP Sa’ab,’ he asked?

HPT was leading step-by-step to the terrible news he wished to share with his young colleague. He now placed before him a type-written sheet. ‘That pamphlet is in Gondi. This is the Hindi translation.’

ADM read it – a brief, unambiguous message with a dire warning.

तेंदूपत्ता का संग्रह दो हफ्तों में शुरू होगा। सरकार द्वारा निर्धारित न्यूनतम खरीद दर तीन रुपये प्रति 1000 पत्तियों के लिए है। अगर कोई संग्राहक ठेकेदार को न्यूनतम दर से कम कीमत पर पत्ती बेचता है, तो उसका हाथ काट दिया जाएगा। 

न्यूनतम दर से कम भुगतान करने वाले  ठेकेदार या उसके मुनीम का हाथ भी काट दिया जाएगा ।।

The threat was possibly for chopping off the palm, not the whole hand, mused the ADM; but he kept his thought to himself.

As expected, the pamphlet did not carry the name of the issuer of the notice, publisher, printer, or distributor.

ADM knew the answer, yet asked, ‘SP Sa’ab, who has circulated these pamphlets?’

‘Who else but the Naxals?

‘Have the miscreants been nabbed?’

‘The pamphlets had been pasted at dead of the night on the fencing wall of Durgu Kondal High School. No one saw who did that. Thana has registered an FIR against unknown persons for threatening physical violence against the adivasis and the patta buyers and attempting to disturb public order and peace.’

‘Why did they print the pamphlet in Gondi? Very few tribals are literate, and Gondi script is known only to a few.’

‘How could they print this in Hindi? The publisher would read the matter and alert the police.’

‘Why on the fencing wall of the High School?’

‘The boys in the school would read it, and they would relay the message to their families and villages. A smart way to quickly disseminate the message!’

‘SP Sa’ab, what do you think we should do?’

‘I have already sent wireless message to SP Saheb at Jagdalpur with copy to DIG Saheb. All Thana Prabharis in North Bastar have been put on high alert.’

HPT had long experience of thirty-seven years in police service; ADM was a green-horn and only in the fourth year of his service; and the kindly veteran considered it his duty to mentor and train the young officer on management of law and order.

‘You may please urgently send the following wireless message to DM Saheb and Commissioner Saheb.’

HPT had already mentally drafted the message that required to be sent!

"नक्सलियों ने उपद्रव करने के धमकी दी है, परंतु चिंता की कोई बात नहीं। पुलिस प्रशासन चौकस है। सख्त निगरानी रखी जा रही है। स्थिति संवेदनशील पर नियंत्रणाधीन है।

डीएफओ को भी हिदायत दें कि उनके मैदानी अमलों को चौकन्ने रहने हेतु दिशा-निर्देश जारी कर आपको और मुझे भी आदेश की प्रति दें।"

HPT was from Jabalpur, also known as sanskardhani, the cultural capital of Madhya Pradesh; he spoke excellent Hindi and was proud of it. In MP, all official correspondence was in Hindi.

ADM assured HPT that swift action as suggested by him would be taken, and necessary wireless messages would be dispatched right away to all concerned on Top Priority.

HPT had calmed down after their conversation, and a cup of tea with a few cookies.

As he rose to leave, ADM asked, ‘By the way, SP Sa’ab, do you know of the minimum rate fixed by the government for purchase of tendu patta this year?’ ADM didn’t expect him to know, and he didn’t.

"यह तो वन विभाग का काम है, डीएम साहब; इससे पुलिस का क्या लेना देना?"

‘The rate mentioned in the yellow pamphlet is three rupees for a gaddi (bundle) of 1000 leaves. That, in fact, is the minimum rate fixed by the government for which the circular was received last week. The government has directed the Collectors, SPs, Conservators & DFOs of all tendu-patta buying districts to strictly ensure that thekedars pay no less than the minimum rate fixed by the government. District administration has been instructed to give wide publicity to the minimum rate by beat of drums in the weekly haat-bazars. Strict action is to be taken against thekedars and munims if found paying less than the minimum rates.

Thus, the Naxals are doing what I and you are required to do under orders of the government – to ensure payment of minimum rates and prevent exploitation of tribal tendu-patta gatherers by unscrupulous traders.

Except that we are not authorised to chop off anyone’s hand!’

Thankfully, no hand or palm was severed in North Bastar or South Bastar during that tendu patta season. HPT retired a few months later without any blemish in his impeccable service record. The minimum rates were paid. 

