Continued from Part 2

Kotgarh Elephant Reserve

The whole state was on fire after Swamiji was shot. Many people were unable to take it anymore, this constant attacks from all sides, the hatred, the insults, the war on their customs and age-old rites. Many of us tribals joined them in support, some overtly and some covertly, we all got together and went on the offensive. Yes, we were very angry. What would you do? After keeping quiet for years and years, after being harrassed constantly, we were not willing to accept this anymore, to be at the receiving end. Villages were burnt, ours and theirs, people were killed, ours and theirs…life turned from bad to worse. I was on the run, I had chosen my side and this put me at odds with the Maobadis and the Christians. They knew of me, they had planted me at the Kanya Ashram, they had taught me subterfuge and guerilla tactics, I applied the same to them.

I am also a Ku, we are natural-born hunters. We stalk our prey well and rest not until we make a kill. I went on a rampage. How could an old saintly man of eighty be murdered in such a dastardly manner! Where was justice? If it was our village council it would have put the killers to death right away. Sometimes such swift justice is needed, if not people can get complacent and start misbehaving more and more. Maos do not fear the government, nor do they believe in our gods, they do not believe in karma, or punarjanma, why will they hold back? They trust only violence and revolution. They had no idea what happiness, peace, joy, celebration looks like…they have lived their lives in the jungles running hither thither like nomads living off of our blood and sweat, just like those pastors…each with their ideology that assumes it is the best and only way to be. If I have retained my sanity amongst such fanatics it is because of my gods, because of Maa Taarini, because of the spirits of my ancestors and of the forests….they have shown me that all is not lost, all is not desolate.

After I ran away from the Kanya Ashram I entered deep into the jungles and took help from the Desiya Kondh families inside the reserve to hide and to attack. I would disguise myself and track various church pastors and throw country-made bombs at them, it created panic among them and they started fleeing Odisha, newspapers were full of reports on how Christians were targeted, but they never mentioned why we were attacking them. Annas started fishing for information about me, they put a price on my head..I was not scared…I was paying my tribute to Swamiji. He would not have approved of what I did ..but I was being true to my tribe. We do not let a murder go unanswered. I am good at archery. I am good at hunting down my prey.

I first found a safe haven in the sacred groves in the reserve, these are patches of forest that must not be entered as they are full of spirits and they will attack you if you cross the line. I had no choice but to step over and enter their territory, I bowed down first, asked their permission, told them my woes, tears flowed down automatically from my cheeks. This was their home, all of us no matter how hungry know that we must never pluck a fruit or flower from here, not even a leaf can we pick, nor a stem or a bud also. Here I was at their mercy. I was both very scared and very sure. I was not scared of Annas, if they found me they found me, what to do, they would simply shoot me. But the forest spirits are malevolent, they are vengeful if you try to disturb their peace.

My whole body was trembling when I first stepped inside, it was as though some creature would fly by and carry me away into the terrifying unknown. I stood shivering in the dark dusk for a while not sure whether I should take the next step and the next…I could see my breath turning into smoke..I could hear my heartbeat saying go back go back…but go back where? I had no home, no one, nobody to turn to. The one man who gave me shelter, I had got him shot. I smelt some deer.. if there are deer there will be tigers too. Elephants I know how to avoid, they travel in packs and one can hear them from far away..but tigers are stealthy, the hyenas too, I must be careful, if they catch my fear, the scent of my scared scarred odour I am done for.

First I must find a solid tree to climb and rest in. I have no way to protect myself from snakes, not even a tree is safe from them but I know this much that if I occupy some space that is not their territory they will do me no harm, I must quickly look for such a spot. I started smelling the ground, taking a whiff of the branches and the bushes, to feel the urine and dung to know which way the animals went,…I did not see any snake pit yet, thank god. I chanted a few Kui prayers in gratitude to pacify the forest spirits.

I derive strength from Ma Taarini, she is the goddess of our clan, during Shardiya Nabaratri I would collect all of the 122 plants that are used in her worship, and deliver it to our temple. I know where to find a particular root, a specific stem, a plant, fruit and flower. I am not clueless like these city girls who simply giggle and dress up, and look for young men to flirt with, or come to eat khechudi dalma khata khiri and prasad. Yes, I know how to climb a tree, which fruit to eat, and which to throw away, where to find water, and which bird to befriend, for it is sure to keep you company. And it will let you know if a predator is near.

I spent time hiding in one of the tree huts far inside the elephant reserve with wild elephants and tigers on the prowl. The forest guard who was a Ku too let me stay in his room for a night or two, whenever he went to meet his lover. I had to promise to keep watch and do his duty for him, it was child’s play. I can walk the forests at night with my eyes closed. I can smell any animal from a kilometre away, I can track them, and tag them too. He offered me food and shelter while he was gone. It worked out well for me, I needed to keep a low profile…I had nowhere to go, it was better to keep still, and be in mother nature’s lap than to run around and be found.

Once, I almost got caught, Keshav anna came for recruiting volunteers at a nearby village, he simply picked up a few young boys for training and the parents could do nothing but consent, I followed them and managed to release some of them and told them to escape to Daringbadi, and gave the address of my parents. Keshav Anna came looking for me, very angry, ready to put an end to my existence, if he had caught me that day I would not be here writing my memoir! He was so livid. He could tear me up with his bare hands I am sure. I threw a snake at him and hid behind a waterfall for hours, it was cold and damp and it got dark early…but I did not budge. It was good that I stayed there wet and miserable in the cold because as I had suspected he had left someone to watch the waterfall just in case. I was there for many many hours till early next morning, and just before dawn when it was not yet light, I sneaked away to the forest guard’s watchtower.

Anna cannot go there as he will be caught by the police if he does. He has a huge ransom on his head. Some policemen are on his side, others against. It is a hard life, to be always on the run, who knows it better than me!

Balukhand-Konark Wildlife Sanctuary

Annas were searching for me all this while, they are unforgiving of anyone not loyal to their cause. Even after a decade, I keep getting information that they want to set an example by finishing me off. I have made them a laughing stock say my admirers appreciatively. Technically I was not an informer, I had simply turned against them knowing what they stood for that is all. Violence and hatred against everything that is Indian, that is their mindset sadly. But for Swamiji’s gruesome killing I would not have turned into this sort of rebel revolutionary, what to do, circumstances change a person. After rescuing the first batch of tribal boys from their clutches, I managed to help many tribal women too who were being exploited by the Maos.

Slowly my …name…started being talked about in whispers and people started visiting me in the Elephant Reserve to seek some kind of help or another. Some came for advice, others for suggestions, some for even matchmaking! One day I heard that two of the local wildlife reporters had reported something about me in the Odia TV channel and that I was suddenly a heroine for many of the villagers in these parts. The girls at the Kanya Ashram were relieved that I was alive and well, as were my parents. Unfortunately, this meant that I could no longer stay in the reserve – my husband would find me, Annas would find me..I had to make the run again.

This time I made my way to Konark, this would be my last stop. I decided that I will stop running and escaping my fate after reaching there. That was where Swamiji had wished to be, to complete his last project which was to restart the worship of Surya Deb and to rebuild his temple. Unfortunately, he was shot before he could do anything about it. But I will not rest till I do something about this. Now is the time to go there and see for myself what I can do I thought, and so I went.

It took me four days and constant walking through the Udaygiri and Khallikote forest ranges to reach here. No, I did not take the highways, or the buses, that is how they track. They have informers everywhere. And now everyone has a camera too. No. I knew the forests well, and I knew that they would keep me safe. They would feed me and they would provide me shelter, which they did. When I finally reached Balukhand I was very disappointed, it is not dense like the jungles I was born in or later worked in and then found refuge in. This is not really a jungle but a bunch of shrubs and trees. How will I hide here?

