Folk musicians of Rajasthan battle landlessness, rising heat in fight to save ancient art

Churu/Meerut: In a noisy roadside restaurant along the Delhi-Haridwar highway, Subhash Nayak sits quietly in a corner, playing his Ravanhatta. The fading notes of the ancient instrument struggle to rise above the hum of passing vehicles and chatter of diners.

Dressed in a bright turban and a satin-print waistcoat, Subhash is among the last of the Bhopas -- traditional priest-singers of Rajasthan -- who still play the Ravanhatta, a bowed string instrument believed to have been created by the demon king Ravana to worship Lord Shiva.

But today, he mostly plays Bollywood songs.

"Folk music is my first choice, but people prefer Bollywood songs. They help me earn my bread," he says.

Every summer, Subhash and his wife leave their home in Khabarpura village in Rajasthan's Churu district, where temperatures easily cross 45 degrees Celsius, and travel to Meerut, Muzaffarnagar and other towns in Uttar Pradesh to survive.

The reason: their 700-year-old art, Pabuji ki Phad, a spellbinding musical performance where Bhopas sing heroic tales of the folk deity Pabuji, is slowly fading away.

The heart of this struggle lies in the intersection of two pressing issues: landlessness and climate change.

According to Jitendra Sharma from Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage (INTACH), in Rajasthan, Pabuji is believed to be an incarnation of Lakshman. His story is painted on a cloth scroll called a Phad and folk singers called Bhopas travel from village to village singing and narrating his tale.

The Koli community weaves the cloth, while Brahmins paint the pictures. The Raikas, a pastoral community known for extensive camel herding, worship Pabuji because they believe he protects their animals. The Rajputs respect him, as Pabuji himself was a Rathore Rajput.

He says the Bhopas, like many nomadic communities, have long depended on land for their livelihood, both as a means of survival and as a source of cultural grounding.

Yet, many are landless, which leaves them without access to the basic support structures that can offer them stability, such as housing, water, electricity and government assistance.

As their connection to the land weakens, so does their ability to continue the cultural practices that define their identity.

At the same time, climate change is exacerbating their plight. The rising heat is making it increasingly difficult for Subhash and his peers to perform or even travel to earn a living.

Sitting in a dim, dilapidated rented room in Meerut's Sheikhpura, Amar Singh, another Bhopa from Khabarpura, recalls how elders in the community would perform Pabuji ki Phad during village ceremonies, often under the patronage of wealthy landowners.

"Back then, almost every household kept camels. People relied on them and held Phad rituals to heal sick animals and pray for their family's well-being," he says.

"Now, camels are gone. Tractors have taken their place. Even those who still rear them do not organise the rituals. We barely recite phad one or two times a year." The audience has also disappeared. The younger generation prefers songs on their phones.

"We go from village to village, singing bhajans. People give whatever little they can," Singh says.

His children haven't learned the art.

"There is no future in it. It doesn't pay. Out of a hundred Bhopa families, only two still perform today." He fears the tradition won't last much longer. "It's slipping away like sand between fingers." Rising heat, he says, has made things worse. "People stay indoors after 10 am. No crowd means no work." With no land or home of their own, Singh says their semi-nomadic community is even more exposed to extreme weather. "You will understand when you see my village," he adds.

In Khabarpura village in Churu, his brother Dharampal shows the harsh conditions they endure during the scorching summer.

In place of a proper house, there is an asbestos roof resting on four bare walls. There's no electricity connection, so there's no fan.

His six-year-old son, running a fever, lies on a jute sack spread across the floor. The tiny room has just one window, a plastic water drum, two trunks, some clothes on a cot and a few utensils.

It's 1:30 pm and the temperature has reached a maximum of 43 degrees Celsius, according to the IMD's Mausam app.

IMD data also shows that nine out of the 10 highest maximum temperatures in Churu have been recorded in the last 15 years, with all observations exceeding 48 degrees Celsius.

Last year, the district recorded the highest temperature of 50.5 degrees Celsius on May 29, an all-time high since record-keeping began in 1956.

The state recorded 11 heatwave days this April, compared to the normal four to seven days.

Climate experts say rising temperatures in Rajasthan are being driven by climate change.

"Rajasthan, being a desert state, is naturally hotter than other parts of the country. But temperatures are rising even further across different regions. We are witnessing more heatwave days and warmer nights," said Abhiyant Tiwari, Lead - Climate Resilience and Health at NRDC India.

"Migration is often linked to better livelihood opportunities and improved living conditions, including thermal comfort. But to understand how rising heat is affecting this ancient art form, we need more ethnographic studies," he adds.

Sumit Dookia, associate professor at Guru Gobind Singh Indraprastha University and a native of western Rajasthan, says the old social fabric of the state once supported many landless communities that kept ancient art forms alive. The Bhopas were among them.

"Back then, wealthy landowners patronised these artists. Today, that support is gone. And without land of their own to farm, the Bhopas are forced to leave their villages just to survive," he said.

Outside Dharampal's house, under a Khejri tree, 16 earthen pots, some broken, lie scattered. Only a few hold water.

Nearby, a traditional well used to store rainwater for daily needs is dry. The rainfall here is erratic and the future uncertain.

The government has been working to provide tap water to every household under the Jal Jeevan Mission. But without land ownership, the community is left out.

"Without land ownership, the government cannot give them a house. And without a house in their name, they cannot get electricity or tap water connections," says Narendra, a local resident who has helped many of them apply for houses under the Pradhan Mantri Awas Yojana-Gramin (PMAY-G).

Under PMAY-G, landless beneficiaries are given high priority and it is the responsibility of states and Union territories to provide land for such individuals for house construction.

Village Development Officer Manju Choudhary says the gram panchayat does not have any land that could be given to landless communities for house construction under PMAY-G.

"A proposal to convert common pasture land into gram panchayat land has already been sent to the state government but approval is pending," she says.

As of March, out of 55,722 identified landless beneficiaries in Rajasthan, 54,641 have been provided land or assistance for land purchase. However, families like Dharampal's remain excluded.

Dharampal remembers a time, 20 to 25 years ago, when life was better. Their parents would perform Pabuji ki Phad up to ten times a month, earning between Rs 2,000 and Rs 5,000 each time.

"We did not have land or a house, but we had enough to eat," he says.

Today, it is a different story.

Sitting on a cot beside the empty pots, his 60-year-old mother Shanti says, "Life would change if we had patta (land title) to build a home and access to electricity and water."