The Villages of Yore


T

he villages were monotonous to look at, with flat-roof houses constructed with mud bricks and covered with a thick coating of the same; nothing much to look at yet ideally suited for the extreme climate from freezing cold of the winters to the searing heat of the summers, unfortunately now replaced by baked brick-houses, perhaps more as a status symbol-ugly to look-at, aesthetically a disaster and totally unsuitable climate wise: ice-boxes in winters and burning-hot ovens in the summers.

The modern age was still in future. The village pond was the favourite playground of my cousins with me a fascinated invitee.

A pebble playfully thrown in the pond would make its green moss covering placid surface part and the water break into ripples. The long reeds and bulrushes growing around the pond would be swaying in the breeze with Dragoon flies buzzing around and the butterflies fluttering aimlessly, to this scene was added the humming of the bees and the plaintive call of the Koel.
There was always a herd of buffaloes in the pond with just their nostrils and eyes showing above the surface. Some times the children would also gleefully jump, stark naked and join the buffaloes in an effort to beat the heat.

The pond came into existence by excavating the earth for making the bricks for mud houses and the resulting dugout getting filled by the Monsoon rains, soon becoming the village pond.

There was a lot of engineering even those days; simple solutions for simple problems devised by the simple villagers.

Before the advent of monsoons the already shimmering, in sun, dwellings wall were given an additional coating of mica powder mixed in mud paste to prevent damage from rain and reflect the summer heat away. This was preventive maintenance and thermal engineering.

The rainwater would collect and drain into the village pond this was water harvesting this also prevented the flooding of the village lanes and houses during heavy rains. This was flood control and disaster management.

The lanes and alleys were dry and clean water for drinking and other household requirements was drawn from the village well and strictly conserved, even the cooking and eating vessels like thali, katori and glass were dry cleaned with ash from the stove and given only a per functionary rinse with water.

The community well, hand pumps were yet to appear in the villages, the sole source of drinking and washing water where the young brides and unmarried girls gathered to draw water for the house. The well was also possibly a popular venue for many budding romances and love affairs as also a meeting place and exchange of gossip for the village belles, young brides and unmarried girls.

The sound of grinding the wheat, by the Chhaki, flour for the breakfast in most of the houses, the chirping of the house sparrows; outside that of the village folks, proceeding for working the fields, steering the bullocks while articulating in a language well understood by the animals, the loud shouts combined with the tinkling of the bells round the necks of the bullocks with the cry of an odd bird or the call of the rooster and the bark of the stray dog: the typical smell of the burning of dried Turi(cotton bush) or the Khoi(dried sugarcan chaff) in the stove mixing with that of the cow-dung outside, all combined to complete the three dimensional picture of sight sound and smell of the real world around .

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The village at that time was a self-contained and a self-sufficient society, a world of its own with only infrequent visitors like us opening small windows to the outside world. There was ‘Swami’ to cater for the spiritual and religious needs of the denizens. Then there were Jast, the owners and tillers of the land, the Kahars and Chamars, the labour force who were paid in kind not in cash and lived across an imaginary dividing line. They had there own well for the water, own culture and way life with the area seldom frequented by the residents from the other side.
There was Haria, the `Naie,' the village barber the only person who could hold the chin of even the most important person in public; his more important function was that of a match-maker.
Haria knew the details of all the eligible girls and boys of the families from the villages around. He was also the village courier for exchanging messages/proposals and conducts the delicate negotiations leading to final sealing of the deal.
The village Dhobi albeit with no pressing service, the Julahaia, the weaver to fashion the spinning by the women of the house in to Durries and other coarse cloth items.
I still remember the Teli the, oilman, with his Kohlu, the oil-press, extracting oil from the mustard-seed, in his one room abode shared with the bullock and the oil-press. There was also the Pansari, the grocer, with his limited stock of commodities selling spices and daily need of the kitchen as also herbs used for minor illness.
The Halwai the sweet meat-maker named Moni who normally sold his produce, like Bundi-Ladoo and Barfi at the stall at the local Railway Station.
The occasional hawkers catered to the extra needs of the village. I recall the Watermelon seller trading in barter; one thin slice for one fist-full of wheat grain.
Some time ‘Swang’ the folk theatre would come or was invited to perform on special occasions like weddings, always a big occasion for the village folks. People came even from the surrounding villages. The most famous and more popular was `Bully’s' the owner and the hero of the days play.
Young boys dressed in heavy skirts faces covered with colourful cotton shawls and decked with silver ornaments, borrowed from the ladies of the house of the host, played the female characters.
The action was slow; mostly in verse and song still enough to excite the mostly male audience. The performances could never hold my interest possibly due to exposure to music from films like Achhut-Kanya Kangan Bandhan and Pukar. No doubt the festive atmosphere with the disinterested kids running around aimlessly being admonished time and again by the elderly who were getting disturbed was exciting and fun.



Extract from my BOOK BLS 31