Ritual desertion to give bad tidings a miss

Ritual desertion of habitat may be done to break the chain of bad events; it could also be a re-enactment of response to a previous event, such as influenza

A short news clip on the television a few days ago was reporting of residents deserting their village and camping at a distance. All the 60 or so families that made up the habitation of a village in Tumakuru district were said to have participated in the ‘exodus’. It was also reported that a person in the village dreamt of an oracle urging them to do so for their survival.

The news item reminded me of what I had witnessed nearly 41 years ago. It was in the village Mattha, about five kilometres by foot from Village Gavi Nagamangala in Magadi block, now in Ramanagara district. I was living in Gavi Nagamangala during 1978-80 for my doctoral research, studying social change or the absence of it.

During the months of January to March, dry land farmers then had plenty of leisure time, a time for cattle fairs, festivals, marriages, pilgrimages, etc. I was invited to go to Mattha to witness a peculiar ritual. The occasion was a ritual that involved deserting the village.

Puja in progress. Credit: G K Karanth

By about 9 am on the appointed day, people began assembling in the front yard of the shrine of the village's presiding deity, Maramma. Her decked image was taken out to the accompaniment of customary music, followed by every member of every household in the village. Not one person was left behind. In other words, the whole village was deserted. Exception, if any, was for the elderly, pregnant women and new mothers.

At a distance of about one kilometre or so from the village, people assembled. This was the village’s gomala, the common grazing land. The image of Maramma was placed under a huge tree in a pre-decorated make-shift shrine. Each family proceeded to set up a temporary kitchen, by assembling three corner stones or earthen mounds to serve as a hearth. Only a 'sweet' – meaning vegetarian – meal could be cooked. There was hardly any variation in the menu in each kitchen: Ragi balls, a vegetable stew (sambar), side dishes of cucumber or kosumbari, other other vegetables, buttermilk, and a sweet dish of obbattu. As a rule, everything was cooked there. Around 11 am, there was a main puja of the Goddess and consecration of the food cooked by the house of the traditional leader of the village. Soon after, each family sat in the shade to partake of the food.

Quite a few, especially children and some women, proceeded to the nearby pond. A small crowd had assembled there, waiting for their turn to get their head ritually shaved clean. This was by people who may have taken a vow to offer their hair to the Goddess in return for favours received. Interestingly, the hereditary barber who rendered his services on the occasion would not discriminate against members of different castes. Whoever paid his fee of 25 paise for an adult and 10 paise for a child received his services. A ritual bath in the pond followed the offering of hair.

There was widespread inviting of one another for a meal. It was considered rude not to share a meal when so invited. Even after eating with one's own family, men were seen eating elsewhere too. Women were rarely invited. Even if invited, they were too busy catering to guests in their own kitchens. Couples who had been married in the past one year had a difficult time, for all in the extended family customarily invited them.

Eating in one’s own or each other’s kitchen went on till evening. Just as it was sunset time, there was another puja. This marked the end of the ritual of deserting the village. One by one – but not in procession as in the morning – people returned to their village. By then, designated members of the house must have brought back the cattle from the grazing yards. Gradually, the village came back to life, after a break of about eight to nine hours.

The ritual was not an annual event, but decided upon once in 10 to 12 years. I couldn't get an answer as to why this was being practised. An elderly gentleman, of over 80 years then, from a neighbouring village offered an explanation. He must have been an indigenous theoretician!

According to him, people generally took a break from the routine to ward off ill luck, bad health, poor rains and so on. If there had been untimely deaths for certain people, incidence of any disease, loss of crops, etc., it was customary to attempt to ‘unhook a link in a chain of bad things!’ By not being at the usual site where they occur – the village as a whole – the spirits governing the bad tidings get misled. It was believed that they would go elsewhere in search of people.

Another person offered an equally convincing answer. After the dreaded influenza (1918) when entire villages were deserted, it had become almost customary for people in the region to symbolically re-enact desertions. That way, plague and epidemics would not recur. This too seemed like a plausible explanation.

In the years since my research in the village of Gavi Nagamangala, I have observed how actions become practices, and in due course, a ritual. As a young boy, I had watched many performances and devotional narrations of tales from our epics – the Harikatha. As interesting events were being narrated, devotees among the audience used to walk up and perform an aarti (waving of a lit camphor) or broke a coconut. This practice was continued in front of radio or television sets too! Belief in something, sometimes, results in associated actions becoming a ritual.

One may also recall people skipping a turn in card games to give their bad luck a miss, or seeking a re-seating arrangement. Good luck may favour some. Perhaps, this is what people of a village in Tumakuru district were doing by deserting the village of their habitation and setting up tents to live outside. Perhaps, we too as people in this century and in this generation should take a break from the kind of life we have led in the past couple of decades!

(G K Karanth headed the sociology unit of the Institute for Social and Economic Change, Bangalore. He was awarded the ICSSR National Fellowship in 2015-2016)

The views expressed above are the author’s own. They do not necessarily reflect the views of DH.