From the Western Ghats to Jharkhand: A Journey of Adivasi Culture and Connection
This story is supported by a grant from Shared Ecologies.
Translated and edited by Kamakshi Narayanan
My journey in a long chain of carriages
I’m travelling in it too
The repeated thuds of wheels on the tracks—
Is there any connection with the bounding wildlife of the montane forests?
I am moving on a single path of the double tracks
From one town to another, far away
The train connects the otherwise unconnected
What can I say, how can I say
Only lovers of long-distance trains will understand
The journeys a train makes on these iron tracks.
A long journey
The Omon Mahila Sangathan—a women’s self-help group in Noamundi, Jharkhand—had invited some of us from the Thulir Magalir Kuzhu, a women’s self-help group I belong to in Kodaikanal, to join their Women’s Day celebrations on 8th March this year. Three of us—Valarmathi, Kaleeshwari and I—took part, accompanied by my father, Balamurugan, and Vaibhav Vaidya, an acquaintance who works with our group. This was our first train journey, and we were travelling to the eastern state of Jharkhand to meet other adivasis, making the whole experience new and exciting for us.
Window (seat) to the world: When not looking out from her moving vantage point, Murugeshwari read to pass time through parts of her first train journey. Photo: Vaibhav Vaidya.
The train started from Tirunelveli in the south of Tamil Nadu and went on to Purulia in far-off West Bengal. We boarded at Dindigul, the station nearest to Kodaikanal. The sight of multiple trains simultaneously arriving and departing Dindigul Railway Station filled us with wonder and excitement. Our destination was Bhubaneswar, the capital of Odisha, 1,800 kms away. Initially, we did not realise the full implications of this long, non-stop journey—travelling two days and a night, cramped together in the same berth! The train was very crowded and we had to double up in berths at night. My father found that especially difficult, feeling as if he’d been ‘tied down’!
Valarmathi akka had to overcome resistance from her family over her fortnight-long absence—’who will manage the house and children’—but she enjoyed the change. Kaleeshwari anni had only been as far as Chennai before, but she did not mind the discomfort of long-distance travel and different food.
Towns and villages zoomed past. At each stop, there was a bustle of activity, with people getting on and off, and I watched all of it with fascination. Vendors sold tea, coffee, biscuits, other beverages, chips, and other packaged foods in an endless stream—a strange and curious sight for us.
We crossed out of Tamil Nadu before nightfall, and people and languages changed around us. We bought our dinner from vendors, and, unaccustomed to the flavours, I almost threw it away, but my father scolded me for wasting food, so I ate it all.
We arrived in Bhubaneswar the next evening, where we stayed at the circuit house for the night. The next morning, we boarded an air-conditioned train to Chaibasa, Jharkhand. This time, the train coaches were comfortable, and the food was excellent—a stark change from the previous day’s journey!
Scenes from a journey: Kaleeshwari (left) and Murugeshwari on a side berth, on their epic journey (1); during the same journey, Valarmathi and Balamurugan, Murugeshwari’s father pose (2); Balamurugan takes a break during a stop (3). At the train station in Chaibasa (4), the group boarded the air-conditioned train (5) that took them to the last leg of their journey. Photos: Vaibhav Vaidya.
Stepping onto the land of Birsa Munda, one of the first leaders to fight for Adivasi rights in the region, was an emotional experience. My father and I bowed before his statue erected within the municipality building, seeking blessings as we would from an ancestor.
The bus journey from Chaibasa to Noamundi was a more familiar experience. However, the fares were surprising: the 50-km journey cost Rs.100 each, much more expensive than Tamil Nadu, where the 150-km ride from Madurai to Kodaikanal costs only Rs.50 each.
Murugeshwari and Balamurugan pose in front of a statue of Birsa Munda (1875–1900), a legendary adivasi freedom fighter who represented grassroot leadership in the Indian nationalist movement. His movement, known as ‘ulgulan’ or total revolt, challenged labor laws and traditional land ownership models. Photo: Vaibhav Vaidya.
Coming together in Jharkhand
We arrived at Noamundi at 6 pm, where the Omon Mahila Sangathan had its main office and guest accommodation.
The Sangathan has branches in several other villages where they also run hodopathy pharmacies serving the medical needs of tribal women in remote areas. Hodopathy is a system of traditional herbal medicine practiced by the adivasis of Jharkhand, built on generations of ancient traditional knowledge. The women of the Sangathan gather herbs from the forests, prepare decoctions and other medicines, and distribute them at minimal or no cost—something they do as a community service for their fellow tribals, without salaries. They prepare remedies to address menstrual health, lactation in new mothers, joint pains, injuries, fevers, and for general immunity among young mothers and babies.
Twilight in Jharkhand: this image was taken as the train entered this eastern Indian state, formed in 2000 by dividing the state of Bihar. Bordered by West Bengal, Uttar Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, Bihar and Odisha, it is famous for its plentiful mineral resources, such as coal and iron. Photo: Vaibhav Vaidya.
Ajitha, the Sangathan’s founder, welcomed us warmly, and Vaibhav anna played the role of our translator throughout.
We were offered the traditional welcome drink called hadiya (or handia), a fermented rice beer similar to the rice kanji we have at home, except this one was fermented. It left me feeling slightly high and light-headed! Perhaps one would not be so affected if they had it more frequently.
That evening, the Ho, Munda and Santhal villagers were celebrating Baha Parab, or ‘flower festival’. They greeted us joyfully, delighted to have a group of Pazhaiyars from far-off Kodaikanal join them in their celebrations. We did not yet know what was being celebrated (until much later!), but we gladly joined in the singing and dancing.
Baha Parab, a major spring festival there, is celebrated in March when the Sal tree, endemic to India, and the state tree of Jharkhand, blooms. A close cousin of the Sal—called Meranti or Meron by the Pazhaiyars—once grew widely in the Western Ghats too, but sadly, is now at risk. When the Sal tree blooms in Jharkhand, the Hos, Mundas, and Santhals place the flowers at their family deity’s altar with a pot of water, leaves from seven other trees, kaattu sambrani (wild incense) and turmeric, for worship. We Pazhaiyars have the same rituals.
Shanti, a Ho, helped us settle in for the night at the Oman Mahila Sangathan’s office. The next day, International Women’s Day, representing the Thulir Magalir Kuzhu, we joined the celebrations as honoured guests. The festivities included singing, dancing, and talks and interactive sessions.
Women from many adivasi communities came together for Women’s Day in Noamundi (1). Murugeshwari spoke about the lifestyle of the Pazhaiyar community and the freedoms given to women in their society, Valarmathi spoke about the food habits and Kaleeshwari sang traditional songs and impromptu compositions; Murugeshwari (third from left) and Valarmathi (far right) are seen here with other participants. Photos: Vaibhav Vaidya.
There were quite a few speakers from all three tribes—the Santhals, Mundas, and Hos—and it seemed that issues like domestic violence and the lack of economic freedom for women plagued them as much as it did us back home! The speakers all stressed on the importance of self-help groups in empowering women in the society. After lunch, we spent the rest of the day with the people, learning their traditional dances.
Hospitable and warm, is how I would describe the tribals of Jharkhand. Guests are treated like kin: welcomed with a drink upon arrival, invited to share their food, and offered a place to stay in their homes. Though our own traditions value hospitality in a similar way, this was far beyond our expectations—it was incredible!
However, I could not sleep that night. Years ago, in Kodaikanal, I had heavily bargained down two woven saris for a thousand rupees. Then, I had no idea that the men who called themselves ‘Adivasis from North India’ were Santhals, carrying the traditional Ho weaves. Interacting with the people now made me realise those men were no different from the Pazhaiyars—taking their traditional craft to the outside world to earn a living. The memory of having driven a hard bargain with them left me feeling guilty, but that I could now wear their weaves while participating in their festivities was a somewhat comforting thought.
