An
evening in Kinnar.
It
was Friday, the thirteenth of October and people celebrating Dusherra. In
Northern India believe Lord Rama, who epitomises good, vanquished and killed
the demon king Ravan on that day. In the south the significance is different.
The all -powerful Mother Kali killed the demon Mahisasura and they celebrate
the occasion as Vijayadashmi. It is the
victory on the tenth day. In some parts it is the day when the Pandavas came
out of exile and picked up their weapons and fought the Mahabharata war at
Kurukshetra. Whichever be the reason, Ram, Kali or Krishna, Hindus rejoice and
celebrate the triumph of good over evil.
Each
and every household in this small town of Kinnar in Karnataka decorated their
houses, small or big, with strings of bright coloured marigolds and fresh mango
leaves hanging artistically from the main doors. The entrance of the house was
beautified with intricate designs filled with red, green, white, dark blue,
orange and purple coloured rangòli called
moggu locally. The women and teenage girls allowed their creative juices to
flow, as their delicate fingers moved deftly to the many melodious folk songs
to entertain all around.
The
older women busied themselves cooking many goodies like the mouth watering
south Indian delicacy Bobbattu, known
as Pooran poli in Maharashtra. The
main courses were lemon rice or coconut rice with a curry and gravy. Most of
the ingredients used were what was locally available from the fields or dairy
products from the cows and buffaloes they kept in the backyard. They used milk,
rice, coconut, jaggery, and sesame seeds. Small kids stealthily tasted the
mouth-watering goodies. Sometimes the older boys sent the innocent young
children to steal the goodies for them.
They hoped the little ones would have their ears
boxed if caught in the act of grabbing.
The vibrant
coloured dresses both added to and completed the festive atmosphere. All this
hustle and bustle on Dusherra stems from the firm belief in the message of the
Gita, the sacred book of Hindus, that
says, the Lord comes down from age to age to reduce the burden of evil on
Mother Earth and establishes the unquestioned supremacy of good.
This year,
Kinnar was excited, for another reason too. The local elections were announced
for the state assembly for the 17th of October. The announcements
and jingles on the radio and television added to the auspicious fervour.
Naturally, the Election Day would be a holiday for offices, schools and the one
college they had. Those buildings would be used as polling stations for the
elections. The campaigning would end today and then the hopefuls would wait for the electorate to cast their precious
vote.
This is the one time in every five years, when the
voter feels like a monarch. The common man has the power to bring a party to
power or dump it. Party workers and leaders woo the voters in royal style like
the bridegroom and his family is treated on the wedding day. Friend and foe
greet you and coax you to vote for their party or candidate. Hand-bills are
pushed into the voter’s hand with a
smile and sweets are distributed.
Personal invitations are extended for the public meetings like today in the
temple courtyard. The shrewd politicians know what platform is suitable to woo
the voter and today could not have been a better time. The mood of the public
was perfect. The venue was excellent as everyone wants to seek the blessings of
the grama-devata the reigning deity of the town, so attendance would be near
hundred percent.
After a hearty
festive meal, the people began to move towards the temple located on the
right-bank of river Krishna. The events that made history or milestones in the
lives of the locals, were held in the extensive temple courtyard.
As mentioned,
today the attraction of visiting the temple was two-fold, religious and
political. Hardly anyone stayed home for their accustomed afternoon siesta.
Even thieves gave up their livelihood for a while, though the timing was
perfect for a bit of loot. They arrived like gentlemen in clean clothes. It was
their way of paying their respects to the Goddess.
Mother Kali,
who not only bestowed boons on her deserving devotees, also punished the
guilty. The idol is in black granite. Her eyes emit fire and her tongue hangs
out in fury. One of her four hands holds
the head of a demon. Her open hair to
the waist appears to be flying.
She, for all her children, is the divine Shakti, which is omnipresent in prakrit in manifold
forms.
In the background, the beating of drums alternated with the
auspicious Nàdaswaram, heralding the all-important occasion. From the eastern
and western entrance of the temple, women and men were seen walking hand in hand
smiling and exchanging festive greetings. Behind them, two bulls walked from
each of the entrances towards the central court of the temple. The smooth
temple floor was spic and span. The pillars were decorated with bright coloured
flower garlands loosely wound round them. The central entrance was
decorated with strings of white jasmines hanging like a curtain.
The two bulls were deep dark brown in colour, almost merging into
black. The sheen of their coat showed their pedigree and their healthy bodies.
Their eyes shone and the bells in their necks jingled to the rhythm of their
walk, which was a trifle quick. They wore blood-red rose garlands around their
necks. The atmosphere was charged with unbelievable excitement and high
expectations.
From the eastern entrance Buddhi, meaning intellect, made his
entrance. He was followed by the local candidates, important personalities and
party workers of the “Peoples’ Progress Party.”
The main leader, a man in his thirties, was patting Buddhi to calm him
because animals are sensitive to loud sounds. Guru, a forward-looking
visionary, had an outstanding academic record, with a master’s degree in
Political Science from the University of Bombay. Soon after leaving the
university, he plunged headlong into an active political career. He held the conviction, that he could guide
his people to move towards self-development and prosperity, while adhering
strictly to the best principles of democracy.
In front of the main entrance
of the temple, he removed his footwear, closed his eyes, folded his hands in
all humility and bowed his head before Mother Kali and then moved to a seat,
which had seen better days.
From the western side
came the other bull Balwan that
turned its garlanded head to the words “Balwan
is Pehalwan, hamaara pehalwan ki jai[1]”. A foreigner in the crowds asked a neighbor
who spoke English what that one liner meant. Promptly came the reply in broken
English, “the big bull Balwan is strong
like wrestler. Victory to him.” It shook
its head rather vigorously and walked like a peacock oozing arrogance.
