A little more than 24 hours in Kohima

I am from Assam, basically grew up and lived all through my childhood in this part of the country. It was much later during my higher studies that I have lived in Delhi and Bangalore. But the one thing that always pinches me is that in-spite of being from this part of the country I have hardly traveled or seen much of the virgin beauties that North Eastern part of India boasts of. So during December 2014 when I got an opportunity to travel to Kohima, capital of Nagaland I jumped at the opportunity. The high-point was the Hornbill Festival, a melange of food, culture and art of the various local tribes in Nagaland. It is really sad that we had taken just a day with us to soak in the festival. This is something that one should do with a little time and with a mood for leisure and relaxation. But I guess, like they say, "something is better than nothing". 

We started early morning on a cold December day, and reached Dimapur by around afternoon. But for the people who knows about the festival it is like a cult. The journey from Dimapur to Kohima that should not have otherwise taken more than two hours was completed in almost six hours. The roads were jam packed, hotels were fully booked and people were camped all along. One really has to see it to believe it. People throng from foreign lands to experience the food, art and culture. For us, we reached after seven at night. We were staying at one of the army guest houses and we were lucky to get accommodation. But by the time we reached, the festival was over that day and we decided just to take a little walk. Moreover the day long journey and the traffic-jam had tired us. We had dinner and then we mostly stayed within the campus. 

The next day we reached the festival venue again braving throng of jams and traffic. But as soon as one enters the festival one can see a melee of color. Different tribes showcasing their dresses, jewelries and various dance forms. Well, it doesn't stop there and the tribes give you a sneak peek into their homes too. There are sample huts with a functioning kitchen area and furniture thrown in to give an idea about how they live. You can hear screams, war cries and drumbeats. Various areas are created for each tribes separately. Along with this is the crisp, unpolluted December air and the smell of food wafting in the air. All of these are sights to see and soak up. I could not take too many photographs of the festival itself. But I will still share a few. Within the festival there are various competitions like "pork eating competition" that one can participate in. There are art competitions, singing and dance competitions too. Basically it is one place where one wont generally get bored and there is something for everybody here.

Tribal Jewellery at Hornbill Festival

                                                         
                                                               

                                     
                                                            Headgear of a Tribal gentleman

                                         Chicken in perilla(wild sesame) sauce at Hornbill Festival

                         
                                                      Blowing on coal to slow cook the meat

   
                                                       And some more food for all meat lovers..

We were driving back by afternoon the next day. We were still high with everything we have 

seen and experienced in the festival. We wanted to go back to the festival again, but since we were travelling back, it did not make much sense. We would have just wasted our time at the traffic jam and would not have managed to really enjoy much of the festival anyway; which was in a way a good thing. Because then we decided to check out the local market. A walk in the local bazaar of Kohima was unlike any I had experienced before. It was fun, colorful and full of quirky stuff that one would not find in most markets. From roasted dragonflies to frogs, the famous bhoot jolokia and the carefully packaged bamboo shoot, the absolutely stunning and colorful veggies- the market was a surprise in every corner. The cheerful ladies selling their daily wares, the cute little boys gleefully haggling with their customers “1 ka Rs 20, 3 khareedo Rs.50” , aah what fun!! Definitely a food lovers paradise and a place that will appeal and widen ones gastronomic experimentation.

 Silkworms

           And snails 

                                                           

                   Frogs too !!

 Fresh Vegetables

Rosated Dragonflies

 So am I posing ??

Since I am talking about the local market it would be sacrilege to talk only about the food, and not talk about the local colorful weaves. I did buy a local handwoven wrap-around skirt. And the husband indulged himself by buying himself a hand crafted crossbow. 

It was a short trip, opened my eyes to the various delights that this state has to offer. From quirky colorful local jewelries to unorthodox food- this is a must visit place for any adventurous traveler. 

General Musings and how the story of The Encounter began

So it was just another day and I was thinking I should get back to writing again. Wham !! Like everyday I open the Times of India website for my daily dose of newspaper read and I came across a link saying "Get Published" or something similar. It intrigued me and I clicked on it. There was an announcement for some kind of short story writing competition where a celebrity author of Indian origin will set the rules and write the preface or the starting paragraph of the story and we have to complete it within the next 1500-2500 words. Interesting really, but not so much when the rule is that it has to be set in 17th century Paithan (now in modern day Maharashtra) and the protagonist is a girl called Illa who is kind of a rebel for her times. Firstly, I do not know too much of history and secondly, that was the first day I came across the name Paithan. For the longest time I hit a blank wall. I would write two words or a sentence, just to keep my fingers in the keyboard with the thought that if I do keep writing, I will be able to go on. But luck wasn't really on my side. 30th July 2015 is the last day of submission and I am not yet ready with the story when I am sitting on the 28th. I closed my eyes for sometime and thought a bit about my maternal Grandmother who was a great storyteller herself. Inspiration struck a bit and some ideas started revolving in my mind. The basic storyline is Illa's as mentioned by Amish, but the conversations and the stories that I spin here is a spin-off from various tales that my granny told me as a kid. And oh, she did belong to an upper caste Brahmin family herself but married my Grandfather who was not a Brahmin. I am talking about defying traditions longgg back. So read the story and let me know how it is. The first paragraph is by Amish (highlighted) and mine continues.

The Encounter

(1)

Close to the city of Paithan, in a small village called Sauviragram, which lay along the banks of the great river Godavari, lived a woman named Ilaa. Being cotton farmers, her family was well to do, but not among the richest in their area. It was the harvest season, and cotton had to be picked from the plants. The wholesalers and traders from Paithan would be arriving in just a few weeks, carrying gold and goods for barter. They would exchange what they carried for the cotton that the farmers grew. The bales of cotton had to be ready in time! Work was at its peak!

But Ilaa was not to be found in the fields. She wasn't working. Instead, she was sitting by the banks of the great river Godavari.

'I am sick of this!' she grunted loudly.

She looked on towards the village and felt sick and revolted. There was a sense of merriment, after-all the great Shivaji will be going forward with his journey through here. She had heard so many songs by travelling bards describing his great escapes from the Mughal prison. She was impressed yet frustrated. Here, people were talking about his escape from the Mughals disguised in a basket of sweets but no one seemed to remember any more about the role a woman plays in cultivating a man’s mind and his thoughts. Having grown up in a household where treatment to women vacillated between respect and sheer bewilderment she was always caught between two minds.

Her maternal grandmother belonged to a Brahmin family, and her great-grandfather had an ashram dedicated to education. As such her grandmother grew up with a healthy dose of stories from the Vedas,The Mahabrahata and The Ramayana. Grandmother was a woman of substance, having fallen in love and then eloped with her grandfather to start her family. For the longest time, the family was ostracized from the village and the community. After all she had brought shame to her own father and her caste by marrying into a lower caste, the brunt of which was faced by both herself and her husband. But Illa was glad she had her grandmother’s wit and her stubborn streak. She is a rebel but like grandmother she will stand up for everything she believes in.  How dare her father arrange her marriage to a boy she had never met. Why is it all right for a girl to never talk to a stranger, and always remain in pardah but perfectly all right to marry one?

The hot summer sun was glaring in full force and beads of sweat were forming in her back. As the sun grew stronger it formed a pool of sweat and trickled down to her waist. The cotton harvest season was dry and her throat was parched.  The Godavari was continuing its calm flow, and the little ripples created by its waves looked like diamonds twinkling in the summer sun. She closed her eyes. “How can nature carry its course when human nature has changed so much?” She sucked in a deep breath, even more flustered now. For God’s sake it might as well be Stone Age and not seventeenth century, she thought. She picked up a stone and threw it into the water, more to create a momentary distress to the calm flow of water than for the fun of watching water disperse in different direction. It did nothing to calm her. 

