Rajbangshi: Labanya Bhakat
Translation: Preetinicha Barman
“Sister, will you take some chepta gura (a kind of squashed rice)?” the old woman hawked repeatedly.
Srimati Vasantika Ray opened the front door, “Come, come! We’ve been waiting for you for days. May you live long!” She continued without pause, “Last evening, while having supper, we spoke of you. We were wondering what had happened to you; Whether you were sick or had already kicked the bucket?” She grinned at her visitor. “You know, all our flattened rice and puffed rice are gone by now.”
“Will even the Jamraj set his blind eye on a bereaved woman like me?” sighed the old woman, Shuklaburhi as she unloaded the basket of squashed rice and the bag containing flattened rice.
It was a Sunday, so Vasantika did not have to go to the school where she taught. Her husband had left for Guwahati on the morning bus, Vadrivishal, which plied between Dhubri and Guwahati. Thus, she had the whole day to herself to gossip with Shuklaburhi. They had been very close for a long time. Her husband, Binay Ray, would not buy chira or chepta gura from anyone else other than the old Shuklaburhi. However, the children would hardly take the homemade traditional items. Instead, they would gorge on noodles and sundry other junk and fast food. If forced to eat a traditional item like the blend of milk, chira, and molasses, they would scream, “We can’t have this! We feel like throwing up, so don’t blame it on us.” Hence, the homemade items remained limited to Vasantika and her husband Binay. For breakfast and evening snacks, they preferred the fare from Shuklaburhi.
Shuklaburhi remained the sole supplier of their snacks. She lived in a village called Tiamari, situated a few kilometers away from Dhubri town. From there, she would bring all the traditional food items made with rice, including chepta gura (squashed rice), chira (flattened rice), and muri (puffed rice). She was known for being finicky about maintaining hygiene while making these items, preparing them with utmost care and concentration. That was why her items were always fresh and tasty; it also explained why the cost of her items was higher than usual.
Vasantika Ray, her regular customer, was a writer as well as a school teacher and homemaker. Two of her avid readers and younger colleagues, Habiba Khatun and Farida Khatun, often wondered why she wrote only about the poor and the needy. “Why do characters like maidservants, chirawalis, muriwalis, or day wage earners throng your stories? Readers outside Assam will think that our Assam is full of poor people only, as if no rich people live here.”
Habiba and Farida were justified in their comments. Most of the people in Assam are poor and uneducated, and within Assam, the undivided Goalpara district was worse, more backward in every respect, whether in literacy or economy. The Rajbangshi people living in this district were the wretched lot, poor and impoverished. Many young boys and girls from this community went to Guwahati in search of jobs in odd places like tea stalls, small shops, or as domestic help. Widows and the impoverished would go from door to door selling chira and muri. Had their fate always been so bleak? Well, in the Rajbangshi language, there is a proverb: “Once we were magurs (catfish), but now we have shrunk to become kois. Never know what bigger misery awaits us.” This was the reality of Shuklaburhi’s life too. In between their casual conversations, she told her story to Vasantika as well as to Habiba and Farida, who happened to visit their colleague that day.
Shuklaburhi was the daughter of a family of landlords. In those days, everyone revered Dhaniram Bepari, her father. They had a family mansion, a two-storied building on a plot of twenty-five bighas. There were some other cottages around the main building, and there were two big ponds on either side lined with coconut and areca nut trees. A few furlongs away from the mansion, five bighas of land were covered by bamboo groves. Dhaniram had three younger brothers—Maniram, Phaniram, and Chhaniram—who stayed together in a joint family. Dhaniram, being the head of the household, looked after the house and the extended family. During his time, the house was always full of everything they needed. He managed the finances and provisions for the house. Since their village was in a remote area, he ensured that rare items like sugar, tea, spices, and kerosene oil were always in stock. He would hoard a week’s supply of rations much in advance. However, all other raw foodstuffs used to come from his farm, be it rice or edible oil. Everyone appreciated how Dhaniram managed the large household. His immediate brothers, Maniram and Phaniram, were always by his side, as it were, looking after the farms and managing the servants. The brothers’ hardy toil and Dhaniram’s mature planning kept the family going.
But the times changed. As the days passed, the number of children of each of his brothers began to grow; they had five to six children each. A lot of money was spent on their education and later for their weddings. Dhaniram’s family was totally dependent on the produce from their land. None of the family members had ever thought of pursuing a government job. As the family expanded, the brothers divided the land among themselves. Now each of them was left with just a few bighas of land, some of which had been sold off for the education of their children or for their weddings. Daughters were married off one by one. Shuklaburhi, too, was married into a well-to-do family. She was beautiful and had some education as well, which won her a groom from a good family, though by that time her maiden home was on the verge of decline.
