A “Day-end” in my village of yesteryears
Many of the changes which occur are irreversible. When I sit and reflect about my experiences as a child in my own village Kanamanapalli in Kuppam, I know that my experiences could never be gone through once again and the only way to convey is by narration.
In those days, my village was not electrified. It was a sleepy village, but provided with enough bounty of nature. There was a lake and its waters relesed by controlling the sluice gates. A lot of pleasant green of mainly Paddy and Ragi fields surrounded the dwellings. Behind my grand mother’s house there was a coconut grove and in it a pond with lotus flowers. The approach and exit road to my village was a dirt track and the only vehicles which traversed them were bullock carts and a few bicycles. The same road branched and one branch led to Kuppam railway station which was three miles and another branch which led to Yamanur, also was the way for the cattle to go to jungle for daily grazing.
Every morning, the village cowherd Papvadu used to loudly ask the people of each house to release their cows for grazing. He used to start from the far end of the village and our house was quite close to the entry of the village and by the time he came loudly announcing his arrival, he would be having a big herd of cattle into which, our cows also would join, having released by my grandmother.
As a child that was a very interesting sight and I always wished that I could go with Papvadu to the forest and see what was there in the jungle. But somehow, I had assumed that the permission would not be granted and am not sure to this day whether it was true or just my own making. There were a number of cows and heifers of various colours and mostly same size - they were all local breeed. Many had bells tied around their necks and the combined effect of hoofs, bells and the commands of the cowherd made a great combination of music.
While this was interesting, the real thing was the return. One of the terms used for dusk in Sanskrit is “Godhooli” - literally means dust of the cows. It was picturesquely evident in the return of the cows. As dusk approached, the cows which had young calves, would remember that they had to feed their children and come running home - they exactly knew which house they belonged. There was no need of command of the cowherd .The running also would be accompanied by the mooing, which could be heard from a distance. On the house side, these mooings would be reciprocated by the calves who would eagerly wait for their mothers. The running of cows on the dirt track would produce a great cloud of dust and with the setting sun shining on them, it was a golden sight.
In a shortwhile, Muniga, our milking man would come home and it would be getting dark. All the homes would be lit by kerosene lamps and latterns. In the light of such lamp, Muniga would milk the cow. Before milking and after, the calf was left to feed and the affection of mother towards her child was greatly evident even in the dim light of lantern.
Very soon it would be time for rituals in the temple - chanting of Vishnusahasranama (thousand names of Vishnu) followed by the evening pooja of our dieties Sri Srinivasa and Padmavathy Thaayar , followed by Shayanotsavam (the ritual of putting the deities to sleep). The taste of the prasadam of those rituals still lingers on...
On return from temple (which, by the way was stone’s throw from our house) we would have dinner - a simple affair of rice, some vegetable and Rasam and Buttermilk and would be ready for sleeping. All of us used to sleep in a long hall. It had two doors one on the north and other on the south side. On northside, it opened to an open verandah and on the southside, it opened to a room. Both these places had cows and the hall itself used to have typically a calf.
Our bed was comprising of three layers. A mat, a rough country rug of wool made by weavers of neighbouring district, and a sheet to protect us from the piercing effect of the rug. On this royal bed, having been tired by various activities of the day, we would lie down slowly drifting to sleep with all the background noises of crickets and the sounds of cows chewing the cud and their characteristic breathing which seemed to me more like sigh. Apart from these soothing sounds, there were no other sounds and it was peace - heavenly.....
In those days, my village was not electrified. It was a sleepy village, but provided with enough bounty of nature. There was a lake and its waters relesed by controlling the sluice gates. A lot of pleasant green of mainly Paddy and Ragi fields surrounded the dwellings. Behind my grand mother’s house there was a coconut grove and in it a pond with lotus flowers. The approach and exit road to my village was a dirt track and the only vehicles which traversed them were bullock carts and a few bicycles. The same road branched and one branch led to Kuppam railway station which was three miles and another branch which led to Yamanur, also was the way for the cattle to go to jungle for daily grazing.
Every morning, the village cowherd Papvadu used to loudly ask the people of each house to release their cows for grazing. He used to start from the far end of the village and our house was quite close to the entry of the village and by the time he came loudly announcing his arrival, he would be having a big herd of cattle into which, our cows also would join, having released by my grandmother.
As a child that was a very interesting sight and I always wished that I could go with Papvadu to the forest and see what was there in the jungle. But somehow, I had assumed that the permission would not be granted and am not sure to this day whether it was true or just my own making. There were a number of cows and heifers of various colours and mostly same size - they were all local breeed. Many had bells tied around their necks and the combined effect of hoofs, bells and the commands of the cowherd made a great combination of music.
While this was interesting, the real thing was the return. One of the terms used for dusk in Sanskrit is “Godhooli” - literally means dust of the cows. It was picturesquely evident in the return of the cows. As dusk approached, the cows which had young calves, would remember that they had to feed their children and come running home - they exactly knew which house they belonged. There was no need of command of the cowherd .The running also would be accompanied by the mooing, which could be heard from a distance. On the house side, these mooings would be reciprocated by the calves who would eagerly wait for their mothers. The running of cows on the dirt track would produce a great cloud of dust and with the setting sun shining on them, it was a golden sight.
In a shortwhile, Muniga, our milking man would come home and it would be getting dark. All the homes would be lit by kerosene lamps and latterns. In the light of such lamp, Muniga would milk the cow. Before milking and after, the calf was left to feed and the affection of mother towards her child was greatly evident even in the dim light of lantern.
Very soon it would be time for rituals in the temple - chanting of Vishnusahasranama (thousand names of Vishnu) followed by the evening pooja of our dieties Sri Srinivasa and Padmavathy Thaayar , followed by Shayanotsavam (the ritual of putting the deities to sleep). The taste of the prasadam of those rituals still lingers on...
On return from temple (which, by the way was stone’s throw from our house) we would have dinner - a simple affair of rice, some vegetable and Rasam and Buttermilk and would be ready for sleeping. All of us used to sleep in a long hall. It had two doors one on the north and other on the south side. On northside, it opened to an open verandah and on the southside, it opened to a room. Both these places had cows and the hall itself used to have typically a calf.
Our bed was comprising of three layers. A mat, a rough country rug of wool made by weavers of neighbouring district, and a sheet to protect us from the piercing effect of the rug. On this royal bed, having been tired by various activities of the day, we would lie down slowly drifting to sleep with all the background noises of crickets and the sounds of cows chewing the cud and their characteristic breathing which seemed to me more like sigh. Apart from these soothing sounds, there were no other sounds and it was peace - heavenly.....
Comments
Post a Comment