Barely 8 years old, I still have vivid memories of this incident from the year 1976. It was the occasion of a marriage ceremony that took place in the village of Brahmanapada, couple of miles from our village Biranchidashpur across the river Bhargabi near Puri.
Those days we used to spend long dog days of summer vacation in our village. Enticed by the thought of some freebies in the form of KHIRI PITHA (a local lingo for food provided during marriage receptions), I accompanied my grandpa being part of a team of BARAJATRIS (the groom's companion).
A group of all male Brahmins from our village boarded (It was a taboo those days for females to accompany Barajatris) a half a dozen or so Bullock carts to cover the long distance of barely couple of miles. The non-Brahmins, especially the BARIKA (Barber) much needed to perform the marriage rituals from the groom's side followed us on foot.
Though the distance was not long, a shower earlier that morning laced the roads full of mud, making them treacherous and slippery. Well ensconced inside the Bullock cart throughout the bumpy ride, I watched the driver frequently getting off and on from the cart, prodding and poking the hapless steer duo (castrated bulls turned into bullocks) struggling to go up and down the sloppy, mushy alluvial soil of the BANDHA (embankment) of the river.
The ultimate challenge of the Bullock cart driver was to goad the reluctant bovines through the water to get across the other side of the bank of the river already slightly swollen due to rains. He beat the animals with his seasoned PANCHANA (thin but effective bamboo sticks) standing in front of them, carefully pushing them to trudge ahead, piloting the cart by probing for spots inside water where it was least deep.
I could feel the water barely inches away from the porch of the Bullock cart, intermittently lurking down to touch and feel the flowing water. The not so happy Bullocks initially protested by toing and froing their heads sideways to the "HE HE ARRE CHAAL BA (Hey Hey move ahead)" prodding of their charioteer. When persuasion and shouting did not work, the bamboo beating finally did. The pair of bovines relented and nudged ahead.
It was late afternoon when we reached the Brahmanapada village. The hosts welcomed us with a sugary lemon drink, followed by ALIPANA (refreshment) in the form of CHUDAGHASA (Sweetened Crumbled brown parched rice), DALMA (a locally popular dish of boiled lentil and veggies) and SUJI KHIRI (Dessert made from ground flour).
The much awaited full fledged feast (a term used in Odisha for a grand meal) was supposed to be served late. But as the fate would have it, the events down the road denied us the pleasure of the dinner, especially the much cherished MACHHA BESARA (Scarmbled fish curry cooked in mustard paste).
No sooner than we settled down post refreshment, than a few of our village youth with an exalted sense of entitlement as the revered BARAJATRI got into some altercation with their local counterparts. Fist fight ensued. Badly outnumbered inside the perimeters of another village and alien locality, our village youth badly thrashed by the locals who had the home turf advantage.
Being 8 years of age is an unique stage in life. You're not old enough to comprehend a lot, but still old enough to figure out a lot of things going around yoy. In the commotion that followed, a local boy bigger and stronger than me tried to heckle and push me around. I felt helpless. All of a sudden, my cousin a came to my rescue. He was older than me and pretty well built as well. Together we punched than guy enough on his face to flee with a bleeding nose.
Before the guy could muster his local accomplices to gang up against us, we thought it prudent to stay close to our elders. Soon my grandfather got hold of us and told us to follow him to the Bullock carts getting ready for their journey back home. Inside the carts I could see the sulking hungry, humiliated villagers eager to get back to the comforts of their own village - the sumptuous dinner remained a mirage.
It was close to midnight when we got back home nursing bruised ego (some with bruised body) and hungry stomach. My mother and grandmother quickly prepared some CHUDA BHAJA (Fried parched rice) to quench our hunger filled bellies.
Excited about events from last nighr, the following day I narrated the episodes to everyone in our extended household. Long story short - there were many such incidents of the bullying BARAJATRIS creating trouble and ending up being bashed by the locals. These days I guess such incidents are minimal, as no one has time and energy for such nonsense nuisance.
Those days we used to spend long dog days of summer vacation in our village. Enticed by the thought of some freebies in the form of KHIRI PITHA (a local lingo for food provided during marriage receptions), I accompanied my grandpa being part of a team of BARAJATRIS (the groom's companion).
A group of all male Brahmins from our village boarded (It was a taboo those days for females to accompany Barajatris) a half a dozen or so Bullock carts to cover the long distance of barely couple of miles. The non-Brahmins, especially the BARIKA (Barber) much needed to perform the marriage rituals from the groom's side followed us on foot.
Though the distance was not long, a shower earlier that morning laced the roads full of mud, making them treacherous and slippery. Well ensconced inside the Bullock cart throughout the bumpy ride, I watched the driver frequently getting off and on from the cart, prodding and poking the hapless steer duo (castrated bulls turned into bullocks) struggling to go up and down the sloppy, mushy alluvial soil of the BANDHA (embankment) of the river.
The ultimate challenge of the Bullock cart driver was to goad the reluctant bovines through the water to get across the other side of the bank of the river already slightly swollen due to rains. He beat the animals with his seasoned PANCHANA (thin but effective bamboo sticks) standing in front of them, carefully pushing them to trudge ahead, piloting the cart by probing for spots inside water where it was least deep.
I could feel the water barely inches away from the porch of the Bullock cart, intermittently lurking down to touch and feel the flowing water. The not so happy Bullocks initially protested by toing and froing their heads sideways to the "HE HE ARRE CHAAL BA (Hey Hey move ahead)" prodding of their charioteer. When persuasion and shouting did not work, the bamboo beating finally did. The pair of bovines relented and nudged ahead.
It was late afternoon when we reached the Brahmanapada village. The hosts welcomed us with a sugary lemon drink, followed by ALIPANA (refreshment) in the form of CHUDAGHASA (Sweetened Crumbled brown parched rice), DALMA (a locally popular dish of boiled lentil and veggies) and SUJI KHIRI (Dessert made from ground flour).
The much awaited full fledged feast (a term used in Odisha for a grand meal) was supposed to be served late. But as the fate would have it, the events down the road denied us the pleasure of the dinner, especially the much cherished MACHHA BESARA (Scarmbled fish curry cooked in mustard paste).
No sooner than we settled down post refreshment, than a few of our village youth with an exalted sense of entitlement as the revered BARAJATRI got into some altercation with their local counterparts. Fist fight ensued. Badly outnumbered inside the perimeters of another village and alien locality, our village youth badly thrashed by the locals who had the home turf advantage.
Being 8 years of age is an unique stage in life. You're not old enough to comprehend a lot, but still old enough to figure out a lot of things going around yoy. In the commotion that followed, a local boy bigger and stronger than me tried to heckle and push me around. I felt helpless. All of a sudden, my cousin a came to my rescue. He was older than me and pretty well built as well. Together we punched than guy enough on his face to flee with a bleeding nose.
Before the guy could muster his local accomplices to gang up against us, we thought it prudent to stay close to our elders. Soon my grandfather got hold of us and told us to follow him to the Bullock carts getting ready for their journey back home. Inside the carts I could see the sulking hungry, humiliated villagers eager to get back to the comforts of their own village - the sumptuous dinner remained a mirage.
It was close to midnight when we got back home nursing bruised ego (some with bruised body) and hungry stomach. My mother and grandmother quickly prepared some CHUDA BHAJA (Fried parched rice) to quench our hunger filled bellies.
Excited about events from last nighr, the following day I narrated the episodes to everyone in our extended household. Long story short - there were many such incidents of the bullying BARAJATRIS creating trouble and ending up being bashed by the locals. These days I guess such incidents are minimal, as no one has time and energy for such nonsense nuisance.
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