A sense of community across the hills

India | Anno 2004

 

Thursday, April 8 | Jeypore

Friday, April 9 | Jeypore – Visakhapatnam

 

 

Thursday, April 8 | Jeypore

The Bonda are certainly a special case. With no more than five thousand of them, their villages deep in the hills are off-limits for us. Only at the Thursday market of Onukudelli can you encounter them. We certainly won't let this opportunity slip away because, for those who want to get acquainted with the culture and way of life of the ethnic groups in the southwest of Orissa, the Bonda are the Holy Grail.

 

For those who want to get acquainted with the culture and way of life of the ethnic groups in the southwest of Orissa, the Bonda are the Holy Grail

Onukudelli – Bonda woman on her way to the market

The proud Bonda refer to themselves as Remo, which means people. This distinguishes them from all other living beings

Onukudelli – Bonda women on their way to the market

Shortly after seven, we leave Jeypore behind us. The Machkund reservoir on the border of Orissa and Andhra Pradesh dates back to 1961. The road is no different. There has likely been no maintenance since then. But it can get worse because, before that, you couldn't even reach this place with motorized transport.

Periodically, a few girls playfully stop our bus to collect a so-called festival tax

Periodically, a few girls playfully stop our bus to collect a so-called festival tax. They are satisfied with a small amount; it is their way of getting a bit of money for the festival later on. As proof of payment, we are consistently handed a hibiscus flower.

 

You can only meet the Bonda at the Thursday market in Onukudelli

Onukudelli – Weekly Thursday market

About the customs and traditions of the Bonda, tour guide Manoj has a lot to share. Bonda is actually the term used by the Kondh. In Kui, it means naked people. The proud Bonda, however, call themselves Remo, meaning people. This is how they distinguish themselves from all other living beings who must go through life as non-humans.

Currently, the Bonda live in about forty villages scattered over the hills. In one of these villages, they keep Pat Konda, the sword that is worshiped as a deity. The head of this village is also the tribal chief of all Bonda.

 

Onukudelli – Market

The Bonda believe that all human beings – including us – originated from the Bonda hills. Some – like us – have descended, becoming irreversibly non-Remo. The Bonda are endogamous, marrying exclusively within their own tribe. Genetically, this poses challenges. Occasionally, a Bonda may marry a member of the Gadaba, the people living below in the valley who share some common ancestry with the Bonda. However, such a marriage irreversibly turns these Bonda into non-Remo.

If you're sick, sacrifice a chicken, and you'll be healthy again

Onukudelli – Gadaba women

Bonda woman

The government tries to bring some civilization to the Bonda as well. A small hospital has been built in the hills where sick Bonda can seek help. However, the animistic Bonda believe more in their medicinal herbs and the power of puja, the offering. If you're sick, sacrifice a chicken, and you'll be healthy again.

While the Bonda may be called naked people, in reality, the upper bodies of women are covered with an impressive array of bead necklaces, coins, and other trinkets. Young women also wear a kind of scarf over this, but older women generally do not.

 

Onukudelli – Gadaba women

 

On their heads, the women wear a cap made of closely woven beads in many colours. Nose and ears are adorned with piercings of gold-coloured jewellery, thick torus-shaped necklaces grace their necks. Often, their arms are tattooed. Around their waists, they wear only a narrow, rectangular piece of fabric with vertical stripes, which, although artisanally woven, is produced in only one size. The piece of fabric is worn as a skirt, but often leaves little to the imagination.

Bonda women marry when they are 22 to 24 years old to a ‘man’ who is 13 to 14 years old

Bonda women marry when they are 22 to 24 years old to a man who is 13 to 14 years old. Initially, there is, apart from sex, mainly a mother-son relationship. Women do all the work, while men specialize in hunting, procreation, and the production and consumption of pendam, an alcoholic drink based on rice. Nevertheless, Bonda society is a patriarchal society.

 

Gadaba woman

Bonda woman

A married couple builds their own house. As his wife gets older, a man might start looking for a younger one. If he takes a second wife, she also gets her own house, along with her children. Similar to the Kondh, the dowry is paid to the bride's parents. However, working for the in-laws is not considered part of the dowry.

A newborn is given the name of his day of birth. So, a boy born on Wednesday is called Buda, and a girl is called Budei. The Bonda, therefore, have only seven different names. However, a prefix and a suffix are added, referring to the village of birth and a personal characteristic, such as the tall one from Wednesday or the loud one from Saturday.

In this small community, one to two murders are committed monthly

Bonda women

The Bonda are known for their quick temper. One to two murders are committed monthly in this small community. Stealing someone's goat or drinking someone's palm wine could cost you your life. The murderer typically voluntarily surrenders to the police, as otherwise, the victim's family is likely to find him. He then serves a sentence of twelve to fourteen years, learning many aspects of modern society in prison.

Upon their return to the village, the ex-convict performs a puja: they offer some goats, host a feast, and are reintegrated into society. They even gain respect because they possess more knowledge than others. It often happens that such an ex-convict manages to overthrow the village chief and become the new leader.

Painfully amusing is the anecdote of the man who brought a miraculous device from prison to the village, namely a flashlight. One day, he lent the flashlight to a friend who left it on the whole night, causing it to stop working the next morning. The angry owner accused his friend of enchanting the flashlight and killed him. As a result, he promptly found himself serving his second term in prison.

The angry owner accused his friend of enchanting the flashlight and killed him

Bonda women

At the Onukudelli haat, the bustling weekly market, we are happy to observe that this place, too, has hardly been discovered by tourism. However, this hasn't stopped the Bonda from establishing their market value: 10 rupees per photo – but only if posed for. Manoj leads us to the other side of the village, to the path where the Bonda enter. Some Bonda women recognize him immediately and willingly pose for us. They envision the astronomical amount of 10 rupees times 17 tourists times 6 women – more than a thousand rupees. Manoj skilfully but firmly negotiates this amount downwards.

 

Bonda woman

Yet, this practice can also clash with the customs of modern times, as the Bonda have learned. Years ago, the government wanted to register and photograph all Bonda for the elections. Enthusiastically, the Bonda lined up for the photos, each expecting to earn ten rupees. To their surprise, these uncivilized strangers showed no intention of paying for the photos. The Bonda were not amused. Some photographers were locked up, and the others were sent back to their tribal chief to collect the owed amount. The Indian government saw it differently and sent not money but soldiers with guns. Reluctantly, the Bonda submitted to this display of power.

According to the Bonda, milk should only be consumed by young animals themselves

Bonda women

At the market, Bonda and Gadaba mingle, but the vendors are exclusively Gadaba. Amidst all the attention given to the Bonda, one might overlook that Gadaba women are also adorned with colourful saris and facial jewellery. Bonda women come here mainly to buy salt, rice, dried fish, and fuel for their oil lamps. Milk or related products are out of the question, as according to the Bonda, milk is meant only for young animals to drink. On the other hand, Bonda men typically don't venture beyond the corner of the market where pendam is sold. However, women are not shy about raising a bottle. It's not uncommon for a man to return home from the market a day later, having urgently needed to sleep off his hangover along the way.

On the other hand, Bonda men generally don't venture beyond the corner of the market where pendam is sold. But women, too, sometimes want to hoist the bottle. It's not uncommon for a man to return home from the market a day later, having urgently needed to sleep off his hangover along the way.

 

Bonda women
Bonda women

We leave Onukudelli at eleven o'clock. Along a steep slope with a beautiful view of the valley and the adjacent hills, the road gradually winds down. It's an excellent opportunity for a short walk.

The young ladies willingly hop along the street in a cheerful mix of giggling and singing

Malipada

During one of the improvised toll collections on the way, Manoj manages to persuade the girls to perform a dhimsa for us, a traditional dance popular in the Visakhapatnam area. The young ladies willingly hop along the street in a cheerful mix of giggling and singing. Their choreography is chaotic, but their enthusiasm is infectious.

 

Malipada – Gadaba

A distance from the road, higher up on the slope, lies the village of Malipada, inhabited by Gadaba. They typically live in relatively small villages with about ten families. The huts are scattered in a haphazard manner, a stark contrast to the organized ribbon development of the Kondh.

Some girls even go so far as to pluck flowers from a frangipani tree and playfully tuck them behind our ears

Handing out flowers from a frangipani tree

Only women and children are present. The welcome is exceptionally warm. Some girls even go so far as to pluck flowers from a frangipani tree and playfully tuck them behind our ears. On the square between the huts, black pepper is drying. They distil castor oil from certain fruits, intended for massage. The sodor is the place where the village elders gather. Proudly, an elderly mother tells us about her two sons. One is a successful businessman, the other served as a soldier first in the tumultuous region of Jammu & Kashmir and is now stationed in a country whose name escapes her. But it is daytime there when it is nighttime in India, she recalls.

Men carrying spears, bows, and arrows are heading out for the hunt

Gadaba women

On our way back to the hotel, we occasionally encounter men carrying spears, bows, and arrows. They are heading out for the hunt, intending to have meat for the festival.

