Painting by Ranjan Engti

(Original Novel in Assamese - “Datāl Hātir Uye Khuwā Hāwdā”
Translation of Chapter-I by Uddipana Goswami)


1947.

Leaving the āddā¹ of card players, Indranāth stood up. Till some time ago, everything had been quiet. Over the newly laid stone path to Barihāt a bullock-cart had just passed. Gher gher. Indranāth could not hear anything but the gher gher of the cart wheels. Even the din made by the women sitting up playing golok dhām² in some room in the interior of the house had settled down. Actually these women, playing golok dhām till the night was almost half gone, all belonged to Balorām Dās’s household.

The famous trader of Barihāt, Balorām Dās, rose from his seat and caught hold of Indranāth’s hand.
‘So soon prabhu³? Tonight is purnimā⁴ .’

Indranāth looked towards the Petromax hanging from a pillar. The moonlight had muted even the light coming from the Petromax. In this light, the card-playing seats, crafted stronger than even elephant seats, took on the hue of naguniā⁵ threads newly made of septi cotton. In Balo’s orchard at the back, kāgzi lemons were blooming perhaps. The mesmerising scent of these flowers had spread all around.

Indranāth said, “Balo, it’s too far in the night. Mā and Durgā will be sitting and waiting at the kāthi⁶ .”

Balo said, “If goxāni⁷ and Durgā keep waiting it’s ok; but don’t let the newly widowed Maisānā⁸ wait up at night this way. I hear she’ll be coming from Baŋarā?”
Indranāth made no reply. Once again, he came and sat down.

The game started again.

A famous actor from Kollāpārā’s ShreeShreeBaŋxigopāl jātrā⁹ party and an officer of the elephant mahal¹⁰ in Rāni were also at the āddā.

A lot of important people from the South Bank came to Balorām Dās’s card āddā. The main actors from the Xadilāpur jātrā party came, the troupe leader and the actors of the Kharāpār jātrā party also came. It was here that actors and troupe leaders defected between troupes. There were squabbles. Sometimes even fist fights.

Sometimes, at midnight, a ghostly group of people also came and clamoured near Balorām Dās’s seat. These were the kāniās¹¹ of Āmraŋā xattra¹² .

As the would-be adhikār¹³ of Āmraŋā xattra, the people of the South Bank revered Indranāth. With a crop of curly hair – like a bee hive on his head, a tall muscular body, a thick moustache below his nose, and a remarkable complexion – like ripe dimaru¹⁴, Indranāth’s personality was distinctive. It was to be heard that on the South Bank, there was no other goxāi endowed with such a personality.

For another distinctive trait Indranāth was famous, and that was his great anger. It was to be heard that he never forgave guilty and dishonest people. For the utterly downtrodden and deprived people, he had boundless affection. But because of his father the xattrādhikār mahāprabhu, he could not do all that he wanted to do for the poor populace.

He never forgave dishonest people. To cane such devious people found guilty in the panchāyat¹⁵ mel¹⁶ that sat on the goxāi’s portico, Indranāth never waited for his servants. He performed that task himself. People flogged by Indranāth goxāi’s cane had to be carried home, horizontally inclined, by two or three people.

He only smoked biris¹⁷. The pipe he used to smoke biris was also remarkable. Indranāth had been using this pipe, made of walnut wood and given him by some British sāhāb¹⁸ from Guwahati, for a long time now.

Of course, after his younger sister Giribālā was widowed, Indranāth’s behaviour had undergone some changes. He preferred to remain silent. He did not like to laugh, joke and have fun like before.

This time Indranāth stood up. Since it was quite far into the night, Balo also did not particularly try to stop him. To show their respect for the xaru¹⁹ goxāi, the card players all stood up.

Indranāth began to push his bicycle over the newly laid stone path towards the xattra. Before him was the infinitely bright moon of the purnimā. Among the jāti bamboo leaves rustling in the wind, the moon was playing hide-and-seek. Indranāth felt as if at this moment, the moon had become a golden fish. This golden fish was there tossing around in a net it had fallen into. No, no; not a golden fish. It was a white rabbit that had lost its way in the forest. It felt good, very good. After playing cards, Indranāth always felt very good coming back along this lonely road.

U-lu-lu. A phesulukā bird flew over his head. The kal-kal sound of the Jagaliā fell on Indranāth’s ears. It was like the sound of the rustling mugā²⁰ mekhelās²¹ of a bevy of young girls. But amidst all this, a matchless quietude – a rare stillness, frozen in time.

This stillness sometimes left Indranāth feeling lonely. He very clearly felt the agony of this loneliness. As if somewhere, a solid steadfast wall was slowly sliding down. As if this wall had stood sometime somewhere in his heart, providing shelter. Yes, it was always at this moment that this thought came to him. Otherwise, it lay quietly sleeping in some secret cavern of his soul.

Slowly Indranāth approached the wooden bridge over the Jagaliā. Leaning his cycle on the wooden bridge, he looked around for a while. Across the Jagaliā, over there, was the jayāl kāthani²². Through that kāthani, there was a lane going towards Khatiāmāri. The lane couldn’t be seen anymore from where Indranāth stood.

Suddenly, Indranāth remembered that the people of Bar Herāmad, Xaru Herāmad, even of faraway Sāpāthuri have started talking recently – that a ghost roamed around here.

Yes, yes, right here the ghost used to wander around. Since last month, the skeleton had started materialising at the bridge. It had tried to snatch away not just the goods, but also the mekhalās that two thia pohāris²³ returning from the hāt²⁴ at Barihāt were wearing.

How was it to look at? One of them had said, “Skeleton!! A man’s skeleton!!”

Leaning his cycle on the railing of the bridge, Indranāth looked this way and that. No, nothing. One could hear the sound of the elephants flapping their ears in the bākari²⁵ far away. And the rustling of the Jagaliā, like the rustling of mugā mekhelās.

Indranāth took out from his pānjābi²⁶ pocket a ‘Vimco’ mārkā²⁷ matchbox and a pack of Cavendar cigarettes with the picture of a sailor on it. In spite of knowing that he smoked biri, Balo had slipped in the pack of cigarettes into his pocket while still at the game. As soon as he took a puff, Indranāth felt overwhelmed by affection for Balo.

Both, at one time, studied at the Palāxbāri High School. Gilmil sāhāb was, at one time, a board member at the Palāxbāri High School. The fifty-rupee scholarship he gave to poor students had been awarded to Balo. Because of his hard work, today Balo was so prosperous.

Even though Balo collected the Cavendar cigarette packs from the firiŋis²⁸ who came to the Bardowā tea garden, Indranāth still liked to smoke biris.
For a while pulling on his cigarette, Indranāth stood leaning on the bridge. Did the skeleton really wander about here?

Human skeleton?

Indranāth mounted his cycle again. Over the stone path, the cycle moved ahead, making a grinding noise like a jāt²⁹ at work.

Beneath the old āhat tree, Indranāth again dismounted from his cycle. Here the unpaved road turned and went towards the xattra. A lone household stood there. The name of the householder was Dibākar Bhāgabati. During the war Dibākar Bhāgabati had taken the contract to supply ducks, pigeons and rice to the military camp at Mirjā. Because of the stomping sound of the boots of the military men who used to come to his house, the people at the xattra had been unable to sleep at night. During that time, the roof of Dibākar Bhāgabati’s house had changed from thatch to tin.

It was heard that at the time that the elephants were taken from the bākari where they were tied, a rice-washing duli³⁰ in hand, Dibākar Bhāgabati would also start off towards the Jagaliā. He would fill the duli with a duli-full of elephant leeches. In picking the leeches off the bodies of the elephants that had emerged from the river, the kāmalās³¹ and māuts³² all helped Dibākar Bhāgabati. These leeches Bhāgabati supplied to the military camp. It was heard that the Negro military men ate elephant leeches with alcohol. The elephant māut and kāmalās, in return, got military shoes, fish tins with frog pictures on them, packs of Cavender cigarettes and saucepans with handles.

Yes, since then, Dibākar Bhāgabati’s name had become Jokrām Bhāgabati. Now of course, Bhāgabati’s house no longer had a tin roof. Bhāgabati had to sell off even the old tin roof, which had taken on the colour of camel skin, to the elephant mahaldār³³ at Rāni. It is heard that after the man had got involved with an opium dealer from Cochbihār, he had lost everything. The Mārwāri mahaldār from Cochbihār, who became Bhāgabati’s partner, had an illegal opium business in the Mikir hills. It is heard that the shops around his had stopped clamouring for the opium from the treasury. The two mons³⁴ of opium that had earlier gone to these shops, had shrunk at the time to just ten xer³⁵.

Bhāgabati had fallen into the ruthless net cast by those reporting to the ābkāri³⁶ officers when the revenue had shrunk. He did have an opium permit. But according to this permit, he was entitled to only two or three tolas of opium.

In that dilapidated shack of Bhāgabati’s that now stood before Indranāth’s eyes, the ābkāri police had one day seized half mon smuggled opium. What was so unexpected about it? Till just the other day, in the income and outflow budgets of the government, the revenue from opium had, it seems, occupied the second place. Indranāth still remembered what his father had told him. It seems that as soon as the petition had been filed, on the South Bank itself, one opium shop had sprung up in every mile or mile-and-a-half. Smuggled opium from Assam had apparently created quite a stir even in the ports of Rangoon.

Ah, that one there is Bhāgabati’s house. Dilapidated, now the small thatched hut looked like the little one of a camel seated on the ground.

Indranāth remembered how Jokrām Bhāgabati had flung himself down at the feet of the xattrādhikār mahāprabhu. Till then, they had not taken Bhāgabati to the Palāxbāri jail. The goxāi had read the Opium Prohibition Act of 1947 by sending somebody to Guwāhāti to fetch it. Indranāth could read English. It was he who had read the act out to the goxāi. In the thirty-eighth clause of the main act, a new clause had been added. Indranāth could remember this chapter. He had read out to the goxāi:

Section 39. Notwithstanding the provisions of Section 497 of the Code of Criminal Procedure, 1898, no person accused of non-bailable offence under this act shall be released on bail by any court without hearing the prosecution of which due notice shall be given; provided that all orders shall give reasons for which bail is given.

Indranāth could remember very well. The fifth clause of this act was even more terrifying:

Provided that an accused who is found on evidence to be a smuggler of opium or seller of opium shall not receive a sentence of less than two years’ rigorous imprisonment and fine.

Jokrām Bhāgabati had flung himself down on the portico. To the pot-bellied inspector, the goxāi’s disciples who had gathered around, had squealed, “Dārogā³⁷ mahodai³⁸, he’s a Brāhman, spare him. Whatever needs to be done will be done here.”

Why would the pot-bellied inspector listen to them? The more he jailed, the more he gained, the more his raise.

The adhikār goxāi had got Jokrām Bhāgabati released on bail. The opium addict Bhāgabati had mortgaged his land at Raŋāmāti to Indranāth’s father.
During the time Bhāgabati was in prison, the well-built thatched hut had been pulled down to its current decrepit state.

Now there, in front of Indranāth’s eyes, the thatched hut took on the form of a sleeping baby camel.

Indranāth peeked inside. In a shabby room, a bāduli sāki³⁹ was hanging. Indranāth could hear coughing sounds. Gurr gurr.

Must be a kāniā xabāh⁴⁰ inside. The man had spent a few days at the opium hospital that had been set up at Herāmad. And yet could he give up his bad habits?
The smell of fried betel leaves wafted out. Yes, yes, three or four kāniās must be sitting in a circle.

Smell of fried betel leaves?

Yes, yes, it was the smell of fried betel leaves!

Crossing the old sakuā⁴¹ under the bat tree, Indranāth moved on. Suddenly a voice that sounded like the cawing of a raven broke Indranāth’s reverie. “Xaru bāpā⁴², you’ve come from playing cards?”

Indranāth’s eyes fell on the man seated like an old vulture under the bat.

He was a man afflicted with mahārog or leprosy, chased out of the village. Of late, every night as Indranāth returned from the card āddā, the man had waylaid him. And every time, Indranāth had jumped, caught unawares. Again today he said, “Bāpā, can’t you provide a couple of straws over my head? Flies and mosquitoes almost tear my skin away. Gahai⁴³, in front of your eyes my skin will peel off. Dead and dried, I’ll turn into a ghost, I tell you!”

Indranāth felt around in the pocket of his pānjābi. At Balo’s shop, a couple of disciples had touched his feet and left him some coins. He threw those towards the man.

An alkaline smell, like the stench of elephant dung, seemed to clog Indranāth’s nostrils. Pushing his cycle along, Indranāth now walked on towards home. If he crossed just another kekuri⁴⁴, he would be in the bātghar⁴⁵ of adhikār mahāprabhu. In the moonlight, the small straw huts now looked like a picture.

But the smell of fried betel leaves prevailed over the smell of elephant dung. Among the three hundred households in the village, two hundred and fifty were sunk in kāni addiction.

In the kāthi at the back, Indranāth’s mother the goxāni, and his aunt Durgā – who had left her husband’s hearth at Sikārhāti after his death – were sitting facing each other.

After her only son-in-law had been sent into the jaws of death by Kalājar⁴⁶, goxāni had become unable to sleep at night. Goxāni thought of bringing Giribālā to stay with her. Some people had in fact been sent to fetch her. At the time, Kalājar had taken the form of an epidemic. Once, it seems, in this Kāmrup district itself, a fourth of the population had fallen to Kalājar and been wiped out. Durgā, of course, had not been able to take easily to the prospect of Giribālā coming to stay. Comparing the destitute Durgā with the daughter she loved as much as life itself, goxāni’s heart would break to pieces. While seated together this way in the evenings, their inner turmoil would become more pronounced.

Hearing Indranāth’s footsteps, both rose to wakefulness. Goxāni said, “Instead of staying at that ota roka⁴⁷ bhakat’s⁴⁸ house till midnight, you could rather have gone to get news of the land at Rāŋāmāti⁴⁹.”

Indranāth remained unresponsive. Over the land at Raŋāmāti Mārābhithā, the communists had already gained control. Now the fire will spread to Xānpārā, Pājibindhā, Bar Pratimā, etcetera. That piece of land was well known for its āhu⁵⁰ harvest. Sometimes, going with the mahari⁵¹ to collect taxes on that land from the rāyats⁵², Indranāth would become bewitched. Very beautiful land, very fertile land.

After his meal, Indranāth brought out a pirā⁵³ and sat beside the two old women. Now was the time his mother the goxāni usually went into the small room. (Seated in this small room, she enjoyed a silim⁵⁴ of tāŋkhu⁵⁵. At this time, she changed out of the red mekhelā she wore to the pāg⁵⁶. To accompany her in this gratification, sometimes a woman named Guimenni also came.) Today of course, for a long time, goxāni remained seated at the same place. After a while, she began very slowly, “Xaru gaheni⁵⁷ had gone on her xis phurā⁵⁸. Disregarding the full waters of Jagaliā in the month of Āhin she had gone on her xis phurā. Two servants unloaded the luggage from the boat. Earlier her stuff used to be unloaded by four servants.

“I asked, ‘Why are you going on your xis phurā in this weather, Xaruŋ’ She said, ‘The times are bad. If a few things are not brought in right now, we’ll have to dry up and die.’ A lot of courage! Xaru has a lot of courage!!”

Xaru goxāni was the wife of adhikār mahāprabhu’s younger brother, Ramānanda Goswāmi, and a daughter of Pāt Hāladhiā. In an accident that occurred while playing with firecrackers during the annual function (jātrā festival) of the xattra, Ramānanda Goswāmi fell into the jaws of death. Xaru goxāni was an utterly lonesome person. After the death of the goxāi, by giving xaran⁵⁹ and managing the land and property herself, she had earned a sort of repute for herself among the Dāmodariā xattras of the South Bank.

Indranāth exploded, “Xaru gaheni, xaru gaheni! Instead of going on and on about her, why can’t you all be like her? You yourself can manage the land that the communists are creating such uproar about. You have a lot of knowledge about land and property.”

Goxāni shrieked, “Āi sikou! Āi sikou!⁶⁰ The gaheni of a tini-xattriyā⁶¹ gahe will go out to keep the Raŋāmāti land?”

Goxāni placed her hand on the ground and touched her ears.

“The old days are over now! Like dāŋār ābu⁶², there’s no need for anyone to die and turn ghost without even seeing the bātghar. Didn’t you see how ābu died beating her head against the wall, wanting to go to Jagannāthŋ Even had to watch the festivals from the window seated on a sālpirā⁶³. There’s no need for you all to become ghosts like that.”

“Shut up! Shut up! The respect with which the gahenis of the Āmraŋā xattra of Sāyāni moujā⁶⁴ have died – that respect can be commanded not by ghosts but by gods. Balorām’s āddā has eaten your head. You were a hokorā bāndār⁶⁵ even when you were studying at Palāxbāri…!”

Indranāth remained unresponsive for a while.

Then, straightening his limbs and stretching, he looked towards Durgā and said: “Listen pehi⁶⁶, you did a foolish thing to come away with me from your husband’s house! The Sikārhāti gahe⁶⁷ will not give you even a phutā-kari⁶⁸ and won’t even come to fetch you back, wait and see. I’ve heard he has sold off some land around Dakhalā. Seems you also had given your thumbprint on it. But your share of the money has not come. Now you will have to go to Guwāhāti and move the court⁶⁹.”

Durgā burst out, “Shut up, the money will come. So will the people. Because you called me, I came away without thinking. And I will go back – they will come to fetch me. Would they leave me here to die, oi?”

Beside the clump of dalou bamboo, very near the kāthi, a pack of foxes started howling. Rising hastily goxāni said, “Indranāth, go and sleep. Durgā, you too go off to sleep!”

Goxāni āi⁷⁰ once again went into the small room to have another silim of tāŋkhu. After having all this tāŋkhu, she would fall on her sleeping mat. This was her daily routine. Even if sleep did not come, this time, she would fall on her mat.

At one point of time, Indranāth left. Goxāni also went inside. But Durgā remained seated at the same place in the same way. When sleep would not come, earlier also, Durgā would stay seated this way, the smoke from raw firewood blackening the colour of her mekhelā and gātālā⁷¹. Sometimes, it seems, even leopards would come and rub against her and leave. Durgā would be aware of nothing.

Even today, in a similar sea of thoughts, Durgā seemed to have drowned completely. The world of thoughts that Durgā rambled through was empty, like the crematorium. Harsh! In this empty crematorium even to clutch on to something to survive had become daunting for a while now. After the last āmati⁷² a peculiar sorrow had built its nest in her. Tying dhakuās⁷³ around her feet, she had had to go to attend the calls of nature – she had had to live through three days up on a sāng⁷⁴, without touching her feet to the ground. Fruits left on the floor were taboo. The fruits kept on the sāng had dried, the bananas rotted, flies fell on the kathāl. Nobody had come to ask after her. Her mother-in-law had said the same thing. At the time of the wedding, she said the Āmraŋā goxāi had changed Durgā’s horoscope. Because of the pāp grahas⁷⁵ in Durgā’s horoscope, she said her son had had to die such a bad death.
Pāp grahaŋ

Yes, yes, maybe these things were true? Wasn’t it because of her pāp graha, that her father had made her wear three or four mādalis⁷⁶ around her waist and on her arms?

And weddings and social functions? During auspicious occasions at the neighbours’, this pāp graha became integrated into her being like a spectre. If a sick owl fell into the kitchen sometimes, this pāp graha was blamed. The pāp graha legend had taken on such a frightening shape while she had been at her father-in-law’s house that it had become terrifying for her to even move about. Yes who knew, maybe at some auspicious moment Durgā would suddenly appear on the scene? So many auspicious events take place all the time: puhan biyā⁷⁷, the birth of a son, Bāxanti pujā⁷⁸ ...

The year she was widowed, from one āmati till the time the next arrived, Durgā had as if become a wraith. To sit like an apparition on her father-in-law’s kāthi, warming herself beside a husk fire, had developed into a sort of habit with her.

Indeed, summer or winter, at all times, it had become Durgā’s habit to sit next to that husk fire.

Black clothes.

Her skin also had turned black. The smoke from the husk fire as if enveloped her entire body. All regularity of food and nourishment vanished. One day, Durgā discovered that in spite of there being four cows in the gohāli⁷⁹ giving milk, the milk in the brass glass set aside for her was very watery.

No big deal, she had never had much fondness for food anyway. And now she had none.

Getting up in the grey dawn and bathing after going to attend the call of nature in the backyard; then without changing out of her wet clothes, mopping the floor of the room where the goxāi’s kharams⁸⁰ were kept; keeping the vegetables etc. ready for her mother-in-law before she entered the kitchen; in the afternoon, serving bakā sāul⁸¹ and gur⁸² to the women who came to work the dheki⁸³; and at dusk, sitting in the room with the kharams hour after hour till night fell – this was her day-to-day routine.

Towards life, slowly, a disgust crept in. Since she had had no children, previously also, a sense of despair had darkened her being. After her husband died, this darkness turned into the profound blackness of the night.

The woman warming herself beside a husk fire till the last hours of the night as if, in reality, turned into an apparition.

Everything made her angry. She began cursing people. At last, whatever well wishers she had, one by one, even they turned away.

One day, suddenly, Indranāth presented himself at the Sikārhāti goxai’s house. After striking a deal with the Sikārhāti goxāi and the Asia Company of Jāmātala, Indranāth had come to discuss the employment of three of the Sikārhāti goxāi’s elephants and four of his own in hunting. Off and on, both the goxāis had made a lot of profit by employing the elephants in partnership.

When Indranāth had arrived at the Sikārhāti goxāi’s house, it had been past midnight. Seeing the human skeleton seated on the floor near the husk fire, Indranāth had been stunned.

“Kāi hiloiŋ”⁸⁴

Durgā had fallen into a light sleep. She had not answered.

“Kāi hiloiŋ”

This time, Durgā had sat up hastily.

“Sounds like our xaru bāpu Indranāth’s voice.”

“Pehi, I am Indranāth.”

Then Durgā had gone inside and fetched a scented oil lamp. In the light of this lamp, seeing Durgā’s state, Indranāth had flinched. Such a healthy woman had been reduced to a living skeleton!

Exactly a living skeleton!

Durgā remembered very well – Indranāth had flinched.

“What, are you ill?”

What was Durgā’s reply? No, no. She remembered nothing.

“Come with me to Āmraŋā. You can stay there for a few days.”

Very enthusiastically everybody had told her to go to Āmraŋā. The Sikārhāti goxāi had himself said, “Go māi⁸⁵, I’ll fetch you back the day after the jātrā at the goxāighar⁸⁶.”

So many jātrās went by, so many alterations took place in the South Bank jātrā companies! The Mājirgāo jātrā party, ShreeShreeBaŋxigopāl jātrā party, the Kharāpārā jātrā party, so many jātrā parties came, so many jātrā parties with their oratory, their splendour, performed in the goxāi’s frontyard and enthralled not just the Sikārhāti public but also the public from Xaru Herāmad, Bar Herāmad, Barihāt, Medhipārā, Tāllāpārā, Pāt Hāladhiā and even Dakhalā. But the Sikārhāti goxāi did not come to fetch Durgā.

It seems just after Durgā left that home, the elephant sent to hunt earned a lot of money by catching two sākonā elephants (with their tusks turned upwards) and three sārāls⁸⁷. Not just that, it seems even Dhananjay Dās, the mātabbar⁸⁸ from Māyāng, came with offerings to take xaran in the Sikārhāti goxāi. After taking his xaran, not only did the mahājan give goxāi seven bighā⁸⁹ land in Pāt Hāladhiā, but also promised to get craftsmen from the west to build a temple to Baŋxigopāl.

All these auspicious events took place immediately after Durgā left. This belief became entrenched in the Sikārhāti goxāi’s very bones. Nobody came to take Durgā back.

In the clump of dalou bamboo in front, again a pack of foxes howled. Durgā peered into the distance. The moonlight had brightly scattered itself all around. Seated on the dolā⁹⁰ – now left lying next to the dhekhāl⁹¹ in the room without roof or wall – she had gone to the Sikārhāti goxāi’s home. In the moonlight, a portion of the dolā shone clearly. The mouth of the crocodile at one end of the dolā now looked like the mouth of a snake.

Durgā’s eyes filled with tears. Yes, Indranāth spoke true, if they don’t give any land or property she’ll have to go to court. Go to Guwāhāti to the court…Hari! Hari!! ⁹²

Durgā’s head began to reel. “Do the court?”

The daughter-in-law of a Dāmodariā gahe go to Guwahati to demand her dead husband’s property? Hari! Hari!

The entire night, Durgā sat that way with her knees tucked into her bosom.

Near the clump of dalou bamboo, again the foxes howled many times. Slowly the eastern sky took on the hue of an old pāt⁹³ sādar⁹⁴. The flowing end of this pāt sādar slowly unfolded in all directions. The mesmerising scent of kāgzi lemons and xewāli flowers spread all around.

Durgā stood up. Her knees complained. She didn’t feel like looking up at the morning sky. One step at a time, she went forward towards the pond.


[Goswami, Indira. 1988. Datāl Hātir Uye Khuwā Hāwdā. Guwahati: Bani Prakash (in Axamiyā). p 1-15.]


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End Notes:

¹ Informal, friendly gathering.
² A game of dice, popular among womenfolk, its many steps representing the steps in a journey to golok dhām, where Lord Krishna lives with his consorts.
³ Literally, ‘lord’.
⁴ The night of the full moon.
⁵ Like the colour of the sacred thread worn by upper caste Hindus – sacred because blessed by nine (na) gods.
⁶ Porch.
⁷ Feminine of ‘goxāi’; literally, goddess. Used for the wife of the head of a xattra.
⁸ Indranāth’s sister’s name is Giribālā. Maisānā is a term of endearment, literally meaning ‘little mother’, used for small girls.
⁹ A kind of popular folk drama.
¹⁰ A centre for training elephants.
¹¹ Opium addicts. Kāni is Axamiyā for ‘opium’.
¹² A Vaishnavite monastery; an institution governing, till the pre-independence days, the social, religious, cultural and political lives of the people under it.
¹³ Adhikār refers to right/ownership/authority. An adhikār would therefore mean a ‘rightful’ master/owner, one who has complete authority. Mahāprabhu literally means ‘great lord’. The head of a xattra was variously referred to as adhikār, adhikār mahāprabhu, xattrādhikār, goxāi, prabhu, adhikār goxāi.
¹⁴ Fig.
¹⁵ A village council.
¹⁶ Meeting; here, a meeting of the village council.
¹⁷ A rolled piece of unfiltered tobacco.
¹⁸ Sahib: used for a Britisher/coloniser/master.
¹⁹ Younger, smaller, lesser, minor or junior.
²⁰ A variety of Axamiyā silk, fawn-coloured and crisp.
²¹ The skirt of the two-piece dress of Axamiyā women, the other being the flowing sādar or breast cloth.
²² Haunted wood.
²³ Women who sell ornaments door to door.
²⁴ Marketplace.
²⁵ Field where elephants are tied.
²⁶ A long cotton shirt worn by men.
²⁷ Wimco stamped. A ‘mārkā’ is a stamp.
²⁸ Foreigners.
²⁹ A millstone.
³⁰ A bamboo scoop.
³¹ Daily labourers.
³² Elephant keepers and drivers.
³³ Owner of a mahal.
³⁴ Approximately 82 pounds. Obsolete weight measurement.
³⁵ One seer, equivalent to 80 tolās. One tolā was equal to the weight of one rupee. All obsolete weight measurements now.
³⁶ Excise.
³⁷ Police officer.
³⁸ Sir; a respectful address.
³⁹ A hanging round shaped earthen lamp.
⁴⁰ A meeting of kāniās.
⁴¹ Tall, dense fence of bamboo, etc.
⁴² Son/lad.
⁴³ Goxāi in the Kāmrupi dialect.
⁴⁴ Bend
⁴⁵ Literally, house by the gate. Room(s) built beside the gate, away from the main house.
⁴⁶ Literally, the black fever. A kind of fever that stays on for a long time and may be fatal.