She heard laughter behind her and turned towards the source; a well-dressed man walked towards her with grace, the bhikbali in his ear marking him as a Brahmin. She will not cover her face; because a strange man has invaded what she thought was her private sanctuary. “So, what ails you? You look like you are ready to fight an army.” She snorted, “As far as I can see, it is none of your business.”

“Aah but you intrigue me.” He said, and looked down at her hands and noticed her twirling the silver ring she was wearing in the middle finger of her right hand, the silver clearly marking her as belonging to the Vaisya caste. The basket of cotton lying beside her further enunciated the fact marking her trade.

She smiled. She can handle conversations. “Well, I am just wondering how come people have changed so much from ancient times. It is like we are moving backwards rather than forward in all our thoughts and actions.” she commented. That part got him really interested. “What exactly are you talking about?” he quipped. “Well”, she replied, “have you ever wondered why every Hindu deity has a female compatriot equally revered?”

“Why?” he asked, and she puffed, “Because it takes both the male and the female to complete the assignations of nature. Only through the union of both man and woman can a new life be borne. But today all we see is the role of a woman as that of being the progenitor of life and carrying on household duties. Why, is a woman compelled to follow her husband in every sphere of life? Why is she complete only if she follows her wifely duties and takes care of her household? She is always a daughter, wife, sister or mother. Why isn’t she S-H-E?”

“And your point here, being what exactly?” he asked.

“Well my point is why is it that when Brahma created the universe, he created a woman to complement the man. But today when the woman is in her menstrual cycle, the same woman is barred from offering prayers in the temple and considered untouchable?” She noticed the man give a slight squirm and move back involuntarily but did not acknowledge his discomfort. She continued, “Have you ever wondered why when Brahma was the creator of everything, we do not have any temple dedicated to Him? Why are there no rites and rituals where he is worshipped, whereas we have so many temples for Shiva and Vishnu? It is because, he suffered the wrath of his wife Goddess Saraswati for performing some rites in her absence. Being her husband it was His duty to wait for her and give her the respect she deserved.” She was talking animatedly now. “And yes, do you know how far a woman has to travel to fill water so that the family can have food on time? Do you know how far she has to carry her clothes to be washed? And do you understand clothes weigh more than twice its weight after it is washed, so she has to carry all of it back home to dry it. Women were exempted from those duties in the Vedic times during those days. But that does not mean she can’t pray and that she has to be treated like an untouchable.”

He knew he was suffering her wrath for no fault of his, and could not really comprehend what he did to bring this up, but what she was saying made sense somehow. He stared back at her and she continued, “I will tell you the story Of King Ila, who happens to be my namesake, and who is credited with laying the foundation of the great Paithan, previously known as Pratisthana. It is said that once while on a hunting trip he had accidently strayed into a forest called Shravana. That is the place where Lord Shiva consorts with Goddess Parvati and as such was a private area. No men were allowed inside the forest and it is said that once a group of sages interrupted the Gods when they were making love. Furious at the interruption and violation of private space the Goddess cursed that any man entering the forest would turn into a female. King Ila ventured into the forest and he turned into a woman and his stallion turned into a mare. The king then prayed to the Lord to reduce the potency of the curse, wherein Shiva refused, but Parvati took pity on him and agreed to make him lead alternating lives as both a man and a woman for a month each all through his life. He would forget his life as a man when he turned into a woman and vice-versa. Do you see what the Goddess did?” she asked with passion.

“Yes,” replied the man, “she turned a fully functional man who was supposedly a good king into a man for half the time, and a woman for the rest letting him vacillate between two different kind of emotions and feelings, making him see things from a woman’s point of view, but at the same time making sure that he won’t remember the thoughts of the woman, once he turned into a man. I think the goddess knew that if he remembered his actions and feelings as a woman he would not be able to function and follow his duties properly. Like you said both man and woman has specific roles to play, and those roles have been defined and developed over the course of time to give each a place. It is the role of a man to provide for his family, and it is a woman’s role to make sure that the house is in order. Both are doing their duty properly.”

