Do you know your Creator’s caste?

One of the most delightful parts of visiting my village is the walks in the country – and I have to be alone on these walks. As William Hazlitt said in On Going A Journey: “I like to do it myself. I can enjoy society in a room; but out of doors, nature is company for me. I am then never less alone than when alone. When I am in the country, I wish to vegetate like the country.”

Gorur lies nestled on the picturesque banks of the river Hemavathy. The early morning walk with a nip in the air invigorates the senses as the sun rises, lighting up the sky in varying hues of orange. Farmers – silent and stoic – trudge along with their oxen harnessed to the ploughs to the chime of rhythmic bells as their hot breath rises like steam. I ask: “Do I dream or wake?”

I take a beaten track towards the river – as I approach its banks, I see a bullock cart through the haze with the oxen next to it grazing and three men standing around a cow lying on its back, with its legs stretched upward. One of the men is standing, bent over the cow’s belly with a long knife gleaming in his hands. He is carving out the intestines of the carcass that is in a soft, twisted heap beside the animal.

Curious, I ask what they are up to. The two men who stand by – farmers from the Gowda caste – tell me their cow died while giving birth to a calf the previous night and they have carted it here. Why aren’t they burying it? The man with the knife, a Dalit, says: “If they bury it, they’ll have to perform elaborate last rites for the animal as per custom so that its soul has a passage to heaven. But by offering the holy animal to the vultures, the soul will be airborne by them to the heavens; the shastras permit it, dispensing the need of rituals.”

I nod in agreement. The mournful men light a few incense sticks and smear vermilion on the lifeless animal that was part of the family homestead. I’m touched by these simple folks, the true nobility of our land.

The Dalit man runs to the river and washes himself in its waters. He clambers up chirpily and nimbly jumps onto the cart. His cheeriness amid this life of useful toil is infectious. It also makes me reflect on our pompous, often shallow lives in the cities where we consume and usurp so much of their labour and return so little.

I proceed on my walk along the river, immersed in thoughts that “lie too deep for tears.” As I enter the village, my eyes fall on the statue of Dr Ambedkar holding the Constitution, the familiar image across India. Ambedkar converted to Buddhism two months before his death in December 1956, rejecting Hinduism citing its ingrained caste system, untouchability, and social inequality – an indelible stain from our Vedic past. Intriguingly, though Ambedkar is revered and worshipped like a god, the Dalits did not convert en masse to Buddhism. They held onto their deep faith in Hindu female deities like Maramma, Chowdamma, and Banadamma, and other forest deities whom they worshiped from time immemorial. They are not what Dalit poet Dr Siddalingaiah calls “refined” deities like Shiva, Vishnu, Rama, or Krishna, around whom we’ve built ornate shrines, effectively imprisoning the gods. The village deities like to be free spirits, roam the plains, and be one with nature.

At home, I pick up the newspaper. The headline screams: ‘Caste Census of Karnataka discussed in cabinet.’ The saffron parties lament the rise in the Muslim numbers and of course, blame the Congress. The Vokkaligas bemoan that their population has shrunk compared to the Lingayats. The Brahmins are worried that they may become extinct. Everyone is in a race to be tagged backward, with the Dalit voices drowned in the din.

Ustad Faiyaz Khan’s melodious voice wafts in from a neighbour’s house, in the rendition of a Haridasa bhajan, as though mildly rebuking the raucous politicians – “Aa kula ee kula yako ee vyakula? Jagadodeyana kula yavudayya? Jagadodeyana kula Gokulavayya” (Why are you harping caste! caste! and worrying? Do you know the caste of the Creator? The Creator’s caste is Gokula – his abode). The song is balm to my soul.