Those who
count
Madhurantakam
Rajaram
Every man and
woman has his or her own special world. That’s why, to know about a new person
means, to explore an unknown world. However, whenever we face a new person, it
would not be nice to shower questions like “what is your name? What is the age?
What is the job? Married or not?” Etc. To do so there has to be what is called
a license. Such a license is given to only a few people, that too only once in
ten years. The process is called “collecting census data.” That is a procedure of gargantuan proportions.
I had a chance to participate in such an exercise thrice in my life. Instead of
calling it a chance, I feel it would be better; to say it was a privilege. Because
me, in fact even you – we are all, the representatives of the good old human
civilisation. To know about people is to find out about our civilisation
itself.
In 1961 I was performing my duties in a place called
Paidipalle. By 71 I was transferred to Bommagudi. I had to shift to Vanasthalam
by 81. At that time, I was the first assistant in the local Upper Primary
school..
Vanasthalam is not exactly a forest as the word would
mean. That is a small village near the forest. The revenue village was trifurcated,
and three enumerators were appointed for the census work. Fringe villages on
the forest side came to my share. There, the houses were all scattered without
a method, as if only to heckle the science of Vaastu. Looking at the material,
they are built with, it was apparent that they were yet to witness the cement
age. People there are the real sons of soil in more than one sense,
particularly due to the building material. People are good by themselves. But
when I went there with all the census records and started asking them
questions, they decided for themselves that I am the representative of the
Government.
“When are you going to sink a borewell in our
village?”
“Why are the bank loans not sanctioned yet?”
“When is the bridge coming up on the rivulet that cuts
off the traffic during rains?” They took my life out, with such questions.
After I explained that I cannot tackle the grievances
of people and am a simple schoolteacher performing the official duty, they
cooperated with me very sincerely. Whenever felt short of that commodity, they
even offered me some material satisfaction in shape of hospitality and bid
farewell to me in most respectful manner. I could finish my work a little
before the deadline. Unable to contain myself, I had expressed my happiness
about the same, to our Headmaster.
He was about to retire in a few days hence and was a
native of Vanasthalam. A man with a lot of information about the place. He
paused for a couple of moments and said, “OK! My friend! I am also happy that
you have finished the job quickly. But I am sure you must have omitted at least
one family in your jurisdiction. I can’t find fault with you for that. Perhaps
that family was never placed on records either in census counts, or in the
voters lists. Enumerators could go round the villages. But who has the patience
to go into the forest?”
I was shocked. “What sir, why do you say so? Government has ordered us that each person,
wherever they may be, should be enlisted
with us. It does not matter if they are in the forest, or even on an island
amidst the ocean. We must go there. You tell me where that family is! Then ask
me, if I leave them alone.” I said.
I was verifying the information received from the Headmaster.
The family he mentioned is there in the forest. They are always in the forest.
That too, not permanently in one place. Once they are at Nakkalabanda. Next,
they are at the Maddimaku deep forest. Next, you will find them at the Pigeons
hill. Why were the Aryans of the Vedic period nomads? Because their professions
were like that. This family also follows suit. That is a cattle grazers family.
Head of the family is Mallesu. He grazes the cows. So, he is known better, as
Cowherd Mallesu. But not a single cow of the herd is his own. All of them
belong to the farmers in the villages. A herd of not less than two hundred cows
is always there in that forest area. Grazing them during the daytime and
keeping a watch on the herd during night – that is what Mallesu does. All his
family members share the work.
My search for
Mallesu started early next morning. I set out with an escort who knew the
forest well. We crossed the fringe hamlets and walked for two kilometers in the
gorge formed as a result of the rivulet’s course. Then, we entered the thick
forest. It was growing thicker as we proceeded further. At last, we felt as if
we were lost in the labyrinths of the jungle. Except for the sky above, we were
unable to see anything even ten yards further. The villager who came as my
escort climbed onto the top of a tall tree, looked around and came down like a
winner. “Looks like we have to walk another mile, sir! That way, I could see
the cattle moving” he declared.
Our exploration continued for another one hour
from under the thorny trees, and through the bent down bamboo groves, and
through the brooks flowing silently. Then we accosted a big slanting boulder
occupying a large area. On that, there were three huts made with branches and
trees from around the place. Scantily clad children, all below the age of eight,
were playing on the rocks. Beyond, we could see a clearing surrounded by a high
makeshift fencing. That must be the place meant for the night halt of the cows.
There was a fireplace before the huts, but it was not aglow at that time. There
was only smoke emanating from the place. I could imagine that fire would be
made in the nights to scare away the beasts of the jungle.
I caught hold
of one of those elder looking boys and enquired about Mallesu.
“Came for Grandfather!
Yes. He is there. In the forest. Shall I call him?” the boy said.
I asked him to
do that. I was wondering if there could be a special technique to call people
who are beyond vision. But nothing of that sort.
“Tata! Tata!
Somebody came for you!” the boy shouted. His words reverberated in the hilly
terrain.
Minutes
passed.
“Come out Mallesu! Even if you are hiding in the caves of the jungle, this
census enumerator is not going to leave you alone. Whether in the rivulet or in
the gorge, be in the bushes or in the thickets, you must come and you must
come!” As I was chanting the mantra of my determination, there were footsteps
heard from behind. I turned back.