⁴⁷ Literally, sewer scraper. An ota is a drain inside the house (usually the kitchen) to let out the sewage. ‘Roka’ means ‘to scrape’, presumably to keep it clean.
⁴⁸ Disciple of a goxāi; one who has taken xaran or refuge in him.
⁴⁹ Raŋāmāti in Kāmrupi dialect.
⁵⁰ Rice sown in spring and harvested at the beginning of the rainy season.
⁵¹ Clerk.
⁵² Tax-payers; subjects.
⁵³ A low seat usually made of wood.
⁵⁴ The bowl of a hookah.
⁵⁵ Tobacco.
⁵⁶ Kitchen.
⁵⁷ Gaheni is goxāni in Kāmrupi dialect.
⁵⁸ Official visit to the disciples (xis).
⁵⁹ Literally, refuge. Here, taking refuge in the goxāi/goxāni, becoming their disciple.
⁶⁰ An expostulation expressing extreme disgust in Lower Assam dialect.
⁶¹ Of or having three xattras.
⁶² Great grandmother.
⁶³ Large, broad bench with low legs used as a bedstead.
⁶⁴ Division of a district.
⁶⁵ Literally, a roaring monkey. Used for one who talks too tall.
⁶⁶ Maternal aunt; father’s younger sister.
⁶⁷ Goxāi in Kamrupi dialect.
⁶⁸ Literally, a pierced shell. Shells (or koris) were used as legal tenders before coins came into currency. A phutā-kari is therefore a bad coin, an useless object.
⁶⁹ An Axamiyā expression for moving the court is ‘court-kāsāri karā’ – literally, doing the court.
⁷⁰ Mother. Goxāni āi would literally mean ‘mother goddess’.
⁷¹ A drape, or sādar.
⁷² Four days in the month of Āhār (July) when the Goddess Earth is supposed to be menstruating and hence, unclean. Widows observe strict taboos during this period.
⁷³ Dried sheath of the betel nut or coconut tree.
⁷⁴ Elevated bamboo platform.
⁷⁵ Inauspicious planets.
⁷⁶ Amulets; drum shaped ornaments worn around the neck.
⁷⁷ A ceremony performed during a woman’s pregnancy to pray for the birth of a son.
⁷⁸ Durgā pujā peformed in spring (traditionally, Durgā pujā is in autumn). Bāxanti is another name for Durgā; Baxanta is spring in Axamiyā.
⁷⁹ Cow shed.
⁸⁰ Wooden sandals.
⁸¹ A kind of rice, softened by soaking in water, and had with jaggery and bananas and sometimes curd or milk.
⁸² Jaggery.
⁸³ A foot pedal for pounding rice.
⁸⁴ “Who’s that?” in Kāmrupi dialect.
⁸⁵ Literally, mother. Used as a term of affection for daughters, younger women.
⁸⁶ The goxāi’s house. Ghar means house.
⁸⁷ Female elephant calves.
⁸⁸ A trader, merchant, rich man.
⁸⁹ Approximately, one-third of an acre.
⁹⁰ A kind of carriage with horizontal bars for carrying it along on two or more carriers’ shoulders. Used for transporting brides and members of the royal family.
⁹¹ Dheki shed.
⁹² Hari is another name for Lord Vishnu.
⁹³ A kind of soft Axamiyā silk.
⁹⁴ A breast cloth; the upper portion of the two-piece dress of Axamiyā women.

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Translator's Notes:
The use of/retention of hyperbolic expression(s) at points in the text is intentional – one spoke in hyperboles when speaking of the adhikār mahāprabhus, the spiritual (indeed, all-round) leaders of an entire population.

The Axamiyā metaphors and similes, most of them culture-specific, have been retained, at the risk of sounding absurd to readers of ‘standard’ English.
Onomatopoeias are also sometimes culture-/language-specific. These sounds have been retained.

Other Axamiyā elements not-translated are certain expressions, terminology and nomenclatures, modes of address, expostulations, etc. Even where they may have been translated into English equivalents, the urge to acquire narrative fluency has been resisted so that cultural acquaintance can be facilitated.

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