Initially, I had no choice but to sleep by the beach under the shade of these trees or on them if there were animals around, it is a reserve so no human came in, sometimes one or two poachers drifted by, that is all. But they were rare as this is a protected area well patrolled by rangers being in close proximity to both Puri and Konark. As long as I did not disturb the environment and I hid my tracks well I would be left undetected. I did my best to be invisible.

There are a lot of Casuarina trees here which are of no use to birds or animals but are of great medicinal value, the aromatic air along with sea breeze revived my weakening health. I plucked cashews and other edible mushrooms without harming the plant and ate once a day. No, I did not hunt in the reserve. I respect the law of the land, I am not a Maobadi. I learnt to catch crabs and eat them when I was very hungry. I sold the rest to earn money, to buy other essentials. I am a survivor. I can survive anywhere. And now I have a dream to make real.

The ocean waters were like magic to me. This was the first time I saw the sea. I could not believe my eyes, so much water! I was so thirsty that I ran excitedly into its arms both for a bath and a huge gulp, but ended up spitting out most of it! It was salty! How was I to know? But I fell in love with it right away. From then on whenever the beach was empty I would sit on the white sands and watch the waters travelling off far into the unknown world. I felt more and more at ease with each passing day and this place felt more and more comfortable. After a few weeks passed, I gathered enough courage to step out, and I walked towards the temple, towards Konark. It was dusk and the sound and light show was going on. I stood mesmerized. I know why I am here now, I know why my journey has to end here, I know why my life had to be the way it was. I am home at last. All my wanderings came to a stop, especially the wanderings of my heart, in Konark.

Along the beach, I found many eco-resorts, many temples, restaurants, and stalls. I was still pondering on what to do now, staring at every store blankly unsure of what my next step would be when one of them called to me from his shopfront in Odia – “Are you looking for a job? We need someone to help us with cleaning ..and if you know stitching..embroidery…” The store was selling handicrafts to tourists and wanted extra help. I must have looked like I needed a job, of course. The past years in the forest I had returned to my natural look. I had my jholas with me, I had lost my comb so my bun was not as neat as it usually is but my clips were in place, my multiple earrings must have told him that I was a tribal and hence the spontaneous offer. He was pleased that he had found me, as his wife seemed very happy with this unexpected assistance. They were very nice to me, letting me sleep in their store, trusting me with all the merchandise. I had a place to rest, some food, and a couple I could call family. They did not pay me much but I managed. Sometimes some kind tourist would leave me some extra money.

The first thing I did was to remove all traces of my tribal identity. No more fancy clips, no more silver earrings, no more side buns. I spoke only Odiya and tried to practice my Telugu, Hindi and English with customers. I started covering my head. I put sindoor in my hair parting like Odiya housewives, I did indeed look very different.

The shop had a TV set. It was small and old. I put it on sometimes to know the news, especially about Annas. That is when I saw her. She was speaking in Telugu. I remember her evangelical lectures, those days when she would pray to Jesus for every little thing in her life, when she taught me to do the same, trying to convince me of the efficacy of prayers to her chosen god. The woman I saw on TV was talking of her journey from being a Christian to embracing her roots again. Yes, it was indeed Esther akka! I was shocked. I had remembered her many times during my journey from the tribal lands and reserves to the ashram to finally here by the beach in Konark. She has been instrumental in transforming my life in many ways. Offering me a job at the eco-resort, helping me gain confidence in myself, teaching me to speak English without feeling awkward. Many times I have thought of contacting her, requesting her help, when I had no money, when I was hiding in the jungles…but I did not..I was angry at her in my heart..for ruining our lives, we the naive innocent children of the forest, the vanavasis, for telling us that our beliefs did not matter, for making us look backward and stupid in the eyes of the world. Even in those days, she was not like the others though, she was a believer in Jesus, but not a hater of her ancestors. She respected me, my deities, my gods, wanting to know more. She truly understood the reason for my rejection of her offer.