Durga Das, popularly
known by one and all as Dada, followed.
Few remembered his formal name. ”Dada,” a self-styled leader was orphaned
before he could crawl. As a result, formal education was out of the question
for him. Life was his “teacher”. In his life he followed the law of the jungle
and indulged in anti social activities. His self-esteem was sky-high and he
dressed always in white. Today it was spotlessly white, washed by the local dhobi who was almost always never paid.
His beard was untrimmed and the hair rather long. He was chewing tobacco and
waving to anyone who acknowledged him.
A small crowd gathered around him.
He talked to them and patted a few backs but from the corner of his eyes
he slyly looked at Tanushree, the only child of Raju, the local zamindar. As her name suggests, she was undoubtedly
endowed with rare beauty and grace. She
was unaware of her stunning looks and the surreptitious glances from Dada as she
laughed and joked with her friends. Tanushree had the brains too and was very
well educated. Dada in his heart of hearts admired educated people but ran down
education in public.
Dada spotted Guru
and swaggered up to him, hugged him ostentatiously and said “I bring greetings
today from my party to you and your party.” Guru reciprocated his party’s
greetings of peace and goodwill. The drums stopped beating and the priest said
in his clear gentle voice, which echoed through the loud speakers: “Victory to you all. May the Divine Mother bless each one of you.
This year’s bullfight is to humour us all and maybe forecast the political
future for Kinnar. Buddhi and Pehalwan will participate in the fight.” Even today in the twenty-first century, we can’t totally give up
being superstitious. As is customary the head of the vanquished bull will be
offered to Mother Kali, who, alone, knows what is best for us, her children.
People felt that the Mother is guiding them and they ought to vote for the
party whose bull won today.
Dada, as usual, keen to have the last word
took the mike and said, “My party believes we are with the people and they need
me to think for the good of my people living here. I am pleased to be honoured
this way by the Mother herself. Kinnar is Dada and your Dada is Kinnar.”
Quickly the drums began
to beat to a crescendo and then Guru and Dada walked up to the two heroes of
the day, Buddhi and Balwan. They anointed the foreheads of the two heroes with
the traditional Tilak. They appeared to be two emperors rather than two animals
going for a bullfight.
The two contestants were
fed grass and molasses and patted by the political heroes. Guru kissed Buddhi
and patted it almost wishing him to use his brain while fighting. Dada patted
Balwan from the head all the way down to the tail and conveyed, “You are strong
and use your brawn.”
In one voice all who
were gathered shouted, “Maha Kali ki Jai” thrice, cutting across all social
and political barriers to ask the Mother of the universe for Her blessings.
Each one gathered there prayed for the victory of Dharma (morally right) and wanted the guidance of the universal
Mother. The moment had come. Silence prevailed as the two heroes of the day,
Buddhi and Balwan charged at each other and the spectators waited with bated
breath. The pregnant silence almost spoke each one’s mind that Buddhi and
Balwan held the key to the result of the coming election.
Guru and Dada looked at each other trying to read each other’s
mind as the animals gauged each other’s strengths and attacked each other
leaving behind a curtain of dust. A
keen, close, contest followed and in the end Buddhi lay on the ground, most
dignified in death. No clapping or
shouting followed. Each of the spectators questioned the result of the fight
and were sorry that intelligence had lost today to sheer brawn. Was this a
message for them from the Mother to think for oneself rather than follow
blindly and remain in the darkness of ignorance as would be the case if Balwan alone
ruled the people and Buddhi left us forever.
People’s minds
recalled all that happened. On the one
hand, superstition beckoned them to do what superstitions indicated and on the
other, logic that showed something
hitherto unknown or ignored. Their minds
swung between the two extremes like a pendulum when they discussed the future
of Kinnar that lay in their hands. What should decide whom they should vote
for? Guru sure had a simple charisma without the mass appeal of Dada who could
get really emotional and sway people.
When the zero
hour came, there was a lot of turmoil in the electorate’s minds. Buddhi or
Balwan haunted them. It seemed this election was all-important as the future
path and the character of Kinnar and her people depended on the voting pattern.
They could choose to be a role model electorate or go to seed like many other
constituencies in the past. Very few could sleep the night before the
elections. Hordes of thoughts churned their minds but no one dared to talk
aloud as this decision was totally the individual’s in the secret ballot. Many
a woman found the husband tossing and turning and many husbands found their
spouses wide awake.
The Mother seemed
to be guiding her children in a strange but certain way by making them think
for themselves rather than perform miracles. This in itself is a novel way of
learning. The women were not to be influenced by their spouses or elders in the
family. They were individual thinking
people in their own right and not doormats in a democracy. They were equal
partners and not subservient to follow the decisions made by the men folk in
the house.
On the Election Day, not one single eligible citizen abstained
from voting. Even the animals were silent. Long winding queues ended finally at
sunset when the ballot boxes were sealed. Everyone slept well that night
without a care in the world as they had done themselves proud.
On the 21st. of November all were gathered again in the
temple courtyard to hear the election result. Dada looked as if he was
invincible. He waved and smiled like a monarch who would wear the crown
shortly. He believed that he is the undoubted winner and looked at Guru
patronizingly.
The TV announced, “A great upset in Kinnar. The seat has been won
by the Peoples’ Progress Party by a thumping majority.”
Guru gave Dada a look, which said it all: “People alone are our
strength.” Omens mean nothing.
(Sesh
Rao Damerla)
Pune