 

Gadaba women

Tomorrow, the journey to Visakhapatnam is on the agenda. However, in the evening, the local police strongly advise against the planned route through the Araku Valley and the Borra Caves. The area is considered unsafe due to the presence of terrorists. The police stop short of prohibiting the trip but predict encountering around ten checkpoints, similar to yesterday. That can indeed be considered as a threat.

 

Gadaba women

Manoj and Anup suggest an alternative route that will take us through Kunduli, where the largest tribal market in the region is held. This elicits some bewilderment. Why wasn't this included in the original plan? Fear of market saturation and large crowds is the feeble response. They clearly don't know us yet.

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Friday, April 9 | Jeypore – Visakhapatnam

It is not uplifting news that reaches us through the morning newspaper. In the Bihar state, 27 police officers have been killed by Naxalites. In Kashmir, there are 10 dead and 80 injured after pre-electoral violence. Additionally, Nepal is facing a negative travel advisory from the United States, undoubtedly soon to be followed by the European Union, which is a disaster for the economically struggling country.

That the Mali are known as skilled gardeners, we can observe with our own eyes in the fields around the village

Mali Doliambo

A long, leafy avenue leads us to Mali Doliambo, a village of the Mali. In their language, this must mean something like the place of the gardeners in the forest near the mango trees. That the Mali are known as skilled gardeners, we can observe with our own eyes in the fields around the village. Besides fruits and flowers, European vegetables stand out. The scarce water from a tiny stream is efficiently directed to the fields. However, the mango harvest this year was insignificant. When the flowers appeared, a dense mist hung between the trees, causing the flowers to turn black and fall.

 

Mali Doliambo

Mali

Some huts have intricately decorated doors, a phenomenon we haven't noticed in any other tribe

Mali Doliambo

Curious women and children are waiting for us somewhat shyly. There are almost no men. The women wear typical ankle tattoos. Dry mango leaves above the doors of the huts are meant to bring luck to the household. Some huts have intricately decorated doors, a phenomenon we haven't noticed in any other tribe. Unfortunately, the school is closed.

 

 

 

Mali women

The Friday market in Kunduli is, as we unexpectedly learned yesterday, one of the largest tribal markets in the region. A few blue jacarandas cast some shade over the sun-drenched marketplace. Here, it is primarily the Mali from the more than fifty surrounding villages who dominate. But the Gadaba and the Desia Kondh are also present. That the Mali offer mainly vegetables, flowers, and fruits for sale does not surprise us. In addition, this market has complete sections with household items, kitchen utensils, groceries, clothing, musical instruments, and even live animals. Around noon, you can estimate the number of market visitors at about ten thousand, says Manoj. It is indeed a very busy and noisy affair. Of course, some political parties are also present to take advantage of the crowd. Their propaganda echoes over the masses through megaphones.

 

Around noon, you can estimate the number of market visitors at about ten thousand

Kunduli – Market

In the meantime, it has become clear to us that tribal markets like this are more than just places for buying and selling. Much more. Scientific researchers have long established that each weekly market serves as a nerve centre of tribal life.

 

Kunduli – Market

Animal skins

Even in this era of modern communication gadgets, markets retain their role as platforms for socio-cultural exchange. Simply because these remote areas often still do not fall under the telecommunication network. Information about festivals, fairs, weddings, funerals, births, and more finds its dissemination there. News, ideas, perspectives, and opinions are exchanged between villages. And as we have observed, political propaganda as well. Thus, a network of socio-cultural connections forms, creating a sense of community among people living scattered across the hills who meet only once a week.

Thus, a network of socio-cultural connections forms, creating a sense of community among people living scattered across the hills who meet only once a week

 

 

Kunduli – Market

 

 

Kunduli – Market

But there's more. The range of agricultural and horticultural products at this market is impressive. Every Friday, traders from the neighbouring states of Andhra Pradesh and Chhattisgarh come to purchase vegetables by truck. The highly successful farming communities of the Mali particularly benefit from this. Perhaps that is why so few people from the region leave to work as contract labourers outside the state or migrate to other places in search of better living conditions. This society has managed to build a sustainable livelihood system in this harsh environment, and the haat plays an essential role in it. If you take away the weekly markets, these communities would tumble into a ravine of acute poverty.

If you take away the weekly markets, these communities would tumble into a ravine of acute poverty

Kunduli – Market

However, this also has a downside. Not all villages ride the wave of rural development. Due to local anomalies, some communities have fallen behind, a fact we have witnessed with our own eyes. Moreover, middlemen continue to play a nefarious role. A lack of knowledge about the actual market prices of various products often puts the illiterate farmers at a disadvantage. This ignorance is mercilessly exploited.