Not one to take things lying low she argued, “No, that is not the reason. I think the goddess thought much further ahead. She calculated the need of the hour and wanted to establish a line of new offspring who will eventually form the Chandravanshis. The Suryavanshis were already ruling the world and the goddess realized that this was creating a lot of rift within the world. There was chaos, wars and one-upmanship. There had to be a balance in the natural order of things. And for this balance to happen there has to be another race that can stand up to the formidable Suryavanshis. The goddess had already calculated in her mind that through the union of King Ila and the planet Budha a new race will be established.” She stopped and looked at the man not really sure whether he understood anything of what she was saying. After all, she had been lucky to have grown up listening to her grandmothers’ tales but not everybody, unless he is a scholar would really understand what she is really talking about. 

The man seemed to smile. He was after all a scholar in the ancient Vedas but it is not every day that he meets his match in knowledge, and especially never one from the opposite sex. He gave her a long piercing look. He was especially interested in the study of Chandravanshis, and as such the story of Ila and Budha’s union is one that he has read many times. In various scripts and in various Puranas the legend has been told and retold with different connotations, but the basic premise was always the same- that Shiva and Parvati accessed Shravana for private time and intruders were cursed to turn into females. So was King Ila. But today this girl has added another dimension to his studies by informing him that the Goddess had planned on starting the Chandravanshi dynasty with King Ila and Budha’s union. While the reason for the same may, or may not be true but it sure warranted further research. He looked back at her face, her almond eyes hiding none of the rebellious thoughts. Though this time he looked at her with respect.  He was travelling through this part of the village with his family members, who were camped further ahead. He had come to the bank of Godavari to get some water for them.

It was then that she noticed the copper pot in his hands. “You are travelling alone?” she asked. “Oh! No” he shook his head responding in negative, “My family is here, we are travelling to Sauviragram for personal work.” She looked at the pot in his hand and nodded. “I have held you up for much longer than necessary already” she said. “That is alright. The discussion was much delightful.” She smiled then. It is not always that a stranger compliments her motor-mouth. He turned to the bank and she moved towards the side to let him pass. When he looked back, he saw her walking away carelessly swaying her slim hips in a seductive motion. He filled his pot but his thoughts kept on veering back to the conversation he had had with her. He had not even asked her name, but she had said something to the effect of Ila being her namesake. He shook his head. He will have to convince his parents to break the alliance with the family he was promised to marry. After encountering a woman who provoked his thoughts this way and who made him think and reason, he will not be happy with a woman who did not titillate his brain.

(2)

The girl’s parents opened their home to the boy’s family. While the girl’s side looked happy, his family members were in discomfort. “No” screamed his mother when he first told them of his decision. His mother had cried, his father had threatened to dis-inherit him. He realized then how fatal and deep-rooted traditions and beliefs were for the males, and shuddered thinking what the girl must be going through.

The girl’s father excitedly turned towards the door, cleared his throat and said in a loud voice,“Purva, get the sherbet for the guests.”

The boy looked up to see a veil covered face handing him a glass of sherbet. But it was the gold ring in her middle finger that he noticed, clearly marking her as belonging to upper caste. He closed his eyes.

(3)

Illa came out holding a glass of sherbet, the veil merely covering her head and not her entire face. The boy’s mother was perplexed and the father uncomfortable. The boy fidgeted in his seat. She cleared her throat, smiled and added, “I cannot promise to be the best wife, or the best daughter. I have my own thoughts and a mind of my own. I know how to manage a household, but I do know things beyond these too. And if you can accept me knowing and respecting my individuality, I will try my best to keep all of you happy and be the best I can ever be. I will do that not for me but for our future generations, our children because they deserve better than what we have.”

The Brahmin boy stood in the threshold knowing he is late. It wasn’t difficult finding out who the outspoken girl he met on the bank of Godavari was. Will Illa of present day also lead a cursed life like her namesake King Ila who had to alternately lead life as a man and a woman, or will she emerge victorious, he mused?