“Do you really want to go out on the lake with our fishermen on their boats? They may return only after a week.”
I looked out at the expanse of the great floodplain freshwater lake
that was right out there on the border of Bihar and Jharkhand. One could not
locate the opposite bank. In this winter noon on the reed-beds near the small
fishing hamlet, I could not even pick up on the sense of the waterbody. It
seemed like there was nothing out there. The view comprised just some fog and a
very faint mist that was like a wall from the water’s edge to the heavens. Nothing
else.
Four mirshikar locals
accompanied me on this exploration. The rest of my group of travellers had been
distributed all along the floodplains and I was the only one deputed for this
particular location. I could not locate any boats or fishing nets or any sign
of a wharf or a cast off point. There were very vague shadows that one could
see on the water.
“Is there any actual lake out there, Riaz? It seems like this is the
end of the world and one step out of this spot and we will fall off the edge of
the universe. How do we go out on the lake? Do you have a boat or do we start
walking?”
He laughed happily and turned around and translated to his
companions. They smiled politely. I could feel their discomfort. They had been
ordered by the local government officer to give me all the support I needed,
even if it meant that some of them would not be fishing on the lake and they
would not be paid for any of their efforts. A discussion of some sort had started
between Riaz and his companions. They were all related to one another. They
comprised two brothers, one uncle, one grandfather and another who looked old
enough to be a great grandfather.
He came up to me and looked intently at my face. He brought up his
eyes very near to my nose and looked at my eyes and stared firmly. I decided
that I should not flinch or get scared. This may be a frequent stunt by the
elder. He spoke to Riaz and there was a reply in their local language and the
other elder joined the discussion and they nodded.
Riaz said, “Sahebji, our community elder is curious that you mention
that this is the edge of the universe. He says that this has not been said so
in many years. The youngsters in the village and in our area are only concerned
about the fishing and the harvest of the local variety of rice from the lake.
They go out with their elders and they help and they return but they are more
interested in the TV and in the video film library in the nearest mofussil. He
wants to know about why you mentioned what is very firmly known in our ancient
religion and customs and our way of life.”
“Please tell your very senior elder that I present my respects,” I
replied and bowed. “This is a well-known thought that if you travel on the high
seas and oceans, you may come to the edge of the world and fall off. But that
has been proven to be wrong. One knows that it does not happen that way. But
now, when I stand here, and I look out at the lake, and there is only fog and
mist and the hint of rain, and I do not see anything else, I can understand why
would the most ancients think of such possibilities. Please convey that I
respect him and I would like to travel with him.”
The entire group discussed the matter in whispered tones. I stepped
aside to let them work it out and walked along the reed-beds. It was quite
slushy but the gravel below the water line allowed me to have a firm tread.
Some of the reeds alternated with the edge of the underwater paddy variety that
was grown in this area. I bent down to smell the inflorescence of the paddy. It
was very heady and pungent and I got thrown back in surprise. Luckily, I did
not fall.
The second elder was standing alongside, watching me. “This is just
the small rice grass here, at the banks of the lake. Already, they are one to
two feet in height. When you will go out with my father and you travel for more
than three days and nights on the boat, you will see. The underwater rice grass
grows to nearly fifteen metres in height and sometimes, the weight of the
harvestable ones are so heavy that we have pull them out with our fishing
nylon. My father does not like it that we use the nylon. He says that this rice
grass and the lake are our ancient deities and we harm them by using nylon. I
have seen him and his brothers jump in to the lake and bring the rice grass
heads to the boat. They would be very respectful. Just four jumps like that
when we are out there and our boat would be filled up.”
I was puzzled. By their names, they sounded like Hindu and Muslim
families and they were discussing about common deities, very ancient, and none
that I had heard of in the Subcontinent. This must be very local and endemic.
“Why do you think of this rice grass and the lake to be your ancient
deity?” I asked. “They are your sustenance. You go out there to catch fish and
harvest the rice. And that is all. This lake must be drying up in the summer
when the Ganga retreats from its flood plains. These waters come from the
Himalayas. Is that the reason? Is it because these waters come from the great
mountains that you respect the lake and the rice grass? This must be a very
ancient ritual.”
The senior elder and the others had come to join us. Riaz gestured
to a large reed bed. “Sahebji, our boat is out there. We will go ahead and
build a stronger hut on it because you are not used to traveling on this lake.
It gets very cold and icy in the day and more so in the night. There is no
sense of day or night out there. We will be using some cement buckets to light
up a fire and to keep us warm. We will also be burning some of the dry reeds to
signal to any of our other boats that would already be camping there. Do not
worry. We will not be alone. We will go to a location where at least you can
see about forty other boats. You will be safe. You are our responsibility and
you will be warm.”
I smiled and bowed, once again. “Thank you. I am happy. I am
curious to be with you all but I am grateful.”
The senior elder whispered furiously to his son. But, it was Riaz
who translated. “Sahebji, our community elder is keen to take you along with
him and to show you the many aspects of the lake. He says that it is many many
years since a visitor was respectful to our great lake and to our ancient knowledge.
It is so spoken of in our community and we will so pass it on to our children
that we cannot change the way we live and we cannot change the waters. They
come down from the great Himalayas and the Ganga River is known to us. But it
is not the river that sustains us. It is this soil and it is this land that
brings the great river to leave its rich nutrients and sacred water. From a
depth of 2-3 meters, the lake soon reaches 15 to 20 meters and on some years,
it has also gone past 30 meters. We do not see it as flooding but we wait for
it. This is the most precious of all rice varieties and we get the best
fishing. We respect that.”
No comments:
Post a Comment