I have seen foreign people’s eyes when they look at us, as though we are nobody, as though we offer nothing worthwhile to the world, she was part of that whole racket. Many American people came, they trained Indians like her and then they would come to our villages and distribute bibles and other storybooks on Jesus and constantly hound us making negative comments of our culture to our faces. They talked of sin day and night. So even though I had needed help the past decade; hiding, running away, fighting, I never wanted to contact Esther akka because of this reason, this anger I felt towards her and people like her. I can understand the deep psychological pain of Dara Singh, the one who burnt those gora people, he did what most of us wanted to do. They come to our land and settle not because they love us but because they hate us. Hate our ways, our beliefs, our customs. They settle in our lands to convert us to their way of being, to show us that they are superior, that they are better than us. Who will accept such daily insults? Do we not have any pride, are we not humans, do we not have a right to live the way we want to?

Here she was in a bindi and sari, smiling at the interviewer and saying that she had left Christianity! I started rummaging through my two jholas that are my only possessions, for her visiting card….it has been ten long years …and then I found it. Would this number work….would she answer her phone, would I be able to contact her…I was tense when I called, and she answered in her typical sweet style, ‘Rojalin?’

It was Esther akka who helped me, again. This time she loaned me some money and found me a shack on the beach, close to the couple who had employed me. She wanted to make amends and repent she said, for ruining so many lives with her evangelism. I am glad that such a wonderful person like her did not get cut off from her roots completely. I, on the other hand, I am here by the beach, when I belong in the jungles on the hills. I wanted to be near a forest so that I am not too homesick, although Balukhand is not exactly Belaghar or Daringbadi, nor is it Phulbani or Jalespeta, it is at least a forest reserve with wildlife and native plants and trees.

I cook, eat, sleep, and work in this shack. In the mornings and evenings, I prepare tea and badas for tourists, and by afternoon I weave baskets and work on some applique embroidery. Families in Pipili are slowly taking up other jobs and this is a dying craft, so when they were looking for some women to help them with their contracts, I decided to take it up. It keeps me busy, and also attracts the travellers and passersby who come and sit by the beach and talk to me about all types of things. They ask me questions and I answer honestly.

I accompany them sometimes to watch the dance on the beach during the Puri Dance Festival or to appreciate the sand sculptures by Sudarshan Pattanaik. They say that they want to see everything from my eyes, learn from a local. Some young girls even pay me to sleep in their tents next to my shack and ask me so many questions about my life. My service to Surya is not yet finished, he keeps me safe.

I am no longer afraid of the Christians or the Maobadis. But I do take precautions, I am not a fool. I am dressed like a city-bred housewife, not like a Kondh, I cover my head with a sari and put on a large bindi and sindoor. I tell people I am married and that my husband is back in the village because he is sick, all of which is true. He is sick, is he not? To leave his ancestral faith and cause so much pain to his parents and to his wife.

I keep a sharp knife and axe next to me when I sleep, and I sleep light. Once or twice when I saw some drunk men trying to get close and act funny, I took the axe to my neck and made a slight scratch. The bleeding throat did the trick. They call me chandi in these parts. Fear is good. I shouted that I would cut my head off without hesitation if they came within six feet of me and that Ma Taarini would haunt them forever. They ran away screaming. I would have done it. I am not scared of death. If there is one or two I can kill, but if they come in a group I know that I am ready to die with honour. Since that day though people have kept a safe distance and regard me highly. Now that the beach crowd has become some sort of my family, I have nothing to fear from anyone.

Surya Dev Mandir – Konark

I hesitate to go to the temple during the day. There are many tourists and the place is full of kids running around shouting screaming playing, young couples in love gazing adoringly at one another and at the amorous sculptures, teenagers taking selfies in crazy poses and talking loudly on phones or on video calls, families trying not to lose one another in the crowd, older men and women seated on steps catching their breath from climbing to the closed jagamohana…..foreigners, students, artists, wanderers….everyone with the shoes. People come in groups and have picnics here, eat all kinds of food too. Some of them smoke here without a care. Everyone is here with a sense of wonder but no sense of sanctity.

