Life In Rajasthan

the stark desert and the village break unto a feast of colour: turbans bob past in saffron and red; skirts billow beneath mantles that veil the faces of their women - if they didn't, the jewels that glint on their foreheads and faces would add to the shocking surprise of their magentes and oranges, their blues and greens and pinks. Trims of gold ribbon add to this feast of colour, and bangles jangle not just on wrists, but all the way up to the arms above the elbow. Into the bleak, baking hamlets of the desert, the people breathe life that is palpable, carrying in their jaunty strides, the spirit that is their destiny.

Each village is a multi-community settlement, the various castes creating a structure of dependence based on the nature of their work. While changes are being wrought in this structure, with ceilings on land holding, and with the young seeking employment opportunities in towns distant from their villages, the social fabric has still not been rent. At the head of the village settlement are usually the Rajputs, the warrior race whose kings ruled, till recently, over these lands. The Rajputs served their kings, joining their armies, and raising their cavalries, but an attendant pursuit was as agriculturists. Often, they employed labors to work on their extensive fields, and kept cattle for dairy produce: in fact, the cattle density in Rajasthan is very high, and milk from desert settlements is supplied to the large cities close to the state, including Delhi.

An intensely religious people, each home in Rajasthan will have a room or at least an alcove where they fold their hands and say their prayers before calendar images of their gods. To seek benevolence from their gods, for in this hostile landscape, it is easy to be superstitious, and they pray to the terrible image of Kali, the wrathful form of Shiva's consort, to protect them from the demons of the elements, and the scrounge of mankind. Outside their homes, and in their villages, it is not unusual to find images of local deities daubed with vermillion, and kept in the gnarled roots of a peepal tree, or set into the steps leading to the village pond. There are images of Bhairuji who keeps a vigilant eye over his community, and Sagasji who, when propitiated, can provide a proper harvest. And there is Pathwari whose task it is to look after those setting out on journeys and pilgrimages. And there is the plethora of folk heroes and gods who provide immunity from everything from snake bites to cattle diseases. When one lives so close to the elements, it is natural to want to bow before them: a little obeisance can mean so much in the struggle for existence.

Temples may be one of the several places in a village where people gather, the others being in front of the shops, or at a tea-shop, or in the village 'square' which is usually an old, leafy peepal tree with a large platform built around it for people to sit on. Wells are also gathering points, with the men bringing their sheep and cattle to drink here in the mornings and evenings, and the women collecting to fill their earthen pots with water that they carry home for use in the kitchen, and for bathing. Since water is so crucial to their survival, wells are often elaborately decorated, and have tall pillars that would indicate their presence for travellers on long journeys through the desert. Songs about wells, and walking long distances with pitchers, form part of the repertoire of music that swells in the state.

At home, women confine themselves to the kitchen where rows of shining brass and copper vessels and platters are lined up on shelves against the wall. The stove where the cooking is done is wood fired, into which cow-dung patties are also fed for fuel. Over this stove, set into the floor, women place earthen pots for cooking. The principal meal for to attend to the day's tasks, and lunch is a frugal meal of unleavened bread eaten with a spicy chutney of chillies and garlic. Most meals are vegetarian, and though they eat meat, the Rajputs too do not consume it regularly. In the old days, game would be hunted, and the spoils shared with families in the village.

With the ban on hunting, meat now comes from the goats raised in the communities, but they are slaughtered only for special occasions, and at the time of festivals that demand offerings of blood. It is this frugal diet that keeps the people of Rajasthan in fine fettle, slender of build, and not given to fat, and with a posture that is erect. Betrothals, marriages, even deaths are occasions for the entire village to come together, as much in a show of solidarity as of participation in each other's good times and bad. Cooking for wedding feasts calls for the cooks to dig pits under the ground where the fires will be lit for the huge cauldrons in which the food will be prepared. The entire village dresses up festively to welcome the wedding procession, and the Dholis and others of the singing caste lead the party to the house where the wedding is being celebration can last for a few days, and can become the social event of the season. Just as the women adorn themselves, and decorate their houses and the men wear rings in their ears and slip their feet into gaily embroidered shoes, so too it is not unusual for them to create special jewellery for their camels, or to cut their coats in intricate motifs. The camel is the beast of burden ideally suited to the desert. Its ability to store enough water in its stomach to last it for a few days makes it ideal for long distance travel along routes where even wells may be a rarity.

No wonder there is such close amity between the long-legged beast and its owner. From transport to plouging in the fields to pulling carts, the camel even provides milk though its sweet, thick consistency is not pleasing for everybody. In death, its hide finds use for converting into leather for saddles, bags and shoes. A visitor will find smoke still curling from the kitchen window-modern, gas-fired stoves have still not arrived in the village of the desert. The postman carries mail on camelback. Most villages now boast electricity, though strong gusts of wind can interrupt its supply, so that the twinkling lights of kerosene lamps still illumine the night. The government has provided telephone lines, and even the smallest village has at least one such service: but this is its contact with the world inside. Of what other use would the villagers have for telephones, where their neighbor's are no more than a shout away? The television is a new marvel in their homes, something they watch when there is electricity, but from which they are strangely detached: it reflects far removed from their own. And a network of roads means that they can travel more easily between villages, and to the neighboring towns.