Ode to a Whore



Painting : Jiten Hazarika, for Pain and Flesh

Ode to a Whore

By Indira Goswami

People say that
I excel in making wine.
I can turn the wine
which is brewed today
a hundred years old.
It can make people frenzied and wild
wine that I brew, drinking
I too am constantly intoxicated.

My fleshy breasts
Now sleeps like a dead river.
Intoxicated.
I now can turn this river into a sharp weapon.

The wine I brew
knows how to make
songs from stone, songs from ashes.
People despair to discover my mystery,
they smash their heads
against walls, iron pillars.
They scream, Ah! What is this boon
the heavens bestow upon her path.
How do I say
the way I have brewed
this mellow wine?
I have lain fainted
In the dark hall of sorrow!
In agony
I have whipped my own flesh
and have drunk my own blood.
I couldn’t
take off my clothes
in front of my lovers.
And I had a hundred lovers.
yet, I remained a virgin.

The women from the other
Bank of the river, scream
You are a sinner
You will earn a leper’s death!

My body, which is like
the supple bodies of barali-fish
that dance with the waves of the Red River!
My breasts—the Saramati Peak
in the Tuensang valley.
My mekhela is like
those branches of Rhododendron
which bloom in the Satoi Ranges!

The women from the
other bank of the river –
spit their venom
Oh hunted woman! Let your body
become a feast for
worms!

The Ladies with white hair
from the other bank of the river
Cry out with many voices!
Oh women, don’t gouge at her flesh!
Who knows, those men who
remain like your immediate shadow
would have tried the silky
skin of their own daughters!
Who knows, who knows!
Wise men say, whores are the generals
of the Wars!
Like rivers they lay their traps
Like mountains they protect
the innocent souls!
Oh women, abide by the
Songs of the monk!
Don’t gouge at the flesh of whores!
They know unknown
travelers and murky hunters!
Yes, wise men say, that whores are
the weary generals of the Wars!


My body turned into a skeleton;
my skin swung
loosely on the bones
like the hide of a beast
strung up by a butcher
on a long post
to dry!
The demon of misery
and sorrow
looking for my heart
raked my body with its nails!

Suddenly, I discovered the art of
making wine.

I could ford this
river of separation
which flows in the
guise of human life!
which has kept in its bosom
those ancient maps
of the kingdoms burnt into ashes.

Came floating the golden pitcher from the pages of Samhitas
and from the wombs of the Upanishadas
a heavenly voice cries out
Oh Lady, with the heavy breasts
Open! Open the Lid!!...

Many days and many nights
I brewed wine—to open the lids of the golden pitcher
which came from the womb of the Upanishads
Alas, I failed!
drinking made me  wild,
only failures drink like a fish!

Suddenly, the lid
opened.
Standing on the other side of
the river—
I saw the glittering
shards of my wine glasses
scattered in a thousand pieces. 
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Fiction : The Empty Chest

Anthologized in The Shadow of Kamakhya (Rupa) and translated by Pradipta Borgohain, this is a haunting story of doomed love and one of the best love stories written in Assamese.

Read it online here.
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Indira Goswami and Women’s Empowerment

"The common thread in Indira Goswami’s immensely diverse and rich oeuvre is the concern for women. . . Despite the complex interstices, I see no contradictions—only a holistic expression of India’s many challenges to women’s empowerment and a gifted writer moulding them into creative forms," writes Malashri Lal

  • Deepa Mehta’s Fire came many years later and was visually far too explicit about same sex love. Mehta’s next film, Water, appeared even further in time and resorted to locked stereotypes of Hindu widowhood. Indira Goswami had nuanced the widow’s deprivation of body, passion, emotion, and woven it into a perceptive text much ahead of the rest.
  • Hindu patriarchal traditions have often got away with justifications about oppressive gender practice by claiming that “women are worshipped as goddesses”, so “what is there to complain about.” . . . Indira probes the causes, the rituals, the unquestioned “beliefs” which perpetuate oppression.
  • Her tools for engendering social change were the written word, and later, the spoken address in public arena.

“I try to write from the direct experiences of my life. I only mould these experiences with my imagination.” Indira Goswami

The first impression upon seeing Indira Goswami is one of bedazzlement. A resplendent woman wrapped in an elegant red saree bordered in gold catches the eye. A cluster of listeners cling to her words. The soft spoken creative writer, Indira, is addressing the political causes of the marginalized and the disadvantaged. She speaks about the misguided youth in Assam, the widows of Vrindavan, the women labourers in industry. In her person, Indira seems clad in an aura of genteel privilege. Her dark eyes are intense with passion; her mobile expression and modulated voice enter into the crevices of experience of the weak and the dispossessed. There is commitment and conviction—she sees social evils as few women of her class do.

Indira Goswami, to my mind, interrogates several facets of women’s empowerment in India. Foremost among these are attitudes to girl children, marriage and widowhood. Indira’s life maps crucial transitions. Born in 1942 to Umakanta Goswami, she had the good fortune to receive a high quality education in Shillong. Married at a young age to Madhaven Raisom Ayengar, an engineer, she enjoyed happy matrimony for only eighteen months. Then tragedy struck. Ayengar died in a car accident in Kashmir and Indira found herself mentally and physically destabilized. In a moving autobiography, Adhalekha Dastaveja, published in 1988, Indira recalls how she shut herself in a small room in Goalpara and contemplated suicide, and how her only sustenance was the memory of a carefree childhood and the letters of her father. In other words, the privileged past seemed over and widowhood had cast a dark shadow on Indira’s self image even more than on her external circumstances. In some confusion she accepted a suggestion to choose a life in Vrindavan, the most traditional destination of bereft Hindu widows. It is not that Indira had no other possibilities. She recounts in her memoirs that two paths were before her: she could have proceeded to London, "that land of ancient Western tradition and culture" or she could move to Vrindavan, "the centre of ancient Hindu tradition and culture." It is important to remember that English education for women from upper class families had brought an easy familiarity with the British models of education and women’s lives. Widowhood was no stigma there, and a foreign locale could have, in a sense, “liberated” a woman from the stranglehold of orthodoxy in India. However, Indira went to the land of Braja.
Was this the right “choice” or was it imposed by a powerful internal monitor called “patriarchy”? Goswami spent two years amidst the Radhaswami sect widows in Vrindavan, entering their fold as a compassionate member but also as a researcher. The ensuing novel, Neel Kanthi Braja (trans by Prafulla Katoky as Shadow of Dark God, 1986), is an amazing narrative combining fact and fiction, autobiography and reflection. As Indira Goswami introduces the novel, “I have tried to show how the mental and physical state of a young widow takes a different shape and how this change affects her life after her widowhood.” Saudamini, the protagonist, is a thinly disguised mask of the author. She volunteers to take on severe deprivations of the body, a sort of self purification by which needs are so reduced that confrontations with life’s imperatives become inevitable. Despite caring parents, and a supportive community at most times, Saudamini agitatedly probes and digs as deep as possible into the meaning of widowhood. This is the crucial point to remember about the novel’s theme. Neel Kanthi Braja is about social attitudes and the inner consciousness of a woman who has been brought up to believe that widowhood is somehow her “fault” or her “destiny, and that she should undertake “penance.”
Saudamini accepts, analyses and finally rejects the construction of the widow stereotype—this is Indira’s message—and it is also Indira’s story. The message that is further pertinent to the empowerment agenda may be read through the tripartite presentation of three women in the novel: Saudamini and her acquaintances, Shashi and Mrinalini. One is the “kept” of a temple priest, derided for accepting this option in preference to “suffering” the fate of widowhood. That Shashi suffers more severely through the loveless attachment to an impotent priest and secretly harbours lesbian desire is sufficiently built into the storyboard but seldom highlighted by critics. To me it is important that Indira in 1986 had empathetically portrayed such emotions well ahead of their utterance in public space in India. Deepa Mehta’s Fire came many years later and was visually far too explicit about same sex love. Mehta’s next film, Water, appeared even further in time and resorted to locked stereotypes of Hindu widowhood. Indira Goswami had nuanced the widow’s deprivation of body, passion, emotion, and woven it into a perceptive text much ahead of the rest.
Saudamini’s other companion is Mrinalini, daughter of a temple owner who has fallen upon poor days due to mismanagement of his fortune. Here again is a topical theme—that of a woman’s economic dependence on the father and her subjection to his ill founded financial decisions. The temple is sold off—the scion (there is no female equivalent to the word!) of an ancient family is brought to penury through no fault of hers. The point I emphasize is that Indira Goswami speaks of the politics of social construction even when she is composing what appears to be material from her experience of a cultural milieu. It is not a personal widowhood that comprises the substance of her novel, but the attendant layers of the implications of this life-condition for various women.
Vrindavan is even today a site of gender discourse and hence I link Goswami’s narrative to what I observed during visits to an ashram called Amaar Baari. The Guild of Service has created a place for elderly widows abandoned by their families and tried to rehabilitate them by giving them the dignity of a place of their own. We addressed each woman as “Ma”, and asked a few questions. Almost all the women said they had been brought to Vrindavan by a “caring male relative” and then left with a promise that they will “soon be called home.” The invitation to return never came. In this period of timeless waiting, the fortunate ones discovered the collective identity of Amaar Bari, and found their individual talents and spaces. A vignette stands out in my memory. One Ma who looked close to eighty was asked if she would sing for us, “the visitors from Delhi.” As she hobbled up from her seat and gradually straightened her curved back, I wondered why we were putting her through this display. A faint tune emerged from her wizened lips and soon gathered strength and melody. Here hands started moving to the music, her body turned to dance postures, and in a few minutes, the music and the gestures had transported us to the world of spotlights and dance halls. Clearly she had received training-taleem—in these genres of entertainment. Whom had she sung and danced for? In return, what favours were given and under what terms? These were research questions unanswered and rendered irrelevant. We saw before us that Vrindavan still beckons widows, still offers refuge. But there is a difference. Civil society organizations are aware of the plight, and are active in bringing much more than sustenance to the widows: self worth and belonging.
Let me further say that Indira Goswami’s personal narratives and her fiction offer a carefully drawn continuum of social change. Goswami’s novel Chinnamastar Manuhto (trans. by Prashant Goswami as The Man From Chinnamasta, 2006) is worth considering in this context if only because the title in English draws attention to a male centered tale. Read it and one finds the core in the man’s devotion to the Goddess Kamakhya enshrined in her famous temple in Assam. According to popular mythology, this is one of the holiest of the pitha sthana, where an intimate part of Parvati’s dismembered body is lodged. By tradition, Kamakhya is all powerful—a contrast to the helpless widows of Vrindavan. The Goddess commands blood. Animal sacrifice—frequent and ceremonial—soaks into the temple grounds. Maddened devotees smear the blood on their forehead, dance in it, trance in it. This is Woman’s other Avatar—the commandeering authority. Indira Goswami places the story in the 1930’s but the sociological implications are absolutely current. Hindu patriarchal traditions have often got away with justifications about oppressive gender practice by claiming that “women are worshipped as goddesses”, so “what is there to complain about.” The tribute to the pedestal and the brutality at home are the contradictions that show up in social space today and have led to the widespread protest against domestic violence. Indira probes the causes, the rituals, the unquestioned “beliefs” which perpetuate oppression.
Who is the man from Chinnamasta—a wandering jattadhari with matted locks who tries to stop the animal sacrifice and arouse a more sensitive conscience of co-existence? Indira’s research into history and ethnography showed no religious sanction for the blood rituals. She was appalled by the orgies of the flesh and the celebrations of frenzy. The gentle author and the social activist came together to craft a novel that is a page turner. The distance between religion and ritual is subtly debated. The polemics are so embedded that one reads for story but takes away a message of respect for an environment of which a woman, Goddess Kamakhya, is the agent. Again I am amazed by Indira’s foresightedness. Ecofeminism, Green Peace and Animal Rights are relatively new slogans.
There are many more aspects to Indira Goswami’s “womanism” but instead of entering details let me try to sketch a pattern. As a young woman she found tragedy and pain whereas she was born to happiness and privilege. Performing an act of self-withdrawal, she came out stronger with the realization of a map of social problems relating to women. Her tools for engendering social change were the written word, and later, the spoken address in public arena. I don’t mean to codify Indira Goswami’s creative journey for no gifted writer “plans” a path as such, but for the readers and critics, a pattern stands out discernibly.
To me, Indira is a composite writer endowed with a remarkable felicity with language and expression. Says Indira, “The language, to me, is a velvet dress in which I endeavour to cover the restless soul in its journey through existence.” The restlessness springs from an urge to speak out her commitment to the causes of equity and justice. No wonder then that the Ramayana, that epical tale about moral dilemma, should attract her as the platform for contemporary debates. In Vrindavan she had bought a massive volume of Tulsidas's Ramayana which continues to hold a special place and inspire her study of the 11th century Assamese Ramayana by Sri Madhava Kandali. Goswami’s views published in Ramayana from Ganga to Brahmaputra have been expanded by many seminar presentations. Lately when I contacted Indira Goswami for her views on Sita, she generously shared her thoughts on the use of mythological women characters in shaping current ideologies. For some years now Indira has been busy in trying to bring about a Peace process in Assam through the People's Consultative Group. That the militancy in Assam caused her to abandon her writing desk and accept the role of a mediator should come as no surprise.
In Delhi too Indira Goswami has been engaged with civil concerns. When the anti Sikh riots brought the city to shame in 1984, Indira’s personal and professional life was caught in turmoil. Indira was teaching at the University of Delhi and had a residence in Shakti Nagar. Her novel The Pages Stained With Blood captures the brutality and the distrust in the cityscape where the fugitives from justice and the perpetrators of crime are difficult to distinguish. To understand the complex nature of mercenary agents of crime, Indira even visited the infamous GB Road and spoke to the sex workers.
The common thread in Indira Goswami’s immensely diverse and rich oeuvre is the concern for women. In her person and in her work this is echoed multifariously. Despite the complex interstices, I see no contradictions—only a holistic expression of India’s many challenges to women’s empowerment and a gifted writer moulding them into creative forms.
© Malashri Lal. This essay may not be reproduced in any form without the prior permission of the author.
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2008 Principal Prince Claus Award to Indira Goswami

Indian writer Indira Goswami (1942, Guwahati, Assam) will be presented with this year’s Principal Prince Claus Award of €100,000 on Wednesday, 3 December 2008, in the Muziekgebouw aan ‘t IJ in Amsterdam.

Indira Goswami, in the judgement of the Prince Claus Award jury, is an outstanding writer who reveals the lived experience of ordinary people. Through powerful graphic descriptions and haunting images she shows how central the body is in human affairs, how political, religious and cultural systems are codified through the body; and how life process, gender, age, poverty and conflict are defined physically. A woman of remarkable insight and conviction, Indira Goswami (Mamoni Roisom Goswami as she is popularly known) is honoured for the unique quality of her writing, for identifying and expressing the inscription of cultural norms in the body, and for her influential social and cultural activism through literature.
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Indira Goswami, popularly known as Mamoni Raisom Goswami is one of the most celebrated writers in India. Born in 1942 she has published several creative and sholarly works in Assamese and English. The Moth Eaten Howdah of a Tusker, regarded as a classic in Assamese literature and excerpted in Mastepieces of Indian Literature (Sahitya Akademi) is a novel about the plight of Brahmin widows in Sattras of Assam; The Blue Necked Braja is perhaps the first novel written on the plight of Hindu widows popularly known as Radheswamis in Vrindavan; Pages Stained with Blood is a first person account of the Sikh-riots of 1984 in Delhi; The Man from Chinnamasta, is her most controversial and subversive novel which is a protest against the practice of animal sacrifice in the ancient Kamakhya Temple, in Guwahati, Assam; Pain and Flesh is her only published poetry collection in English. She is currently busy with a new novel based on a bodo woman who took up arms against the British.

She has been honored with the Sahitya Akademi Award in 1983 for the novel The Rusted Sword, Assam Sahitya Sabha Award 1988, Bharat Nirman Award 1989, Sauhardya Award from Uttar Pradesh Hindi Sansthan of Government of India 1992, Katha National Award for Literature 1993, Kamal Kumari Foundation National Award 1996 and in the year 2000 she won the country’s highest literay prize the Jnanpith Award. She has honorary D Litt degress from several universities like Indira Gandhi National Open University, Rabindra Bharati University and Rajiv Gandhi University Arunachal Pradesh. For her unparalled scholarly work in the field of Ramayani Studies she was awarded the International Tulsi Award from Florida University. Her ongoing pioneering efforts to bring peace in Assam through her crucial role in the peace talks between banned militant outfit ULFA and the Indian Government has brought a ray of hope to the twenty-eight years violence ridden atmosphere of the state. Words from the Mist directed by Jahnu Barua is one of the many biographical films made on her eventful life.
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Pakistan

Oh Pakistan, celestial land!
Give us your heart!
And take our heart in return!
Once we shared the same sky!
Sky with the same sun!
We shared the same pain like twins on the battlefield
to remove the dust.
*
Now our flesh is ripped apart
By that meandering barbed-wire fence!
Oh they have drawn that
dividing line on a flimsy paper!
That line of agony and tears
Can anyone draw that line
In our raw flesh, inside our heart?
*
Friends! Be happy where you
are...now!
Memory never fades, poets say
distance only purifies it…
We sat under the same tree,
Enjoyed the fragrance of the
same flower
Till that time
like a dagger
cut those rivers into
several pieces! Destroyed the
mountains and flower gardens where
we had played!
*
And those banks
where we had counted those
fig-coloured waves!
Like the honey laden
lips of the damsels!
We wore the same clothes
woven by our mothers!
We shivered in winter and in summer our
sweat slid down our backs
*
We enjoyed the same wine
from the poems of Ghalib
Momin and Zauk
We cried together in pain!
Under the blood stained sky.
*
Oh Pakistan! Celestial land
Give us your heart
And take our heart in return!
No we need not speak now
Only silence speaks in a clear voice.
Oh Pakistan! Silence can bring
the fragrance of a mother’s soul
Silence can reveal.
The heavenly beauty of Sutlej,
Chenab, and the Red River
Of the East!
Silence can be loud like
a million voices
Oh Pakistan! Celestial land!
Our eyes misted by the
Smoke of blossoming gun powder!
Our soul wounded by the unknown fires! Link
May these eyes now witness the
new Sunrise
On the banks of Sutlej,
Chenab, and in the Red
River of the East!
Oh Pakistan, celestial land!
Give us your heart!
And take our heart in return

(From Pain and Flesh; the first ever poetry collection of Indira Goswami. First publishe in Dawn, the leading daily from in Pakistan)
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The Intimate Mornings with Mamoni Baideo

Manjeet Barua
Or does it? Everyday, as I keep waiting for her governess to open the door, once the doorbell is pressed, I wonder if it isn’t the feel of relic that is enveloping the whole place. Yes, it feels so and when I sit inside, turning the pages of a magazine or a book listlessly, my eyes wander all over the ‘drawing room’ becoming more and more over the years into some static, motionless place for artifacts to live undisturbed. Paintings by Van Gogh, by Tagore, by others, and many of which are her own portraits, gifts collected from different parts of the world, antiques, photographs and pots and flower vases of different shapes and designs, everything stand quietly in some allocated positions. Is it like a museum? Probably. I can’t stop answering myself thus at times. But the very next moment, it would occur that what this atmosphere could possibly mean - a house like a museum? …Has life stopped for her then? … And soon, I would feel that my assumption has become a fact about her life and amidst all the awards and the artifacts that fill the room, this fact has become the most powerful presence of all in the space of the room. She is a famous writer. And like the paintings and the artifacts, she too has become another prized collection in the house. For me, it’s even more suffocating, suffocating to think that she too is only another artifact! And yet, it could well be my hallucination. I remember that too.

Early in the morning, the whole house is filled with the smell of burning incense sticks. There would be two in front of the bronze statue of Saraswati placed next to the ornamental sofa in the ‘drawing room’. The doors and windows shut tight, the entire atmosphere inside would feel smoky and aromatic. The thick maroon embroidered curtains would be partially open, and streaks of golden sunlight would sneak in, its brightness already mellowed while passing through the glass window panes. And it would be an utterly strange experience for me that one of the streaks of the sneaking sunlight would ever, at that point of time in the morning, fall on the feet of the bronze statue of the goddess, illuminating both the feet and the tiny heap of ash (from the burning incense sticks) that would accumulate at the feet of the goddess! What is that ash – of life turning lifeless, and whose life, mine or her’s?

Mamoni’s voice would float in amidst all of this. Everything is in order, the everyday sameness of the voice would announce to me. It would remind me of Turgenev’s Fathers and Sons, where Anna tells Bazarov that the rigour of daily order is important to prevent life from meandering. But that amounts to life becoming repetitive, Bazarov had protested. That’s precisely the backbone of life, was Anna’s quiet answer. To me, it has ever been a surprise, or more, a wonder that her voice would never fail to carry that sameness day after day, in tone, in pitch and in spirit. Where not to locate the order of sameness – in smile, in health, in gestures or in the topics of discussion? They were everywhere. Yes, there would spring inside me an admiration too for the sameness. But is it because things around my own life lack that stability, lacks any stability? Is it because of my desperate urge… wish to escape from the continuous torment of drift, of experiencing life being a haphazard collection of unknown sequences that creates that screen of admiration in my heart? How beguiling can life be! I live with this amazement that I derive a comfort out of her life, or out of an idea of her life that I have created and which I now perhaps believe to be true and that I despair and fear as well. What lies within, what lies inside her heart, do I not know of it then? … Frequently I have felt the pain of the thought that she perhaps is prodding me to ask and then only listen, just listen to her tale breaking loose, the long held waters of her heart breaking open and wash me over with it. The waters would be salty, never sweet. It would be a deluge and in it I shall never know her beginning or her end. Horizons would be lost forever.… And then, would it be the sameness once again, like stranded in the middle of an ocean, only water and water everywhere? … Ah! Why but the shadow of the idea never seems to part company! It feels like death.
Manjeet Baruah is a research scholar in Delhi University. His Ph.D. is on the sociology of aesthetics in modern Assamese fiction. Currently he is working (research/editorial) at Women's Studies & Development Centre, Delhi University. He has been closely associated with Indira Goswami for several years. He had translated the poems in the book Melodies & Guns, edited by Indira Goswami. His other publications include a collection of translated short stories Comedy of A Spark & Other Stories (Rupa & Co.), and short stories and articles in Indian Literature (Sahitya Akademi), Yatra, Women's Link and Social Action. He can be reached at manjeetbarua@gmail.com)
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Window to a Culture: The Moth Eaten Howdah Of A Tusker, by Dhanakshi Buragohain


First published in The Assam Tribune, 23rd July, 2004.

A still from 'Adajya':The Film by Santana Bordoloi based on The Moth Eaten Howdah of A Tusker

Mamoni Raisom Goswami is a celebrated name in the Assamese literary world. Goswami is known for her bold spirit. She is the second Assamese recipient of the Jnanpith Award, the highest literary award in India in the year 2000. Her short stories and novels set in different locales of India, give her readers a taste of life beyond the boundaries of Assam. When talking on the tough social issues of urban life, the harsh lives of labourers, and the plight of widows in Vrindaban and Assam, Goswami displays great empathy and compassion. She has an ear for the vernacular and is able to reproduce the coarse conversations of her protagonists. Her way of expressing anger or indignation at forced rituals and oppressive social customs is very subtle and guarded. Throughout her writings, she exudes confidence, courage and determination.

Mamoni Raisom Goswami, also known as Indira Goswami, has composed many short stories (Sinaki Moram, Koina, Hridoi Ek Nadir Naam etc), novels (Chenabar Srot, Nilakantha Braja, Ahiran, Mamore Dhara Tarowal, Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hawdah, Jakhmi Jatri, Chinnamastar Manuhto, etc), a biography (Mahiyashi Kamala) and her works have been translated into many Indian languages as well as English. Mamoni Raisom Goswami has received many awards for her literary contributions. (link: complete list of awards received by Indira Goswami)

The locales of most of Goswami’s writings are outside Assam e.g. Chenabar Srot is set in Jammu and Kashmir, The Blue Necked Braja in Uttar Pradesh, Ahiran in Madhya Pradesh, The Rusted Sword (Mamore Dhara Tarowal) in Uttar Pradesh, Pages Stained With Blood (Tez Aru Dhulire Dhusharita Prishta) in Delhi, etc. Only a few of her writings are based in Assam. In this regard, we can mention, The Moth Eaten Howdah Of A Tusker (Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Howdah). The setting of The Moth Eaten… is a Satra in the South Kamrup District of Assam. The plot revolves round the lives of three Brahmin widows in the family of the Satradhikar. Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Howdah vividly brings out the superstitions, the abuse of power and oppression that widows had to confront. The theme is the socio-economic decadence of the feudal institution lingering on till the modern times on the threshold of the independence of India and the repression of widows in the orthodox Brahmin society. The novel also depicts the lives of other common folk.

The Assamese culture has been depicted in great detail in The Moth Eaten…., Mamoni Raisom Goswami has mentioned about the beliefs, customs, rituals, food habits, dress, house-pattern of Assamese people in the novel.

The widows, basically from the Assamese Brahmin community were regarded as inauspicious and had to suffer great disadvantages. They had to lead a hopeless and frustrated life and had to observe many restrictions all through the rest of their lonely lives. A widow was served a bland vegetarian diet. She couldn’t take onions, garlic, fish, meat, etc. as mentioned in the novel: “She (Durga) will not be allowed to eat cooked food. Her daily share for three days will be raw vegetables and fruits.” (Page-6)


It is mentioned that Assamese Brahmin widows cannot wear ornaments or flowers, perfumed oil or soap and cannot use mirror. She has to wear white dresses and cannot put vermilion on her forehead. In the novel Mark says “Do you know how beautiful you (Giribala) are? Have you ever seen your face in the mirror?” (Page-96). In Assamese Brahmin society, the widows were regarded as impure. It was believed that whatever the widows touched, it would become impure and nobody would use or touch those things again, as mentioned The Moth Eaten Howdah….. The widows were not allowed to go to the kitchen where food was prepared for the family, as mentioned in the novel: “She took a step towards the kitchen. Durga, from the middle of the assembled women, cried out, “Don’t got there! The stove for cooking fish is kept there.” (page -15) The Assamese society believed that due to the presence of evil stars, many unusual things happen in life as mentioned in the novel. : “Her mother-in-law suspected that Durga’s real horoscope had three papagrahas (evil stars). She was considered inauspicious because of the papagrahas... (page-6).The Assamese women were brought up with the belief that husbands were an incarnation of God. They always prayed their husbands. Even a widow offered prayers to her dead husband: “...You must offer flowers, Tulsi, and water daily to your dead husband’s wooden sandals (paduka). You know husband is the God for a woman.” (page-99).

People believed that a married woman should not touch a widow. If a married woman did so, then she too would also get widowed early, the novel mentions: “Don’t touch her! You women with sindoor! She is a widow now.” (page-15) An Assamese Brahmin widow should not touch the shadow of other person. If they do so, then they have to take a bath to purify themselves: “...All of a sudden, there was an abrupt cry from Durga, she had found to her horror that Mark Sahab’s shadow had fallen on her body! A foreigner’s shadow on a Goswami widow. She fled immediately to the well and prepared for the second bath.” (page-36)

The novel also throws light on the traditional ornaments worn by the Assamese people. Among these the dugdugi (a kind of neck ornament), gal pata (a kind of neck plate), thuriya (clove shaped ear ornament), keru (ear ornament), jon-biri (crescent shaped gold ornament), are mentioned in the novel. The houses of the Assamese people were very simple. They were generally made of thatch, bamboo and reeds and called kecha-ghar. They had a separate kitchen, drawing room, guest room, dining hall, prayer house and living rooms. There was a courtyard in front of their house where ceremonial functions were held. The courtyard was cleaned with a mud and cow-dung mixture.

The practice of having a raised bamboo structure for storing articles above the fireplace called dhowa chang has been mentioned in her novel. The dhowa chang is kept in the kitchen for keeping eatables or for drying things for future use. This is kept above the fireplace. The use of the pira, dheki, khundana (a wooden pestle for crushing betel nuts), sarai, barpira by the Assamese people are also mentioned in the novel. The food habits of the Assamese people can also be known from The Moth Eaten …. Rice is the staple food of the Assamese people. Milk, curd, chira, mithei (jaggery), chonga pitha(made from bora-rice stuffed in slim bamboo pieces and cooked in smolders) and various kinds of sweets are mentioned in the novel. Delicious preparations are made from various kinds of vegetables, fish, meat, pulses, spices etc. It is mentioned in The Moth Eaten…that Assamese Brahmin people take mutton, black dal, arhar-dal, ginger, pepper, potato, brinjal, sponge gourd, papaya, ash-gourd, etc. Another favourite and common habit of the Assamese people is the chewing of raw areca nut with betel leaf and lime. It is also mentioned that Assamese people take their food on banana leaves at social functions. In Brahmin society, girls are regarded as pure till she attains puberty. After attaining puberty, the girls are regarded as impure by the Brahmin society. It is customary in the Brahmin society for the girls to marry before she attains puberty and also that Brahmin boys are not allowed to marry an adult girl. This is seen happening in the novel, as seen in the case of Iliman and Indranath. After puberty, it becomes problematic for Iliman to marry Indranath. Being a Brahmin, Indranath could not marry Iliman though he is in love with her. The Adhikar or the head of the Satra, occupies a respectable position in Assamese society. All the members of the society honour the Adhikar.

It is mentioned in The Moth Eaten Howdah… that the Adhikar and rich merchants used to keep several elephants for their glory and pomp. These elephants did the work of timber pulling and catching other wild elephants in various mahals (depot) of south Kamrup. This was a respectable business, which the Adhikars used to run with great interest. In this process, sometimes they amassed great wealth. The depiction of rituals is found in Mamoni Raisom Goswami’s fictional writings. In The Moth Eaten…, it is mentioned that the Assamese Brahmin widows are not allowed to take non-vegetarian food and if anybody does so, then it is regarded as a sin and they have to undergo some purification rituals, determined by the society. It is believed that if a widow or a Brahmachari partakes intentionally fish and meat, they will have to go through an eight dhanu prayaschita (purification rite for expiation in which eight quarters of a rupee and other gifts are paid to the officiating priests). If they eat masoordal, betel nut, white pumpkin, they will have to practice three dhanu prayschita (purification rite for expiation in which three quarters of a rupee and other gifts are paid to the officiating priests), as mentioned in The Moth Eaten …


In Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Howdah, Giribala, who is a widow, takes non-vegetarian food(mutton) at a social function and for this she undergoes prayaschita. “There are ways to purify her? Rituals for prayaschit!”(page-76). “She was pulled towards the well. The purohit dipped dubori grass in water and sprinkled it on Giribala at intervals, uttering a Sanskrit mantra at the same time with his peculiar faulty Sanskrit accent and full of grammatical errors.” (page-77)
If an Assamese widow maintains a relation with another person, it is regarded as a sin by the society and for this they have to undergo some prayaschita, as mentioned in The Moth Eaten….. It is believed that a Brahmin widow has to undergo nineteen dhanu prayaschita for the sin of having sexual relationship with a low caste man. In the novel, Giribala develops a deep attachment for Mark Sahab,who is a Christian youth, and for this, she undergoes some purification ceremony. She was brought to a small hut, made of dry banana leaves and straw, which was meant for sacrificing a goat by burning it alive in a fire, according to the rituals done for Devi Basanti.

Depiction of various festivals find mention in Mamoni Raisom Goswami’s fictional writings. Assamese people observe different festivals in different times for different purposes. Observing of Basanti puja, puhan bia, amati, by the Assamese people are mentioned in the novel, The Moth Eaten…

Mamoni Raisom Goswami has depicted Assamese culture in Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Howdah. It is true that the sole aim of the writer is not to give a detailed description of various aspects of Assamese culture only. But it is also true that reference to the culture of a people is inevitable in narrative fictional writings like novels to bring life into the story. Therefore, we get some informative references about the culture of a people in novels and short stories.

Ms. Dhanakshi Buragohain, M.A.(Cultural Studies, Tezpur University), NET (Folk Literature) and can be contacted at dhanakshi_buragohain@rediffmail.com

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Mamoni Roisom Goswami’s novels- Folkloric perspective, by Ms. Dhanakshi Buragohain

Mamoni Roisom Goswami is a celebrated name in the Assamese literary world. Goswami is known for her bold spirit. She is the second Assamese recipient of the Jnanpith Award, the highest literary award in India, in the year 2000.She has composed many short stories, novels, a biography and her works have been translated into many Indian languages as well as English. Mamoni Roisom Goswami has received many awards for her literary contributions.

The locales of most of Goswami’s writings are outside Assam. Only a few of her writings are based on Assam. In this regard, we can mention, Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda (The Moth Eaten Howdah of A Tusker)and Chinnamastar Manuhto.(The Man of Chinnamasta)
The setting of Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda is a satra (Vaishnavite Monastic institute of Assam)in the South Kamrup District of Assam. The plot revolves round the lives of three Brahmin windows in the family of the Satradhikar (Head of the Monastic institute). Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda vividly brings out the superstitions, the abuse of power and oppression that windows had to confront. The theme is the socio-economic decadence of the feudal institution lingering on till the modern times on the threshold of the independence of India and the repression of windows in the orthodox Brahmin society .The novel also depicts the lives of other common folk.
The locale of Chinnamastar Manuhto is Kamakhya temple; one of the famous pithasthans,situated on Nilachal Hill, at Guwahati, in Assam. The author holds up a picture of the Kamakhya temple in the novel and has depicted the beliefs, modes of worshipping, rites and rituals, fairs and festivals and the origin of Kamakhya temple.
The Assamese culture has depicted in great detail in Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda and Chinnamastar Manuhto.The author mentioned about the belief, customs and rituals of the Assamese people in these novels.
The widows, basically from the Assamese Brahmin community were regarded as inauspicious and had to suffer great disadvantages. They had to lead a hopeless and frustrated life. They had to observe many restrictions all through the rest of their lonely lives. A widow had to partake a bland vegetarian diet. She cannot take onions, garlic, fish, meat, etc. as mentioned in Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda: “She (Durga) will not be allowed to eat cooked food. Her daily share for three days will be raw vegetables and fruits”. (page-6)
It is mentioned that Assamese Brahmin widows cannot wear ornaments or flowers, perfumed oil or soap and cannot look at herself in the mirror. She has to wear white dresses and cannot put vermilion on her forehead. In the novel, Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda, Mark says “Do you know how beautiful you (Giribala) are? Have you ever seen your face in the mirror?” (page-96).
In Assamese Brahmin society, the widows were regarded as impure. It was believed that whatever the widows touched, it would become impure and nobody would use or touch those things again, as mentioned in Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Houda.The widows were not allowed to go to the kitchen where food was prepared for the family, as mentioned in Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda: “She took a step towards the kitchen. Durga, from the middle of the assembled women, cried out, “Don’t go there! The stove for cooking fish is kept there.” (page -15) The Assamese people believed that due to the presence of evil stars, many unusual things happened in life as mentioned in the novel, Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Houda, “Her mother-in-law suspected that Durga’s real horoscope had three papagrahas (evil stars). She was considered inauspicious because of the papagrahas...” (page-6).
The Assamese women believed that their husbands were an incarnation of God. They always prayed to their husbands. Even a widow offered prayers to her dead husband: “...You must offer flowers, Tulsi, and water daily to your dead husband’s wooden sandals. You know husband is the God for a woman.” (page-99).
Assamese people believed that a married woman should not touch a widow. If a married woman did so, then she too would get widowed early, as the novel Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Houda mentions:“Don’t touch her! You women with sindoor! She is a widow now.” (page-15) An Assamese Brahmin widow should not touch the shadow of other person. If they do so, then they have to take a bath to purify themselves: “...All of a sudden, there was an abrupt cry from Durga, she had found to her horror that Mark Sahab’s shadow had fallen on her body! A foreigner’s shadow on a Goswami widow. She fled immediately to the well and prepared for the second bath.” (page-36)
In the novel Chinnamastar Manuhto, the author also has depicted about the beliefs and customs of the Assamese people. It is mentioned in the novel that Mother Goddess Kamakhya can fulfill all the desired of human beings. Certain rituals are performed to propitiate Her. Animals such as goat, buffalo, pig, bulls and birds are sacrificed to propitiate Mother Goddess Kamakhya. “The buffalo, which was taken to sacrifice, did not want to go, he tried to come down” (page-10).It is believed that human sacrifice is of more avail than anything else. Blood drawn from one’s own body may be also offered “If devotee sacrifices their own blood, even if it is equal to a till then his all desires will be fulfilled within six months” (page-32).
It is believed, that if devotees enter to the Kamakhya temple through east direction, then they will gain money and through the North-South direction, they will attain salvation and Kingdom. And the path of South direction is the path of death, mentioned in Chinnamastar Manuhto: “Most of the devotees come through east door continuously... nobody comes through South direction....” (page-92).
One should not touch the residue of sacrificed animal or other things, which were offered to Mother Goddess Kamakhya, mentioned in Chinnamastar Manuhto. If anybody touches it, and then they have to undergo some rituals. “One devotee brings one bronze and one bowl which were offered to Mother Goddess Kamakhya, to me. Read the 16th chapter of Kalika Purana,then it will be pure.” (page-21)
The depiction of rituals is found in Mamoni Roisom Goswami’s fictional writings. In Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda, it is mentioned that the Assamese Brahmin widows are not allowed to take non-vegetarian food and if anybody does so, then it is regarded as a sin and they have to undergo some purification rituals, determined by the society. It is believed that if a widow or a Brahmachari partakes knowingly fish and meat, they will have to go through an eight dhanu prayaschita (purification rite for expiation in which eight quarters of a rupee and other gifts are paid to the officiating priests). If they eat masoordal, betel nut, white pumpkin, they will have to practice three dhanu prayschita (purification rite for expiation in which three quarters of a rupee and other gifts are paid to the officiating priests), as mentioned in Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda. In Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda, Giribala, who is a widow, takes non-vegetarian food at a social function and for this she undergoes some prayaschita.
“There are ways to purify her? Rituals for prayaschit!” (page-76). “She was pulled towards the well. The purohit dipped dubori grass in water and sprinkled it on Giribala at intervals, uttering a Sanskrit mantra at the same time with his peculiar faulty Sanskrit accent and full of grammatical errors”. (page-77) If an Assamese widow maintains a relation with another person, it is regarded as a sin by the society and for this they have to undergo some prayaschita, as mentioned in Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda. It is believed that a Brahmin widow has to undergo nineteen dhanu prayaschita for the sin of having sexual relationship with a low caste man. In the novel, Giribala develops a deep attachment for Mark Sahab, who is a Christian youth, and for this, she undergoes some purification ceremony. She was brought to a small hut, made of dry banana leaves and straw, which was meant for sacrificing a goat by burning it alive in a fire, according to the rituals done for Devi Basanti.
In Assamese Brahmin society, girls were regarded as pure till she attains puberty. After attaining puberty, the girls are regarded as impure by the Brahmin society. It was customary in the Brahmin society for the girls to marry before she attains puberty and also that Brahmin boys are not allowed to marry an adult girl. This is seen happening in the novel, Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda, in the case of Iliman and Indranath. After puberty, it becomes problematic for Iliman to marry Indranath. Being a Brahmin, Indranath could not marry Iliman though he is in love with her.
The Adhikar or the head of the Satra, occupies a respectable position in Assamese society. All the members of the society honour the Adhikar. It is mentioned in Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda that the Adhikar and rich merchants used to keep several elephants for their glory and pomp. These elephants did the work of timber pulling and catching other wild elephants in various mahals (depot) of South Kamrup. This was a respectable business, which the Adhikars used to run with great interest. In this process, sometimes they amassed great wealth.
The food habits of the Assamese people can be known from Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda. Rice is the staple food of the Assamese people. Milk, curd, chira (one kind of traditional Assamese dish, made of rice), mithei(one kind of ladhu), chonga pitha (a kind of cake, prepared in bamboo tubes)and various kinds of sweets are mentioned in the novel. It is also mentioned that Assamese Brahmin people take mutton, black dal, arhardal, ginger, pepper, potato, brinjal, sponge gourd, papaya, ashgourd, etc. It is mentioned in Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda that Assamese people take their food on banana leaves at social functions. The practice of having a raised bamboo structure for storing articles above the fireplace called dhowa chang has been mentioned in Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda. The dhowa chang is kept in the kitchen for keeping eatables or for drying things for future use. This is kept above the fireplace. The use of the pira (small stool, made of wood, used for sitting), dheki (one kind of instrument, made of wood, used for preparing various kind of eatable things), khundana (a wooden pestle for crushing betel nuts), sarai (traditional Assamese tray), barpira (one kind of wooden stool), by the Assamese people are also mentioned in the novel. In Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda the author also depicts about the traditional ornaments and the house pattern of the Assamese people.
Depiction of various festivals is found on Mamoni Roisom Goswami’s novels. Assamese people observe different festivals in different times for different purposes. Observing of Basanti Puja, Puhan Bia, Amati, by the Assamese people are mentioned in the novel, Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda. Ambubachi mela, Durga puja, Nawanna, Madan Chatuwali, Rajrajwari puja, Sathe brat, Devadhani, Kumari puja, Puhan Bia are observed at Kamakhya temple, mentioned in Chinnamastar Manuhto. ”Many festivals Durga puja,Nawanna,Madan Chatuwali,Rajrajwari puja,Sathe rat,Devadhani etc.had observed ,but Bidhibala did not come to attend these festival” (pages, 48-49). Depiction of Ambubachi fair is found in the novel, Chinnamastar Manuhto. The Ambubachi fair is organized every year during monsoon in the Kamakhya temple. The fair attracts thousands of devotees from all over the country and abroad .It is believed that, once in a year Mother Earth becomes “impure”, this impurity is the same as the impurity of women due to menses. It lasts as in the human world for three days, and the temple’s doors are closed from outside view during these days. ”For Ambubachi mela, the door of the temple has closed”. (page-92)
The temple doors are flung open on the fourth day, and the pilgrims, gathered for the occasion, are allowed a darshan. ”Tomorrow is the pure day, in Ambubachi lots of Sadhu, Sannyashi....” (page-91)
It is mentioned in Chinnamastar Manuhto that Devadhani festivel is observed at Kamakhya temple. In this festival, Mother Goddess Manasa is worshipped. Manasa is a Goddess of snake, depicted in Chinnamastar Manuhto.:”Two snakes are present on the shoulder of Goddress and other two are on the head of Goddress Mnasa.” (page-159.)Manasa Devi is worshipped with vermillion, turmeric, papal, bamboo, coconut etc., mentioned in the novel. Animals such as buffaloes, goats, pigs and birds are sacrificed to propitiate the goddess as mentioned in Chinnamastar Manuhto: ”The sacrified heads of goat make a hill on the feet of Goddess Manasa”(page-165).There are some special agents known as deodhas, to find out the spirit causing serious diseases and misfortunes. Every God and Goddess has his or her own deodha, as like deodha of Tara, deodha of Chinnamasta, deodha of Siva, deodha of Ganesh, deodha of Kuber etc. Accompanied by the rhythm of drum and music, each deodha performs dance with own style, as mentioned in the novel: ”Deodha of Goddess Kli start dancing by raising hand near the Ayati.” The deodha wears a garland of Tulshi and holds a sword while dancing. ”They come one by one with flower and Tushi garland in their head and neck and start dancing”(page-174).It is mentioned in Chinnamastar Manuhto, through worshipping of deodha, devotee can reach to God and Goddess and if deodha gets disturbance then the God and Goddess will be unsatisfied. Kumari puja (vergin worship) is observed at Kamakhya temple, mentioned in the novel Chinnamastar Manuhto. It is believed that at Kamakhya, the Goddess appears in the form of a virgin. So, some of the pilgrims worship the living virgins as Goddess in this temple.
A myth associated with the Kamakhya temple is depicted in Chinnamastar Manuhto, “The light comes from the east direction. The pieces of clouds gather on dhasmachal. These pieces are as if the body pieces of Sati on the shoulder of Siva, which were cut by a Bishnu Sani; yes, yes, these body pieces have fallen down in various places....” (page 147). The Kalika Purana, an ancient work in Sanskrit, describes Kamakhya as the yielder of all desires, the young bride of Shiva, and the giver of salvation. Myth has it that following the destruction of Daksha’s sacrifice and the Rudra Tandava of Shiva, parts of Sati’s body fell at several places throughout India, and these places are revered as Shakti Peethas. The reproductive organ of Sati (the yoni) is said to have fallen at Kamakhya. Myth also has it that Shakti, the Mother Goddess, challenged the supreme creative power of Brahma and that Brahma could thereafter create, only with the blessings of the yoni, as the soul creative principle. After mass penance, Brahma brought down a luminous body of light from space and placed it with in the yoni circle, which was created by the Goddess and placed at Kamarupa.
Mamoni Roisom Goswami has depicted Assamese culture in Datal Hatir Uwe Khuwa Hauda and Chinnamastar Manuhto. It is true that the soul aim of the writer is not to give a detailed description of various aspects of Assamese culture only. But it is also true that reference to the culture of a people is inevitable in narrative fictional writings like novels to bring life in to the story. Therefore, we get some informative references about the culture of a people in novels and short stories.
Ms. Dhanakshi Buragohain, M.A.(Cultural Studies, Tezpur University),NET (Folk Literature)

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