It was a story with a happy ending. Maybe, the yellow pamphlet in Gondi had a lot to do with that!

***

Note:

Leaf of the Tendu tree (Diospyros melanoxylon) is the most suitable wrapper for beedi. The wide-scale use of tendu leaf in beedi industry is owing to its voluminous production, agreeable flavour, flexibility, resistance to decay and capacity to retain fires (when the beedi is lighted).

The beedi industry is valued at 15000 crores, and provides part-time employment to  about five million people. Tendu patta collection provides gainful employment to millions of rural workers, most of them adivasis, for the six-week long season usually beginning in the second fortnight of April.

Bhanupratappur Forest Division in North Bastar produced the best quality tendu-patta in undivided MP.

***

 

 

 

 

Independence Day

Joining Uncle for his morning walk on 13^th Aug, Sunday, Lakki said: Tomorrow I will go to school undress; Mummy will wash and iron my school dress for me to wear on 15^th August to school. It must be clean, spotless, and neatly ironed; Principal Madam has announced.

Uncle: Not ‘undress’ Lakki, you will wear plain dress on 14^th and school dress on 15^th!

‘Uncle, I am in the Boys’ Team for a dance at our school on 15^th August. I am in Himanshu’s team. We will dance for mitti mein mil jawa, and we are practising during the lunch break since a week. We are ten in our group.’

‘Who are the others in your team?’

Lakki reeled off seven names. I do not know the names of the rest three, he said. But he knew the names of all the nine girls in Priyanka’s team for a separate dance.

‘That is a nice deshbhakti geet. Have you watched it on You Tube?’

‘No, Himanshu knows all the steps, and we follow him.’

~~~

‘Good morning, Sir,’ greeted the students when Teacher walked into the Sunday School on 13^th August at 11 AM as usual.

‘Good morning, please sit down.’ They sat down on the chatai in the porch.

‘Today we will study GK only. No Math or English.’

‘GK means General Knowledge,’ said Satyam.

‘Yes, that is correct. Who can spell ‘knowledge’?

None could, so teacher spelled it out and they wrote in their notebook.

‘When is our Independence Day?’

‘15 Aug,’ they replied in a loud chorus. That was an easy one.

What do we do on Independence Day?

Jhanda phehraten hain, said Shilpi.

Jana Gana Mana gaaten hain, added Sheetal.

Can you sing Jana Gana Mana?

Yes, we can. They stood to attention and sang the song. Some of them faltered a little at Dravida, uchhala; some erred in the number of jayas at the end - three in last-but-one line and four in the last.

‘Open your book and read the Rashtriya Gaan. It is called National Anthem in English.’

Teacher read the anthem and explained word by word meaning.

Do you know who wrote this song?

Satyam opened his book and showed the chapter on Rashtriya Geet and Rashtriya Gaan which had photos of Bankim Chandra Chatterjee and Rabindra Nath Tagore side by side.

‘One of these two wrote the anthem.’

Teacher told them which one.

‘Now, sing the Rashtriya Gaan once again. Make no mistake at all. Each word must be pronounced correctly.’

They sang it very well and correctly, too.

‘Now, take out your rough notebooks. Write ‘Independence Day’ and its name in Hindi.’

Everyone attempted, but no one got either the English or the Hindi right. Teacher wrote in Shilpi’s notebook and the others copied it.

‘When did India gain Independence?’

‘15 August.’

‘Which year?’

No one knew.

‘1947.’

Teacher speaks to his phone: Hey Google, show India and United Kingdom on World Map.

‘Here it is, have a look. England is a tiny island, but they ruled over us and many other countries for long years. Do you know why?

They had toup (cannons), said Satyam.

‘Yes, that is one of the reasons.’

‘How many tiliyan (spokes) are in Ashok Chakra?’

Twenty-two, said Lakki.

Who told you that, your teacher?

No, I counted it from the picture in my book. Shall I show it to you, will you like to count?

No, it has twenty-four spokes. If you ask Google on your phone, it will tell you all about it.

Teacher asked You Tube in Hindi to show a video on Ashoka Chakra, and the kids were all attention for the 3-minute video.

‘Today’s class is over. Jai Hind.’

‘Thank you, Sir. Jai Hind.’

Students disperse after enjoying ice-cream made at home for the first time by Teacher after he learned how to from You Tube videos.

***