Confronting some cultural consternations!
Desh Bir
I was already thirteen years in 1965 when we came down to settle permanently in our native village, Manwin (Dt. Hamirpur, Himachal Pradesh ), which to-date continues to be the seat of our family. This was where my grandfather had settled sometime in the latter half of nineteenth century and then had graduated to be the Headman for the neighbouring 10-12 villages. To that extent, ours was a fundamentalist family trying to reverting to its rooted value system.
Therefore this was the only place where we had title to land and also a house, though it was already dilapidating. Once we were settled, we started taking pride in our positional advantage owing to our late Grandfather’s standing which people still venerated, though he had already left this world some 19 years ago. There was an open patch of common land called ‘Ghodi ka Khet’, where Grandfather’s mare had the exclusive right to being tethered and looked after by attendants.
I was stunned and shocked when I discovered that the village had three different sources of potable water called Baolis (Step Wells). One was for caste Hindus, another for nearly a dozen weaver families and the third one for the Harijans. The only Muslim family whose family head was named Nizam used the Baoli meant for weavers. The two carpenter families and two blacksmith families, too, shared it with the weavers.
The Baoli for Harijans was used by the caste people for bathing in utter disregard of human dignity. That was something repulsive for children like me who had breathed a more liberal air in the itinerant life witnessed so far. However, it was as it was, those days. It is no longer like that courtesy plenty of legislation which makes such offences as instantly cognizable.
Another soul stirring sight was that of people from so-called lower castes entering the confines of caste houses after taking off their shoes, however hot or cold the weather may be. If such people came as labourers, they would work barefoot if the work was inside the boundary. If tea was served to them, they had a separate set of utensils laid apart. Besides, they had to dry-clean them with clay. They were considered untouchable, but if their services served a practical purpose like taking wheat or maize to the watermill, it was not supposed to get contaminated. This double standard pinched me. However, alone I could do no more than resent it.
We were not supposed to play with children from these culturally deprived families, though I often snatched an opportunity to do so when it could go unnoticed by the elders.
The haircuts to male members of caste families were offered by the itinerant barbers who would pay a visit to all homes of their clientage periodically every 7-10 days. The services were never rewarded in cash on the spot. At the most you could offer him tea and snacks.
However, his rewards would come to him twice a year in the form of corn/ wheat after each harvest season. Even these service providers didn’t offer their services to the so-called lower caste people. How inhuman it was, I think I could understand, but none else seemed to question it, or much less, resent it!
The tenants of land who always belonged to the less privileged section would come offering the grains after every harvest and approach the house pressing into service almost kingly salutations to the landlord or the landlady! It seemed both funny and foolish to me, but to the elders it seemed to be a natural matter of right and duty!
Yet, how exploitative it must have appeared to those poor folk! Only they could tell. But now that generation is gone. Who will know the truth of their feelings now!!!
(The author is a Retired Principal Govt. College, Hoshiarpur (Punjab)
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