High up in an unseen village in the upper Himalayas,
somewhere where the mountains range amidst India, Nepal and Tibet...
The great old peepul tree at the
edge of the cliff was remarkable for its history and the many stories that were
attached to it for many long years. The peepul was more than four hundred years
old, according to the very old blind woman who lived in the small house that
backed up into the hillside cave. She knew the story of the peepul from her grandmother
who said that her grandmother had spoken about it with the story of how Aurangzeb’s
armies had come in search of his brother who was thought to be hiding in the
high Himalayas near the village of Trishul-ki-chatti.
The armies had camped below the
peepul tree because they could keep a watch on three river valleys below the
village from this high cliff. They had been Rajput soldiers who were hunting
Aurangzeb’s brother as the Prince did not trust his father’s regiments. Two
soldiers had hurt themselves and had broken their legs in a bad fall from their
horses and had decided to settle at the village of Trishul-ki-chatti. The
village had welcomed them since their Rajput sardar had vouched for them and
had provided the much needed money to repair the old Bhairav temple.
The elders got them married to two
young women from the village and their families continue to live there. Some of
the youngsters have gone away to Delhi, Jaipur and also to Bombay, but they
return faithfully to attend the religious festivals and marriages and other
events. The very old blind woman always claimed that she was related to some of
the extended families of one of the soldiers and nobody disbelieved her. She
was the only one who seemed to know all the old stories and some stories that
the descendants of the soldiers had not heard about.
The very old blind woman was
commonly called by the name of Jito or Pahadi Jito because of her house that
had been built into a cave. Nobody made fun of her blindness or her age as she
was respected by the elders and the youngsters had been asked to remember that.
She would come out of her house and sit below the great old peepul tree to feel
the warm breeze that would rise up from the valleys below. This was the only
spot in the village where one could sense the warm air as it came up from over
the oaks and poplars and rhododendrons on the slopes.
Bhoora would join her and sit with
her, with his four donkeys. Every day, he would bring up some food for Jito
from his house, and they would eat together. The donkeys would graze nearby,
quiet, for it was almost like they knew that they should not disturb the old
lady. At just about noon, Bhoora would help Jito to return to her house and
take her nap while he would continue to sit below the peepul tree.
He did this every day as he had no
work to do unless and until someone needed to hire his donkeys to go down to
Ratnapura. On those days, Bhoora’s wife, Rajjo, would come up and sit with
Jito. They would talk to each other and would speak of the events and
happenings in the village. Rajjo knew everything that went on in the village
and would talk about it to Jito. The old blind lady would listen to these
stories and would speak knowingly about each family and their houses and the
streets on which they lived. She knew the trees on these streets and knew the
number of steps it took her to walk from one house to the other.
On such days, Rajjo would go
within the house with Jito and clean up the room and do up the bed. She would
pick up a bucket and fill it with the very few used utensils and Jito’s clothes
and walk down from the cliff to her house in the village. Here, she would wash
the utensils and the clothes and dry them off on the roof when the afternoon
sun was it its best. Santo Begum would watch from the roof of her house that
was just separated by a small mud wall, two feet high.
And on each such occasion, Santo
would call out to Rajjo in her usual affectionate manner. “May you be cursed,
my sister! May you be cursed, for you are always about collecting the blessings
of the old Jito, all by yourself. Allow us to share in her blessings. Let us
also be of some help to her. Take me with you when you go to meet old Jito. I
will cook for her the next time.”
In reply, Rajjo would always smile
and bow in respect with her palms together in a Namaste. “My sister, how can I
do that? For, you are such a good cook and your food is praised by your husband
and mine, when we eat together. How can I allow Jito to know that she has been
missing out on good food and good company in all these years? She will never
allow me to be with her after that!”
“You are a very bad neighbour, O
Rajjo! I know how evil you are! Come, let it be, and come over the wall and sit
here by the shade of the clothes that I have hung out to dry. I have some very
good parathas and lauki-ki-sabji (= bottlegourd curry) and my homemade dry
mango pickles. Let us eat together and let me press your tired legs and hands
so that some of Jito’s blessings are passed on to me. This way or that. I will
not be denied her blessings and you cannot escape that.”
Bharat Bhushan
6 October 2019
