Celebrating Wrath and Death

Daily struggle

Sunderbans- if you google it, you will come across the words like mangrove and largest delta. These words however, hardly captures the essence of the place. Sunderban is 45 kms from Kolkata and in just 2 hours you can reach the outskirts. You will be greeted by people who look quite similar to you and me- wearing Bata sandals, jeans, salwar kameezes and going about their way of life. If you ask, they will tell you which shop sells authentic wild honey; which shop to go to for the Gur Patali. A wide bridge now connects the islands with Kolkata and you are happy still to be part of civilization. Mobile tower is there for you to stay connected. You will be told by the tour operators to wake up early; hot water will be given for your morning chores and then you can set off for a visit to the forest on a launch. Everything is as it should be. It is winter, as you can see, best time to visit Sunderban.

Hope of surviving

 When you are happily ensconced in the warmth of the morning tea and bath, women are already out and knee deep in the icy waters of the backwaters or the “Khari”. They will stay there till the sun is up and it gets little warm. Their feet is turned white for staying so long in the saline water everyday- they are collecting the meen- baby prawns. For every bucket they will get only 25 rupees. If they try to cheat, their contract will be taken away by the Bheri wallahs. Most men by now are far away from the shores catching fish. They have to come back and sell their produce at the whole sale market by 12 so that they reach Kolkata markets by evening so that you and I can buy them on the way returning from our offices.

Boards have been put up at many parts of the forest- It is now illegal to collect honey or timber from these areas. The government is taking all measures to protect the national animal. You will be entertained by the stories of women who have survived an attack by the tiger- how only with a sickle they fought back and took out an eye or a paw off from the tiger. How a tiger can cross a mouth of seven rivers locally called “Saptamukhi” and take away cattle. How a tiger tracks the honey collectors for several kilometeres to target the weakest among the men and wait for the opportunity to pounce on him.

In the meantime unknown to you, people are struggling to raise even one crop of paddy. Post Aila half of the soil has become saline. So the yield is low and unlike other areas where flood is a harbinger of productivity, here people have started to dread the floods as more flood mean more salinity. The fresh water ponds used to raise the fish have been destroyed by Aila so that livelihood is also snatched away.

It comes to you as a very exotic tribal ritual when the front of the launch is painted red and a few flowers and agarbatti offered everyday by the head “Majhi”. You take photos of this ritual to show how you have been part of this exotic ritual.. maybe even recite the “Bonbibipaaala” in your drawing room next Saturday.

However, if you can take one step back in time, you will see how relevant this legend still is. How and why it is an enduring tale still recited by the people of Sunderbans- How they relate to “Dukhi” – the epitome of sorrow and how miraculously he is saved by Bonbibi. You will see that people of sunderban need to believe in this story, more now than ever before because they all wish the same- survive in the face of fierce wrath of nature compounded by power hungry bureaucrats and “shohure- babu”- those city people who draw up the policies without visiting them even once.

Here is a glimpse of that play. One of the Majhis in the play had been a school master. He lost his job when the school was destroyed by Aila. Then he was given the job of a tourist guide. He took up the job happily believing that now he would have some security. Unfortunately, the policy makers decided that such people deserve a blue uniform and an Identity card- that’s all. Whatever money they earn from the day is for theirs to keep but not to expect any allowance or pension- very magnanimous indeed- they gave him a job.

We are called for dinner by the tour operators. It is the last night in Sunderban. Tomorrow by evening I shall be home. The Paala wallahs are picking up their little props and costumes and putting it back in a large tin trunk. The care with which they fold each garment is the only testimony of their plight- that one trunk is their hope of survival- soon the tourist season will be over. However cold the nights are, however far they are from their homes, they will trudge on reciting their " Bonbibi Paala" for us..They will survive another year. Only Bonbibi knows what will happen next year... she will take care of them. If not, then also it would be according to what is written already - their fate.