The Mahua tree, like the Sal, is also native to the forests of the historical Dandakaranya region, spread across parts of Central and Eastern India. The flowers are rich in nectar and quite intoxicating when fermented into liquor. In fact, even elephants get drunk on fermented Mahua nectar! Predictably, brewing Mahua liquor has been banned for some years now.
Mahua (Madhuca longifolia), whose flower buds are seen here, has many uses. The bark of this tropical tree has medicinal value, and its flowers have nutritious value. They are also popularly used to brew country-made liquor. Photo: S Marndi.
The Hos, like the Pazhaiyars, were once hunter-gatherers. However, some were also artists and artisans; developing skills in weaving their own fabrics, making baskets and other utility items out of bamboo and wood, and painting on rock faces or caves to depict their lifestyle. They had unique, intricate patterns that they spun and wove into shawls and blankets. In contrast, only a few paintings have been seen in the rock caves the Pazhaiyars lived in. According to Thanaraj, who had worked with the Tribal Welfare Department of Tamil Nadu, the paintings were primarily found near the Theni area of the Ghats.
Before leaving, we bowed in reverence to the five women who were running the Sangathan, paying our respect for their service to their community. We then departed for Ranchi where we stayed with Asha and her husband, Xavier. On the bus, we met some locals who had worked in a garment factory in Tiruppur in Tamil Nadu, making me marvel at how small the world is!
The Santhals inhabit the Chhota ĺNagpur plateau—an ecoregion made up of parts of West Bengal, Jharkhand, Biha, Chhattisgarh and Odisha—and are famous for their dance forms, accompanied by drum (Maadol in Bengali) beats (1). Traditional Santhali weaving, seen here in a textile display at a museum (2) and broom-making (3) are among the crafts this adivasi community is .known for. Photos: Shishir Mallika, Kritzolina, Albetedu.
Through conversations with Asha and Xavier, we learnt about the Ho way of life and their struggles that started when high quality ĺiron ore was discovered in the erstwhile state of Bihar. Vast tracts of land were acquired for large-scale mining around seventy years ago, displacing the indigenous communities with little or no compensation. It is immensely sad that generations later, many of them still live like refugees in their own homeland. Compared to their decades of suffering, our struggles in the forests of the Western Ghats seemed minor.
Is this the fate of tribal people everywhere in the country?
Murugeshwari and the other Pazhaiyar group members from Kodaikanal met with the environmentalist and Padma Shri-recipient Bulu Imam in Hazaribagh (1); Kaleeshwari, Balamurugan and Valarmathi are seen here posing with tribal wall art in Hazaribagh (2). Photos: Vaibhav Vaidya.
The next day, we went to Hazaribagh to meet Bulu Imam, the renowned environmental and cultural activist, who has published many books on tribal art and built a museum to preserve Santhal art. Delighted to meet a group of Pazhaiyar adivasis that travelled from Kodaikanal to meet him, he gave me one of his pens as a memento with his blessing—an honour indeed! Bulu Imam is keen on keeping Santhal art alive among the younger generations, teaching them Santhal weaving and painting.
Our time in Chaibasa with the tribals was brief, but the sense of belonging and shared traditions and practices, despite the regional differences, made us feel instantly connected.
After a quick visit to the tribal emporium to pick up gifts for our loved ones back home, our long return journey began, tracing our route by bus and train as we had come, all the way back to Kodaikanal.
This journey to Jharkhand not only gave us all fresh new sights, but also gave us an understanding of the country’s astounding diversity and unity. There is much more to see, experience and absorb about our timeless traditions, culture, and people and my thirst to learn more has only increased.
One recurring thought stays in my mind: the Santhals, the Ho, we Pazhaiyars, and other adivasis across India are of one origin. Though we migrated to regions far and wide, we kept our traditions and culture alive, with a few changes adapting to place and time. I will teach my son and his generation to meet and learn about adivasis—the Ancient Ones—spread across our land. That is my resolve, a promise to myself.
All the Ancient Tribes are related to me
They are all
My People.