A lack of knowledge about the actual market prices of various products often puts the illiterate farmers at a disadvantage

With a heavy heart, we turn our backs on tribal Orissa. The bus climbs to an altitude of 1,019 meters, then descends inexorably over the foothills of the Eastern Ghats to the coastal plain, heading to Visakhapatnam on the Bay of Bengal. The sultry atmosphere gradually takes over from the slightly cooler climate in the hills. After all, Visakhapatnam is at about the same latitude as the scorching hot Timbuktu. The fans in the bus spin wildly, but the effect is negligible. The air conditioning has meanwhile given up, joining the windshield wipers and the odometer in the graveyard of uselessness.

 

Kunduli – Market

Quarter to one. Security police check. Fortunately, it is a bit more peaceful than the day before. Only one piece of hand luggage is searched. However, the waiting booth surrounded by sandbags and the soldier with his finger on the trigger leave little room for ambiguity. Little do we know that the real vaudeville is yet to come. Because high in the hills, we have crossed the border between the states of Orissa and Andhra Pradesh. We are supposed to pay a tax, and not a small one. The tax is levied not on the number of people but on the number of seats in the bus. The fact that more than half of the seats are unoccupied is irrelevant. We have to cough up 37 × 350 rupees, over 250 euros. That equals 26 bills of 500 rupees.

Taking the initiative is considered overzealous in Indian bureaucracy

Kunduli – Market

Salur is the place where we need to settle that debt. However, there's a problem because there's no one to accept our stack of banknotes. The responsible official has taken a day off. His assistant can and is willing to collect the tax but is hesitant to do so – taking the initiative is considered overzealous in Indian bureaucracy. We could continue driving without paying, but if we encounter a checkpoint, we'll be in a difficult situation.

While the assistant, in a burst of action, seeks telephonic contact with his boss, we subject a nearby dhaba to a cleanliness check. The way the fresh meat is stored raises concerns. This is not to our liking.

We decide to drive to Sri Sai Laxmi Mess, the dhaba in Ramabadrapuram where our lunch was originally planned. Although this means venturing ten kilometres deep into Andhra Pradesh without the required stamps on our travel documents, we are willing to take that risk today.

 

Kunduli – Market

That all the tables in the open-air pavilions of the dhaba are occupied, we consider good news. It shows that this cuisine is very popular among the local population. We patiently await our turn to then enjoy the delicious thalis.

A man who combines a strong sense of duty with a good dose of voluntarism. In short, a type of official we didn't even know existed

Meanwhile, the ever-busy Manoj has managed to lure a competent official to the dhaba to settle our tax and, most importantly, to get the coveted stamp. It turns out to be an official who resides about forty kilometres from here. A man who combines a strong sense of duty with a good dose of voluntarism. In short, a type of official we didn't even know existed. Upon arrival, the man has a simple explanation – India must always make a good impression on foreigners, he believes. He even refuses the commission that Manoj spontaneously offers him in gratitude for such kindness.

A little before four, we are finally on our way. The roads are wet; it seems to have rained in the coastal plain. An hour later, the police stop us for a routine check. Manoj proudly shows the document with the stamps for which he made so much effort.

In complete darkness, we reach Visakhapatnam, a city of 3 million inhabitants on the Bay of Bengal. Finding the hotel under these circumstances is not an easy task. Eventually, Manoj and Mahabatra manage to convince the driver of a car to lead us and show us the way. Just after seven, we reach the hotel.

Apparently, they didn't expect us anymore because they casually rented out some of our rooms, despite Anup having paid in advance. This leads to a few adrenaline rushes. Finding an alternative is not that simple, as most hotels in Visakhapatnam are fully booked. But persistence pays off.

Tomorrow we will bid farewell to driver Mahabatra at the airport. He was a rock in the surf; with him, we never felt unsafe in the hectic traffic of this subcontinent. His disrespectful handling of speed bumps is forgiven.

We will also say goodbye to Manoj. The clumsily looking good-natured man has done an excellent job. He is now returning to his job as an editor at a newspaper because the tourist season is over. He doesn't expect any more tourists this year. We wish him, his wife, and their first child, expected around May 20, all the best.

But it is above all the people of Orissa and their markets that will remain in our memories. It remains an open question to what extent the delicate fabric of these anachronistic but often thriving communities will withstand the ruthless influence of modern society.

 

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Jaak Palmans
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