“Who are you,
Sami? Did you come for me?” He was saying.
Must be
seventy plus. Dark, lean, hardened body, and closely cut hair looking like a
cap on his head, gray eye lashes, small eyes, a thick silver ornament in the
neck, like a wrestler he wound his loin cloth tightly around the waist. There
was a blanket on the shoulder and no shirt on the torso. He had a staff in the
hand. That was Mallesu. The cowherd Mallesu who lives in the forest.
“Yes Mr.
Mallesu. I came just for you. The government takes account of all the people in
the country every ten years. Each and everybody, whoever they may be, should be
taken into account. Otherwise even if they are there, it is as good not being
there. I want the details of you and all other members of your family. The
child if still in mother’s womb is exempted. But if he was born even minutes
ago, it should be accounted. Now you got me! You must answer all the questions
I am going to ask ….”
Mallesu sat
down, resting his chin on the knees and holding both hands around the legs. His
face was full of awe, as if he was listening to some curious news. He was
staring at me in confusion.
Mallesu’s wife
passed away ten years back. Three sons, daughters-in-law, their children, in
all, there were fifteen members in the family. I had a prolonged interview with
him to take the details of all those people.
If we leave all those details for the census records, we can condense
the life story of Mallesu thus:
Mallesu’s
father’s name was Venkatesu. He also was of the same profession, namely cattle
grazing. Along with Mallesu’s birth, his past, present and the future were all
tied with this forest alone. Daughters-in-law go into the villages and come
back by noon after
collecting food from the farmers. That is the source of food for the family all
through the day. Sons take the cows into the village only for impregnation.
When due for delivery, the cows are taken to their owners in the villages. Once
they stop giving milk, they are brought back to the forest. Family members left
in the jungle keep a watch on the cows from atop high boulders. By evening they bring back all the cows to
safety within the fence. During night,
Mallesu sleeps on the cot near the fireplace. If he listens to the noise of any
predator, he strokes the fire high, raises a flame, and starts beating a tin
container, raising alarm. All the people including womenfolk and children
collect there and start shouting “Hoop, Hoop.” After they get satisfied that
the beasts are gone, they would go back to sleep.
Wonder of
wonders is that, even Mallesu it looks, could have had competitors in his
business. But for the hereditary expertise his family has in treating sick
cattle, people could have employed others for this job. The medication is
purely rustic. They pick up some leaves and roots, pound them in the stone
pestles on the boulders, collect the potion in bamboo tubes and administer to
the sick cows. Best thing is that it works even with the worst kind of
illnesses. For the service they render to the farmers, apart from the food,
this family gets a little money also. When Mallesu was young the rate was half
a rupee for a cow and is now raised to ten rupees per head. The couple of
thousands collected that way, Mallesu says, would barely suffice for the
clothing for the family.
“It’s OK!
Mallesu! But there is a proverb which says the man who collects honey, would
also get to lick his hand. You are looking after such a big number of cows. Are
you then, able to get any milk, curds or buttermilk for your share?” I asked.
“How is it
possible, Sami? All the milch cows go back to the village and come here only
when they go dry, Isn’t it?” Said Mallesu. There was not even a hint of
complaint or dissatisfaction in his words.
“Mallesu! I
thought I should ask you one more thing. Was there ever a necessity for you to
leave this forest and go into the villages?” I asked.
“How can I
avoid it? I have two daughters. Have I not to go and see them or what? The
elder one is in Nadigadda. The younger one is given to Masandram. But both the
places are within walking distance from here. If I start before dawn, by noon I am in Nadigadda. From there
Masandram is not at all far off.”
“You are great
Mallesu. You choose to walk to the places where your daughters are. Then, when
is it that you get into a bus?” I asked.
“Who will get
into a bus for nothing, Sami? Without a need for that?”
“Then, how
about the train?”
“Of course, I
want to see a train! What to do? There is no track nearby!”
True.
Vanasthalam is in such a location. Nearest rail station is reached only after
two hours of travel by bus.
Mallesu saw a
bus but never got onto it. He never had even a glimpse of a train. He is not
educated. Not even worldly wise. Looking at his appearance, his words, abode,
and the food habits, it appears, he has not moved much further from the
stone-age man. But you can’t find fault with him for that. Civlisation has
blessed him only that much. Truly speaking, we are aware of millions who are
not in reach of any niceties of life, and are devoid of even basic facilities,
who could be worse or a pinch better than this Mallesu. Government so
generously is trying to get all such people including beggars, poppers, and all
sorts of people into the census records. However careful these efforts are,
there would still be some who would give a miss like the fish which slips out
of the net through a gap.
Albeit there
is one point. There is place for sure, in the census records, for all those who
while away their time eating from their ancestral property, and those who amass
wealth by wrongful ways and grow in stature, and those lazy employees who never
work but take their salaries. Would it not be injustice, if people like
Mallesu, who work with utmost sincerity, do not find place in it?
By the
sociological standards, Mallesu could well be an uncivilised man. If we divide
the population into two types, where one lives for society and the second
fleeces the society white, Mallesu easily falls under the first kind. Because
we are born on this earth as humans, there are certain good deeds that we are
expected to do. The one good deed that I did in my lifetime, is to enroll
Mallesu into the census records.
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