I go only if some young girl who is travelling alone wants me to accompany her, I walk with her to the temple ruins. I try to tell a few people to take off their footwear and be respectful but they do not pay heed. They laugh instead. Many of them throw wrappers, plastic bottles, straws, whatever is in their hands without care. I pick up after them and put them in the recycling wastebaskets. People think I am some sort of employee and give me more things to throw away. I don’t mind, as long as they keep the place clean. I try to set an example, but people are too busy to notice. They are too busy to sense the energy of the place too. This is where she dances for the gods every night and you are desecrating that space, I want to shout aloud but I don’t. I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Who knows who is following me where.

I repeat what I have learnt over the years at the Sound and Light show, to the girls who come to interview me, fascinated by my life story: The wheels of time are moving, all twenty four of them. They take with them the goals of all humans – dharma, artha, kaama, moksha – all of which are depicted here on the walls and columns. Like the silver filigree from Cuttack, this whole structure here has been chiselled with care as though one humongous stone ornament. The seven horses named after the Sanskrit metres are in flight already; Gayatri, Brihati, Ushnih, Jagati, Trishtubha, Anushtubha, and Pankti. This is patachitra in Khondalite. The navagrahas that once adorned the entrance of the audience hall lie in waiting, knowing that their turn will come. That is the nature of things, of this world. 

That is when I hear a piece of conversation in English that tells me that I have come to the end of my journey. The ASI is planning to empty the sand that fills up the jagamohana and open it up to the public. It will be reopened after a hundred years or more! It is planning on building the shikhara too…the only thing left now is for worship to start here. Just as Swamiji had wanted. There is excitement all over Konark, people are ecstatic. This is what everyone has been waiting for. There is a lot of movement in the next few days. Jeeps, cars, comings goings, officials, reporters, cameras. Indian Oil people put up a banner, ‘…..state of the art interactive centre, Arka Khetra..’, I simply smile.

Did I have a role in this at all? Who knows? When a small insignificant person like me moves a stone, when a spirit dances in celebration, the sleeping powers rise from slumber and start the wheels in motion. That is how all things take place. Nothing moves if that first stone is left unmoved. I simply lifted the first stone.

Some of these girls who know of my dream to rebuild the temple, are by my side all day taking videos and selfies, and they have shown me the Surya Deb that belongs to Konark, in a museum in Delhi, so far away! They opened the computer and showed me. His face glowing with inner joy spread through my whole being, and I felt fulfilled. All my sorrow and pain vanished at the sight of him, just as he cured Samba, he cured me of all my unhappiness, of my relentless guilt.

Women here celebrate Samba Dashami with great vigour. Offering food to the Sun God three times a day and praying for the welfare of their children. This year I too joined them, and prayed for my tribe, for my parents, my community. I have developed a very close relationship with him over the years, he has never let me down. You call him Surya, I call him Bura Pennu. Only the names differ, the beliefs are the same, the entity one.

I withdrew all my money from the bank, not a word was spoken with the teller, she assumed I could not speak her language and I did not say a word to disprove that assumption. Waiting for the full moon night was the hardest part. I was too excited. This would be my last visit, I set out on my nightly sojourn and once I reached the temple, I let the currency notes loose on Konark, I let them fly away and saw them embrace each and every sculpture and each and every trellis adorning the temple. While my offering was being made thus, I heard anklets and bells stamping furiously in a taandav. The lions at the entrance roared, waking the calm night seas. I could hear them splash from far far away, as though eager to pay homage to the temple, to Surya. The elephants lifted up their trunks from beneath the lions trumpeting the calls of victory! Yes, this temple would come alive soon, it would welcome its beloved resident, and there would be dance and music, there would be poojas and pujaris. There would be devotees, bhaktas, not tourists. Narasimha Dev’s creation will not be left untended. I walked up to the sea and took three dips, submerging my head completely in the cold waters of the dark morning. I emerged from this embryonic embrace just as Surya started to show himself up in the eastern horizon. He is pleased, I thought. He is finally happy that he will have his home back. I returned to my shack, wet and trembling, satisfied.

I think I am now ready to go back to my village. I think I am forgiven, in this world and the other.

 

Banner Image: Anupam Mukherjee, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons