THE PAST IS IN THE PRESENT

Another time, another place, another journey...

by Ariti Jankie

The journey of life often takes us to places we are least prepared for.

Texas was never on my radar as the place where I would live but as fate would have it, the children moved and I had to follow. The search for fellow Trinidadians continued with little success (most of them too busy) for many months. Then I stumbled upon a temple group comprising about 15 middle aged couples. My childhood resonated in the pooja (ritual worship), music and bhajan singing and soon I was downloading songs to learn and each Friday evening when Durga Pooja was held, I had a new song to sing.

I pitched Indian Arrival Day to them simply because I have been so involved in the celebration held in Trinidad. The idea evoked pent up emotions and was ripe for the picking. Within two weeks, there was a larger venue than the one where the weekly pooja is held, artistes were booked, a video-recordering company hired, a podium built, the menu planned and invitations went out. I laid out a plan for a “Jahajee Walk” half expecting these Americanised Trinidadians, Guyanese, Fijians and Americans too, to be so open to the idea.

 

They came out early as early as 7.30 am. It was a beautiful day; the sun shining brightly as the walk began beneath the shady trees. Larry Sawh formerly of Santa Flora wore Indian traditional cotton, tied his head (like the typical coolie), and walked with a saank (conch shell) in his hand.

The temple group; a Sat Maharaj Sanatan Dharma Maha Sabha, Branch 377 of Texas led by Couva born Dharam Vishal Chatoor wore white cotton with a toupee on his head as did Fiji-born Ram Sharma, Peter Gooman and Tulsi Mahabir both from Chaguanas. The ladies came too; many of them arrived late well dressed for the formal program that started at 10.00am.

Beneath the trees, mats were spread for a damadol (tomato) choka and sada roti with lipton tea but not before stories were told of the Aja/Ajee – Nana/Nani (grandparents) and the early days of struggle.

Sharma’s father left India for Fiji at the age of 19. He had gone to the shop when he was persuaded to join a crew which he believed were working for some quick money a few miles from where he lived in Basti, Uttar Pradesh, India. Six months later, the parents who believed their son to be dead, received a letter he had written in Hindi telling them that he was safe in Fiji.

Chatoor remembered his grandfather building a mandir at his home in Exchange Village, Couva that stands till today. He had tears in his eyes as he recounted tales from childhood when he had to take a bath and perform pooja before attending primary school.

Mahabir, the uncle of Bhojpuri singer and pundit Sat Mahabir painted a vivid picture of life in Charlieville, Chaguanas in the 1950s and 60s.

They had chosen nine pioneers of Indian Culture in Texas to be honoured including Mahabir and his wife Chandra, Ramkissoon Goonie who was born in Cushe in the Biche district and Trinidad born Rajkumar Soodeen. Four Guyanese were chosen. