A man's destiny that is truly wonderful

Moloy: The Forest Man

When I saw the animated short film ‘The Man Who Planted Trees’ a year back, I liked the film for its minimalistic pastel-sketching look (so minimal that you can see the lines and curves forming the pictures) and needless to say, the profound idea, so simple in its conception yet utterly jaw-dropping for anyone who pauses to consider undertaking it. The man I praise now has I am sure, never seen this film or heard of its protagonist, Elzéard Bouffier but what he has done and is still doing, may be the subject of a film named ‘The Man Who Planted Trees - II’; only this film would not be fiction but the biography of a real-living person.

The film based upon a short story, is about Bouffier, a solitary shepherd who over the course of 40 years, plants trees of all kinds, and brings back prosperity and a reason for living to an entire tract of desolate region in the French Alps. The man I am basing this piece on, is a simple villager named Jadav Payeng, who over the course of almost 3 decades has brought back greenery and life to a barren stretch of land in Assam. Whereas the achievement ascribed to Bouffier was just fiction, what Payeng has achieved exists very much for anyone to see.

A particular geographical feature of the Brahmaputra Valley in Assam is the sandbar, a tract of land of river sand which gets created whenever the water level of the river goes down in winter. Short grasses grow in these barren, exposed bits of land till the time monsoon steps in again and the river reclaims what once belonged to him. Once in a while, the river may change its course slightly and leave behind sandbars which are not reclaimed. The hero of this piece, Payeng (affectionately called ‘Moloy’) singled out one such sandbar 3 decades back and started planting bamboo trees in the barren land. He planted the trees by himself on land which was not his (it belongs to the Forest Deptt.) using his hands and maybe, a shovel. He nurtured the tender plants (on land which as the authorities informed him, was barren and not suitable for growing anything except bamboo), and the first forest sprang up - a bamboo thicket.   

I suppose it was at this point (the first tentative success) that Moloy must have thought of having a full-fledged forest with different trees and animals in it as well. So, he extended the purview of his vision, planted seeds of different trees this time around, transported red ants into his forest (as someone informed him, red ants positively affect the acidic properties of the soil) getting stung by them, stood guard over the first saplings as they grew up, and his single-minded passion has now resulted in a man-made forest cover stretching over nearly a 1000 hectares which animals like elephants, tigers, deer, rhinos and others like snakes, different birds have made their home. His efforts have been recognised by the authorities who have started aiding him now, and what he has accomplished is slowly becoming known to people. The Chief Minister of Assam has bestowed Moloy with the well-earned moniker ‘The Forest Man’ and the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) has honoured him on this year’s 'Earth Day'.

It was in Feb this year that I got an opportunity to see a short programme where Moloy was being interviewed in the midst of his forest. I remember being stuck by a few points about this person and I shall attempt to present these here to drive home the enormity of what he had undertaken and achieved.

> Even as he started out, Moloy was very clear about his motivations. The idea always has been to bring greenery and life to a land where previously, there was nothing. The idea never was and still is not, to somehow benefit personally from this transformation. Moloy’s only income comes from a few cows which are looked after by his son and elder brother cos he himself is always working in the forest; I guess the wants of a man as simple as he is, are very few – so meagre that  even a few pints of milk from his cows suffice.

> To prevent poachers and tree-fellers, Moloy himself guards his forest. Armed with only a lantern and a stick, Moloy sleeps alone in the forest night. He says that even the animals of the forest take him as their own. On being asked by the interviewer about the danger of snakes, Moloy replied simply that they do him no harm; in fact, on many occasions, snakes slither over his body as he lies in the forest at night, never harming him.

> On more than a couple of occasions, Moloy had confronted gangs of tree-fellers who had come into his forest at night. Himself armed with just a stick, he says that he had challenged the trespassers armed with axes, that they would have to kill him before they could harm his beloved trees. They had backed down in the face of such dauntlessness.

> Towards the end of the interview, the interviewer asked Moloy as to who would defend the forest once he was gone. Moloy’s reply was deceptively child-like; he said,” This forest I have planted belongs to the people of the world. The oxygen that the forest releases is being breathed in by the people of the world. This forest and its inhabitants will be cherished and looked after by the people after I am gone.”

Huh?! Hearing this response, I thought to myself, “How little this person knows – he believes that his little forest in a former sandbank in Assam benefits entire humanity.” Then I realized my folly. Somehow the thinking of this (almost) illiterate goes beyond just ‘me’ and ‘mine’ and he is able to preoccupy himself with the good of all mankind! It was my thinking which I found regressive and self-occupied.

All along in this piece, I have referred to the forest as ‘Moloy’s forest’ (which is what the local people call it interestingly), though a forest can hardly be created by man alone, and the ownership of such a forest of course, is never man’s prerogative. But somehow I feel as do the locals, that it is only right.

I have adapted the title for this piece from a line in the story ‘The Man Who Planted Trees’ and the short clip from the film towards the end where narrator lauds the efforts of Bouffier, provides the context.

Different Folks, Similar Strokes

A visible part of Christmas celebrations worldwide is the singing of Christmas carols - a tradition involving a group of singers going from door-to-door and regaling the residents with carols (like the famous ‘Joy to the World’). Carols may also be sung by larger, more professional groups formed from church choirs. Though carol singing is an art and as art goes, different groups bring their own variety into their songs but there is one detail which is seemingly common. The objective of all carol singing is to spread joy and merriment among the listeners, and sing praises of the Lord and invoke His blessings upon all.

We have something like the Christmas carols much closer to home in the form of Bihu Husoris. Bihu (the spring festival of Assam) is celebrated with its own set of traditions and comes accompanied by a lot of singing and dancing. One of the Bihu customs is the husori.

Here’s how Christmas carols and Bihu husoris bridge the divide and become similar. Every spring young people form their own bands (which traditionally comprised only male members) to sing and dance to the tune of a category of Bihu songs called ‘husoris’. Two enduring motifs of all ‘Husori geets’ (husori songs) are God and Nature. Carols too, are about the same spirit of spreading happiness and warmth, and praying to the Lord.

Just like the Christmas and caroling groups, these bands (called ‘Husori dols’) are an integral part of the spring festival. The husori dol congregates first at the local prayer-house (naam-ghar) or the house of the village headman (gaonburha) or under a big tree (traditionally believed to house the spirit of Nature). Thereafter, they would go about their business of spreading benediction and good cheer. The husori dol would announce their arrival to the people of the house with energetic bursts of drumbeats from outside the gate (podulimukh). The house-owner would venture out to the gate and cordially invite the dol into the front-yard and bid them welcome. The first words of the husori would traditionally sing the praise of the Lord. A husori dol uses few instruments – typically a drum (dhul) and a kind of trumpet (pepa). The dol would sing and dance and before leaving the house, all assembled – the dol and the household – would prostrate on the ground and pray to the Lord asking for His protection, and praying for good health and contentment of the people of the house. The house-owner typically offers betel nuts, a few leaves of paan, maybe a good piece of home-spun cloth and sometimes, a few coins. 

This husori custom typically exists in villages resigning urbanites like myself to be content only with the images on TV and in newspapers. This year though, I have my own Husori tale. A couple of us friends ventured out on 14^th April (the traditional 1^st day of Spring) and leaving the city behind, we took a trip to a resort. As we turned off the highway and onto a lane, we saw a bunch of kids in the middle of the road. These kids turned out to be amateur husori dols waiting for passing-by vehicles – boys in dhotis with crisp clean gamosas (a piece of cotton cloth with red and intricately patterned woven motifs) wrapped around their heads, and young girls dressed in mekhela chadors (silk sarees) and adorned with traditional Assamese jewellery items. The youngest boy was almost as tall as his dhul! 

We stopped and the kids in the dol started their husori; the boys began beating their drums, the girls started singing and swaying to the beats. I must confess that the singing was slightly off-key and the dancing was mediocre, but they were kids after all and I wasn't complaining. The tall-as-his-dhul boy was beating his drum for all it was worth, and the simple, easy grace with which those kids performed was simply heart-warming. Obviously the husori was being conducted very amateurishly and for money but I could not help being taken in by the beauty of the moment. I fished out a few notes and started distributing among the kids. It was then that my friend pointed further along down the road. I followed the outstretched finger and saw not one, not two but five other husori dols patiently waiting for us further ahead! The kids of the first dol happy now with their collection, bade us onward with that now-universal greeting – ‘Happy Bihu!’ We made ritual stops for all the dols; all kids and very young at that. It was obvious that the girls had borrowed their mothers’ and elder sisters’ dresses; the mekhelas were all in sizes many times big and held together with safety pins, and the little girls had difficulty moving around in their heavy dresses. I suppose it was easier for the boys – all they had to figure out was the intricacy of dancing and staying inside their dhotis at the same time! I ran out of small change, my friend ran out of patience but eventually, we negotiated past all the dols, with raucous shouts of cheer or disappointment (depending on their collection) from the kids. As we moved on ahead towards the resort, I looked back and saw another car turning into the road, and all the kids preparing their song-and-dance routine for the new visitors. I felt glad that we had made that trip and wished myself silently – ‘Happy Bihu’!

Infinite Mischief

Bhumon (meaning ‘beautiful mind’) is my youngest cousin brother, all of 3 years. I call him ‘Bhoo’ while my younger brother Sunny calls him ‘Baby Bhoo’. How equipped really, is a 3-yr old with social, directional, conversational and selling skills? Can he charm people and win them over to his POV? ‘Oh yes’ I hear you say, if by ‘charm’, one is alluding to how kids howl, slather stuff copiously with drool and otherwise, coax out thingies from tuckered-out parents and nannies. But what if I were talking about a 3-yr old being a smooth operator? ‘No!’ But wait a minute, he’s so intelligent…. ‘Nyet, nada…whoever heard of conversational skills in a kid as small as that.’ So to win over all skeptics I present before you, 2 of the latest exploits of Bhumon, the charm-kid.

His parents go visiting a colleague of the dad’s with Bhumon in tow. With the adults talking in the living room, Bhumon rolls around taking inventory of the house’s provisions. Food being the reason d’être of most 3-yr olds, our charm-kid soon ends up in the kitchen where he sees a maid. Bhumon strikes up a conversation with the maid all by himself, talking about this and that, until he gets around to the topic of whats available in the way of instant consumption. Our charm-kid enquires, “Have you got Maggi (a brand of instant noodles)?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I love Maggi. How much time does it take to make Maggi?”

“No time at all.”

“Then maybe you can make me some. I’m so hungry.” The charm-kid usually embellishes such requests with a slow smile and big, twinkling eyes (from my own experiences).

It was a short visit which gets prolonged cos the maid’s preparing Maggi for Bhumon who spends a slurpy time eating the noodles which he had got prepared by someone he’d met for the first time in a house he'd been visiting for the first time.

Another time, Sunny goes visiting Bhumon. Both of them are watching TV and Sunny is slowly getting irritated cos Bhumon’s been watching cartoons for the last half-hour and he’s got the remote nestled safely within his small palm. So Sunny says, “Hey baby Bhoo, you’re so big and still watching cartoons. Gimme the remote.” Our charm-kid slowly turns his head away from the TV, looks at Sunny full in the eye and explains, “Sunny da, I’m just 3-yrs old. All I can understand is cartoons.” And just as slowly turns his head back towards whatever colourful adventure was exploding on the screen. A very sheepish Sunny spends the rest of the evening following the trail of a pink teddy as it gallivants around a sleepy, Japanese town.

Whoever says that a 3-yr old is shy around people, unable to express himself thru language, is naturally hesitant & has no working knowledge of Carnegie’s ‘How to Win Friends & Influence People’, has to interact with Bhumon, the charm-kid.

Spring’s Here

Assam heralds spring with the month of ‘Bohag’; as per the Assamese almanac, 1st day of Spring falls on Apr 14th this year. Nature of course, follows its own primordial clock cocking a snook at man-made numerals. So, we already have green buds stretching their tender necks out on trees, the violet-white ‘kopou’ flower (an orchid whose blooming is traditionally associated with Spring’s coming), and the cuckoo shrilly calling out (another omen for Spring’s onset) in the nippy mornings.

The spring festival of Assam (Bihu) traditionally celebrated as an ode to the season and the fertility and regeneration of all nature, is replete with references to the natural world. So, Bihu songs contain words like ‘phool’ (flowers), ‘kuli’ (the cuckoo bird), ‘kopou phool’ (the orchid – foxtail), ‘bhumura’ (the bee), ‘nodi’ (the river), and of course, those extolling love and romance. So we have among bihu songs, dedicated categories of songs just for l’amour – ‘Joranaam’ (a kind of competitive teasing) where bands of boys and girls attempt to sing the other out through retorts and friendly insults, ‘Prem-peeriti morom-bhalpua naam’ (songs exploring love and affection). There are other types too, some based on history, others about the pangs of separations and still others which are just silly and contain ‘nonsense lyrics’ but nevertheless heart-warming. There is a colloquial quality to Bihu songs which is difficult to find pretty much anywhere else, and with a simple and unpretentious character which stays with you for awhile.

Sample this Bihu couplet:

hahe hoi tumare pukhurit parimgoi, paro hoi tumar salot sorimgoi;

ghame hoi xumamgoi, makhi hoi suma dim galot

[English Translation]: I shall be a swan and swim in your pond, I shall be a pigeon and sit on your roof; 

I shall be perspiration and shall enter in your body; I shall be a fly and kiss your cheeks.

Even as I am writing this, I hear a cuckoo calling out persistently somewhere outside. Yes, all the signs are here – Spring has come visiting!!

The Collective Consciousness of a Storm named Bordoisila

The first of the spring rains hit the city yesterday morning bringing a brief respite from the dust blowing around. This cycle of dust storms and then, rains in this period (Mar-Apr) is a regular phenomenon in this part of the world though, signaling the onset of Spring and sometimes, continuing well into the later part of April. There is an interesting Assamese legend explaining this local phenomenon. This legend bears telling in a dark room lit up by the feeble light of a hurricane lantern  with the wind howling outside, just as I heard this tale for the first time so many years ago. We call this fierce wind the “bordoisila” and legend has it that she is a married lady.

THE OVERTURE

So, in the mid of March (which is the Assamese month of Sot), Bordoisila rushes to her mother’s home (Assam), flying like the wind and in her haste, bringing a trail of destruction in her wake. So, when we are well and truly in March, dust winds blow around, picking up dirt and stray stuff and whirling them around.

THE CRESCENDO

Sometime later towards the second week of April, when Bordoisila leaves her mother’s home, she unleashes another series of frightful bursts in her wake. Only this time she is sad after her short maternal visit; so she burst into tears. If the heaving dark masses of rain-laden clouds wasn’t such an ominous sight, the manner in which massive rain clouds assemble in the sky seemingly at a moment’s notice turning day into night, is undoubtedly one of nature’s most awe-inspiring tricks. Blinding lightning flashes and loud thunderclaps follow with heavy rainfall, and you can feel the full force of Bordoisila’s agony all round you. It’s a nice legend though and if one stops to think about it, bridled passions and the accompanying emotional outpouring which often follows, is very much human nature and by extension, a part of all nature itself.

Numerous rituals have been built around the legend of Bordoisila and the quaintness of these traditional rites handed down over the years, is simply heart-pleasing. One of these rituals is a poem still being taught to children in the villages – “Sotor bihut Bordoisila makor ghoroloi jai, gos gosoni ghor duar niye uruai” which literally translated means, “Bordoisila, the symbol for whirlwinds, visits her parents in the month of Sot, uprooting trees and houses along the way.”

Another short couplet ritually forms a charming part of Bihu-naam (Assam’s spring-songs). It goes like this:

"......nalbirinar paah, brahmaputrot halise jalise, boga koi bogoli nil aakaxot urise,

aahise bohagi tai maa'kor ghoroloi bordoisila hoi..........."

Literally translated (to the best of my abilities), it says, “Alongwith the new buds on trees and the brimming waters of the Brahmaputra, the frolicking herons in the blue sky, Spring comes to us in the form of Bordoisila visiting her mother..”

To make Bordoisila feel welcome in her mother’s home, people do their own bit in their homes. A traditional comb made of bamboo called ‘kakoiphoni’, and wooden stool called ‘borpira’ is left outside in the courtyard for Bordoisila to comb her tresses and rest awhile, before continuing along her journey.

I am sure that cultures worldwide have built their own legends and traditions around local storms, so many of whom have feminine names (‘Mala’, ‘Laila’, ‘Melissa’ and the fearsome ‘Nina’); I wonder why?!