The rhythmic hum became clearer the deeper I ventured into the forest. The man, wearing a saffron kurta over a white dhoti, seemed to be the least bothered by the visitors that his music was drawing. Seated on a mat spread over the red earth of the forest clearing, he carefully plucked the strings of the ektara and filled the air with his soulful voice. The movement of the beaded malas dangling from his neck complimented his head movement whenever he caught a high-pitched note.
It was hard to imagine, that in just a few hours, the imperturbable forest clearing would be buzzing with exuberance. The spirit of the weekly market held every Saturday, popularly known as Shonibarer Haat, would permeate through the meshwork of the sonajhuri or acacia trees. Sonajhuri, the place in the Khoai region of Bengal, lovingly named after the trees, would come alive.
During lunch at the resort, authentic Bengali food — shukto, alu posto, maacher kalia and chutney — kept piling on my plate, the way food accumulates during religious rituals.
As the afternoon progressed, the bauls arrived with their own entourage and took over the concourse with furious musical fervour. The harmonium, tabla and flutes accompanied the primary musical instrument used by the bauls — the ektara. Plucking the solitary string of an ektara, the bards continued reciting melodious folklore in Bengali. With hands thrown up in the air, the visitors danced — men and women, young and old alike. The pounding footsteps of the tourists stormed up red dust clouds. The performers don’t demand any monetary compensation in return; visitors are free to leave on the baul’s mat whatever they wish.
The weekly market was an exhibit of authentic craftsmanship, which belongs to the State of Bengal. Junk jewellery, saris and other clothing, bags, footwear, paintings, wood products, bamboo, cane, jute and terracotta products for kitchen use and home decor, were on display over rugs under the shade of trees. The handicrafts found in this part of the world are iconic to the region of Bolpur. Most of the sellers here are the artisans themselves. Unfortunately, many still struggle to make ends meet. I got a miniature ektara for myself.
Next morning, I walked through the maze of sonajhuri trees to Bonerpukur Adivasi Gram. Little mud huts with drooping ceilings of hay lined the dirt path. A few had relief work mimicking their own village life engraved on their hut walls. When plush bungalows peeked through the foliage of the trees, I knew the rustic village had ended to make space for farmhouses of the rich.
‘Fun on one bank, Fun-eral on the other.’
The greatest irony of life was scribbled on a board on the Kopai riverside. A battery-operated rickshaw, known in this part of the world as ‘toto’, brought me here. A timid silence prevailed all around, only to be broken by the voice of the solo mystic minstrel. On the other bank, village women were fetching pails of water. The baul started playing as I was exploring the riverside. He struck a chord on his ektara, with lyrics describing the beauty of life and the importance of living in the moment. As he was doing so, I stepped on some consumed pyre material.
That day on the river bank, something changed in me as I encountered the transient nature of life. The solitary string of the ektara holds it together. When the string breaks, the instrument dies. Just like the ektara, we have just one chance at life.
source: http://www.thehindu.com / The Hindu / Home> Life & Style> Travel / by Tania Banerjee / May 09th, 2018