Shuklaburhi’s father-in-law, Sri Bamacharan Prodhani, was a renowned man from Kalahaat village near Dhubri town. As a bride, Shuklaburhi had entered a wealthy household. The family used to celebrate the festival of Dol every year. During Dol and on the Navami tithi of Durga Puja, the day for the preparation of Devi’s Thakurani Jatra (the Mother Goddess’s ritualistic return journey), the tenants of the Prodhani family used to bring offerings to the house. The tenants included people from the Rajbangshi, Majhi (fishermen), and Muslim communities. The Rajbangshi tenants would bring loads of chira and muri, while the Majhis brought pairs of puthi fish for the auspicious Jatra, as well as some big fish. They would keep the fish in the courtyard on plantain leaves while the gittani, the chief homemaker, would put vermillion on them. The Muslim tenants would bring pots of doi (curd). All the items would be used for the Jatra Puja the next day. After the Puja, everyone would eat doi-chira and rice. Everyone then would bow to Prodhani, who in turn would give them money and traditional scarves. Those days were gone. Things now seemed forlorn, like fairytales.
Bamacharan Prodhani had three sons. Shukla was married to the youngest one. Their wedding was a lavish affair. In those days, the groom’s procession did not come in Maruti or Hyundai cars; they arrived by horse-drawn carts or bullock carts. Brides from wealthy families were carried in palanquins. Young Shukla, too, came to her new home in a palanquin. It was a journey of about five to six hours. She was fast asleep inside the palanquin and was woken only by the hustle and bustle of the wedding guests as they arrived at her groom’s house. That night remained vividly etched in Shuklaburhi’s memory. Even years later, she could recount her nuptial night in minute detail. However, those good old days soon turned into bitter memories. Neither her beauty nor her qualities could win her husband’s admiration. He was often away from home during the day. Very soon, Shukla discovered that drinking and gambling were his regular habits. Her husband, Nagendra, never tried to take up any occupation and depended largely on his father’s income. Eventually, both Bamacharan Prodhani and his wife passed away within an interval of five years. The property was divided among the three brothers. By then, Shukla had two sons and three daughters. Nagendra neglected this farming due to his drinking habit, and there was hardly any income. Shukla tried everything she could to correct him. She fretted, advised, and pleaded to the best of her ability, but nothing could move her husband. Shukla even left him for her maiden home for a few days, but this only worsened the situation. Nagendra would disappear from home altogether if Shukla was not there. Hence, Shukla decided to stay with him and tolerate all his whims. As her eldest daughter grew up, she married her off by selling a plot of land. Gradually, all their land, except for their homestead, was sold off. Once the land was gone, Shukla’s husband resorted to a different tactic. One day, he approached Shukla with a heavy heart and began to plead, “Dear Shukla, please help me out. I’m in great debt.”
“How can I help you when I have no money?”
Her husband seized the opportunity, “I know that. But you have quite a lot of jewelry.”
Shukla received a good number of jewels from her parents as gifts during her wedding. Gold and silver jewelry were given in a large tala (a traditional cane basket) filled to the brim, amounting to about one sher. Shukla hardly wore jewelry, except for a few pieces. She cherished her gold makris (earrings) very much, as they were quite beautiful. In fact, her husband’s eyes were set on those heavy earrings. He did not hesitate anymore. “Give me your makris if you really care for me.” Shukla felt emotionally blackmailed. A woman feels upset parting with her ornaments, and this was the case with her as well. Moreover, her jewelry was all she had of her parents. If she started losing them, she would have nothing left. Shukla understood that very well, but her husband was adamant. He became furious at her refusal and yanked her by her hair. He beat her mercilessly until she relented and parted with her makris.
That was just the beginning. She lost all her jewelry one by one as Nagendra continued to drink and gamble. In her despair, she remembered Yudhisthira’s plight when he lost his wife, Draupadi, in a game of dice. This mythical event had recurred in women’s lives throughout the ages. In every era, women suffered the same harassment, exploitation, and marginalization within the family and society. Reflecting thus, Shuklaburhi could only surrender herself to her fate.
However, everything has its limits, and even tyranny must come to an end. One day, Nagendra passed away, vomiting blood. His excessive drinking had ruined him from the inside. The man who was once so high-born could not even have a proper funeral. For his last rites, Shukla had to accept donations from her relatives. The bereaved Shukla was left with nothing but her self-respect. She did not beg anyone to feed her family. It was then that she took up the basket of chira and muri. As her children grew up, she married off her two remaining daughters and sent her two sons to a carpenter to be apprentices. Eventually, as they learned carpentry, the boys went to Guwahati for work. Soon, they prospered, and as the years rolled by, Shukla arranged their marriages as well. Eventually, she moved to Tiamari. Her sons offered to support her financially and urged her to leave her profession, but Shuklaburhi held her head high. She did not want to be a burden on anyone, not even her sons. They did, however, buy her a touchscreen mobile phone so she could talk to her grandchildren via video calls. Her days were now filled with happiness as she focused on feeding her customers with her fresh handmade fare, made delicious with her efforts and love. She had succeeded in creating a strong bond with all of them.
Vasantika Ray had been listening to her tale for a long time. As the story unfolded, she felt as though she had been transported to another world. When the story came to an end, she suddenly returned to the present and realized it was already two o’clock in the afternoon. “Shukla Di, it’s already high noon. Why don’t you have lunch with us today?”
Turning to Habiba and Farida, she added, “Do you understand now why I always write about the poor?”
***
Translator Bio:
Preetinicha Barman is an Assistant Professor in the Department of English, North Eastern Hill University, Shillong. She writes critical essays, book reviews and book chapters, writes poems both in English and Rajbanshi as well as translates poems and stories from Rajbangshi to English.
Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash
