India’s Wonderful Secret:A Journey Through Orissa

Text & Photographs by Debbie Jefkin-Elnekave

hen was the last time you said “Wow!” and meant it? I mean, really meant it? Ifit’s been a while, or if you can’t remember, maybe it’s high time you head forOrissa. “Where?” I hear you ask. An informal survey of inveterate travelers

revealed that few, including frequent visitors to India, had ever heard of Orissa. Located onIndia’s southeastern seaboard, it is a locus of traditions, customs, and ethnic and tribal groupsthat can be traced back to the stone ages. This unique and exotic state is the only one of itskind in India, and one of the few in the world. Although it finds mention in obscureanthropology texts, it rarely appears in guidebooks, so it has been happily spared the blight ofmass tourism. The few visitors who come here find it hard to believe that India could hidesuch a wonderful secret so well.

Artistry for the agesWhen counting Orissa’s considerable blessings, onemust begin with the natural beauty of its setting.Carpets of rice paddies and yellow rapeseed fieldsserve as a foreground to timeless folds of lush,verdant, forested mountains. This pristine region wasconquered by King Ashoka in 260 B.C., withBhubaneswar serving as the capital, but it wasn’t untilthe 7th century A.D. that the Odissi culture began toflourish. This period gave birth to a treasure trove ofhandicrafts and artistic achievements.

In Nuapatna Village, ikat (commonly known as tie-dye) weavers create geometric patterns and highlystylized fish, deer and border motifs on cotton andsilk fabrics. They wrap parts of the weaving withdye-resistant materials, so that during the dyeingprocess, the areas under the ties remain the originalcolor. The precision of the wrapping determines theclarity of the design.

The nearby villagers of Nabajeran Pur craft dokra sculptures, using the lost wax castingmethod. Originally an art form of nomads, it is said to be the oldest form of metal casting. Afinely detailed model is made with wax on a clay core, then clay paste is applied and the objectis left in the shade to dry. Finally, the hollow casting method is used to replace the wax withmolten scrap brass, to create exquisite motifs of elephants, horses, peacocks, drummers andmystic tribal gods.

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Patichitra paintings of Puri rose to popularity in the 15th and 16th century as a means ofspreading the Hindu faith. The silk canvass is prepared by sticking together two pieces of clothwith tamarind seed paste. These striking creations bind faith and exacting beauty in a spectacleof riotous color and highly stylized figures. Each element is defined by ancient texts, religiousmyths and local tradition.

Perhaps the greatest artisticachievement of the Odissi period wasthe classical dance form, which datesback to the 8th century, as depicted intemple sculptures of that period. Itwas originated by devadasis, or'female slaves of the deity,' who wererequired to perform from early eveninguntil bedtime. They were notpermitted to marry, as their dedicationto temple service was considered amarriage with the deity. As centuriespassed, their services shifted from

heavenly gods to so-called earthly gods and lords, which amounted to a life of prostitution withreligious sanction. The dance technique is based on three postures. Chowka is the masculineposture of Lord Jagannath, with the body weight distributed equally on both sides. Thefeminine tribhanga posture forms a series of triangles with the elbows, knees, neck and torso.The abhanga posture is formed by deflecting the knee in order to displace the body weight toone side. Over time this magnificent dance form became nearly obsolete, but fortunately, a1950’s revival has restored Odissi dancing to its original glory and fame.

Testament to a bygone eraAn hour away from the capital, Puri boasts the 13th centuryKonark Sun Temple, one of Orissa’s greatest culturaltreasures. The magnificent carvings of this architecturalmasterpiece comprise an eloquent narration that evokes theancient and exotic life of 13th century Orissa. The entiremassive temple was conceived as a great celestial chariotwith huge wheels, drawn by seven colossal horses, to carrythe Sun God on his daily journey across the sky. It took1200 masons twelve years to complete, and it stands just asmajestically today as it did then, as an enduring testamentto the craftsmanship of a bygone era.

Tribal stewards of living historyBut if Konark Sun Temple is Orissa’s diamond, then thestone age hill tribes that inhabit the isolated, mountainousregion of the area are certainly her pearls. Most of the 64 original tribes have becomeassimilated and abandoned their tribal ways of life. However, several remain, as a reminder oftheir limitless capacity, in a world mired in pop culture and trends, to hold fast to their lifeways and traditions.

