Elderly Mohammad Quasim, fanning himself with a beautiful hand-woven fan of colourful thread, suddenly asks, "Can you guess what the strings are woven around?" After making a few random guesses, I give up. He then reveals with a triumphant gleam in his eyes, "Peacock feather stems." Yet, the next instance his face clouds over, "If we move, my daughters in-law will never have any more stems to weave fans with."
Quasim's household, which includes the families of his three sons, is currently living in the breathtakingly beautiful surroundings of the Rajaji National Park, near Dehradun, Uttarakhand. The Ban Gujjar tribe, a transhumant tribe of buffalo herders, has traditionally lived in the Himalayas for centuries, migrating seasonally between the upper and lower regions. Now, however, the Gujjar families living inside the park are under pressure to relocate to the plains.
Some 1,200 families have already been relocated, since the migration started in 1998. But the 1,400 families - Quasim's household included - that are still living inside the national park are resisting the relocation drive. While the park administration claims that the relocation will translate into a substantial improvement in the lifestyle of the Gujjar community, in terms of education and health, the women fear the worst.
A visit to the relocation colonies at Pathri and Gaindikhatta in the Haridwar district of Uttarakhand reveals that the women of the Gujjar tribe have lost a lot more than just peacock feathers. The drastic changes in lifestyle, livelihood and the nature of social interaction have had a negative impact on them.
But the most unfortunate outcome of relocation has been death - in large numbers - of the Gujjars' most important source of livelihood: buffaloes. Belonging to the rare and ancient Neeliravi breed, these buffaloes are used to cool climes and green fodder, and have not been able to adapt to the heat of the plains and the dry fodder. When they had descended from the hills, most families, on an average, owned 12 to 15 buffaloes. Now, however, the buffaloes are a rare sight in the colonies. And their loss has completely destroyed the economy of the tribe, which has hit women particularly hard.
Health has been a major casualty. The diet of the Gujjars, that had once consisted of ample quantities of milk, curds and 'ghee' (clarified butter), has undergone a sea change as these products have disappeared from their platters altogether. Raushan Bibi, who is in her mid-thirties, has been living in the Gaindikhatta relocation colony for six years now. She says, "In the hills, we used to sell 'ghee' for Rs 100 a kilogram (US$1=Rs 42.7), but here it costs twice as much. Food cooked in vegetable oil causes stomach troubles. Women and children in nearly every family are suffering from constant stomach ailments since we moved here."
Milk consumption, reveals Hussain Bibi, who is around 40, another resident, has also dropped sharply. "In the hills, it was a practice for everyone to drink at least one tumbler full of milk daily - both men and women. And buttermilk flowed freely. Here there is no milk even for tea," she rues.
This change in diet and its adverse effects has resulted in emaciation, anemia and general weakness. Constant fatigue and bodyache are common complaints. "Since I have come here, all I appear to be doing is taking care of sick children," says Noor Bano, who is around 40 and a mother of four. She suffers from anaemia herself. "In the hills our children were hardly ever sick," she recalls sadly.
With the buffaloes, the women have also lost their traditional work of making 'ghee', butter, and 'khoya' (evaporated creamy milk). "Earlier, each woman used to send at least 100 to 150 kilograms of 'ghee' to the market every winter," informs Hussain Bibi, "It is our own work, and among Gujjars, women are much respected because of the work they do which goes to supplement the family income."
The devastation of the milk economy has forced many women to turn to wage labour, but this form of employment is so foreign to their traditional lifestyles that a large number of them have just given it up. "The employers keep saying, do this, do this, do this! And they always suspect us of shirking work," says an exasperated Noor Bano, who worked for four months before throwing in the towel because of failing health.
"Our women are proud and self-contained," explains Roshan Deen, a community leader and the husband of Hussain Bibi, "They are not used to being ordered around. In our culture even a husband can't barge into the house and demand food - he has to speak courteously to his wife. When the employers here order them around or talk rudely, the women tend to get stressed, and find it difficult to work."
The tension and fear of excessive social contact was evident. When I tried to talk to them, most of the women simply walked away. It was only with much cajoling that some consented to speak.
The change in geography and lifestyle has also made the traditional house-building skills of the Gujjar women irrelevant. During the recent flash floods in Haridwar district, hundreds of Gujjar 'deras' - magnificent and roomy structures of mud, thatch and timber - which were traditionally designed, plastered and decorated by women, were washed away in both Pathri and Gaindikhatta colonies. "Our 'deras' were very suitable for our mountainous lifestyles," says Hussain Bibi, "but here we need concrete houses to withstand the floods."
Since in the Gaindikhatta colony no houses have been provided, people were forced to build traditional 'deras', but that has proved to be an expensive affair. Khatoon Bibi says, "In the hills it was a maximum of two days' work for a woman to collect enough grass for her 'chappar' (thatch). But here my 'chappar' cost me Rs 6,000 in grass alone. It is four years old now. We badly need a new 'chappar', but do not have the money for it."
When asked to evaluate their new lives against the old in terms of quality of life, most women grow uneasy. After much thought, Raushan Bibi says, "We had consented to relocation chiefly for two reasons - education for our children and medical facilities. But now we are so impoverished that we can't afford good schools for our children. And though we have better access to doctors, it is also true that we need them a lot more than we used to in the hills. Our losses are so great that they quite neutralise the gains we had hoped for."
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