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On a visit to Puttasingh Market, I meet Kusumi,one of 300,000 members of the Longia Souratribe. As a young woman, she insertedincreasingly larger balsa wood plugs into herpierced ears, until today the lobes nearly reachher shoulders. Hallmarks of her society includepolygamy, shamanism and a belief in forestdeities. Perhaps the most fascinating practice ofher tribe is the courting ritual. She tells me thestory about when her future husband wished topropose marriage. He left a pot of liquor on herfather’s porch. Although her father was unawareof the identity of the suitor, he chose to accept theliquor. This ritual was repeated two more time,and the third time the liquor was accepted, it wasconsidered a marriage contract. Only then wasthe identity of her future husband revealed.Unlike the custom of other tribes, Kusumicontinues to belong to her father’s family, not toher husband’s.

A gift from the spiritsFurther into the hills, geometric tattoos readily

identify women of the three sects of the Kondh tribe: Kutia, Desia and Dongariya. Particularlydistinct are the facial tattoos worn by the Kutia women of Gabangpatmar Village. As animistswho practice spirit worship, they believe that when they die, these markings will help them torecognize each other in the spirit world. I visit with Bahali, one of the villagers, as she fawnsover her child. She tells me that he is a gift from anancestral spirit; the reincarnation of a dead ancestorwhose identity was determined through divination.In spite of this belief, until British rule, the Kondhpracticed infanticide to ensure a better yield oftumeric, and human sacrifice to appease theirdeities, the Earth Goddess and her 12 disciples.

Lost in timeEager to visit the tribe described by ananthropologist as “the wildest, fiercest, rudest, andpossibly the most fascinating” tribe, I arrive to theweekly Onukudelli market of the Bonda tribe.Known as “the naked people,” the women’scostume consists only of a colorful cascade ofstrands upon strands of tiny yellow, orange andwhite beads, and a matching skullcap. A brass nosering and silver ear hoops complete the ensemble.Men wear loin-cloths and carry bows and arrows,which they won’t hesitate to use if you even thinkabout stealing their palm liquor.

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These expert farmers, hunters and fishermen are strictanimists who practice black magic and witchcraft, andbelieve that death is the work of evil spirits. They alsopractice ancestor worship, housing the spirits of deadancestors in a wooden post in their homes.

It is the early morning and the village is filled withthrongs of villagers entering the market. One six-year oldchild breaks away from the crowd and comes forward.She approaches and sits on a rock before me, under thewatchful eye of a village elder. Her name, Sombrani,means Wednesday, for the day of the week on which shewas born. There is a certain paradox in her demeanor: aninnocence, yet a seriousness; a simplicity, yet acomplexity; a lost-in-time essence, yet an awareness ofmodern encroachment. A paradox that is indispensablylinked to the threat to her dwindling, 6000 member stoneage tribe.

The Onukudelli market is also attended by members of the Gadaba tribe. Pageants of womenin brilliant sarees emerge from the surrounding hills laden with basketloads of eggplant,jackfruit, tomatoes, tumeric, pineapple & bananas, balanced gracefully on their heads. Theycarry with an ease that bewilders, yet it is second nature to them. The ground is rocky; theirfeet are bare. How much heavier does it feel after the first mile? How long since they left theirvillage? How soon before they begin the long journey home again?

Answering the drummer’s callI wander into the nearby Gutalpada Gadaba village at a most serendipitous moment. The rusticstrains of two drums and a hand-made wooden flute hang in the air ina hypnotic refrain that can only bedescribed as indigenous. Somethingextraordinary is clearly about tounfold as dozens of womenmaterialize, seemingly out ofnowhere. They link arms in avigorous choreography of theirnative dance, which appears to me asan endless rendition of hava nagilaon steroids. The women invite me tojoin in my own two-left-footedversion of the dance. But this ismore than just an afternoon of entertainment. It is evidence of the unshakable foundation oftheir deep cultural heritage. The revelry continues for an hour, then ends as abruptly as itbegan. The village is quieted now, utterly tranquil in contrast to the festivity of the dance.Until the next time the Gadaba women answer the drummers’ call, signaling another ceremonyis about to begin. Even the passage of time will not intrude upon their steadfast commitment touphold the tribal customs that define their existence.

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I end up in Vishakapatnam, back to civilization as I know it.Sitting in the lobby of the luxuriously modern hotel, I wonder ifI had landed in a time warp, or if I had spent the past two weeksin some strange, wonderful world of dreams. Etched in mymind are images of exotic dances, ancient architecture, historictreasures, timeless traditions, and of the past kept alive by thefierce determination of tribal stewards of living history. I turn tomy traveling companion for his reflections on this unforgettablejourney. Not one for hyperbole or effusive observations, hesums it up perfectly: “Wow! And I really mean it.” I couldn’thave said it better myself.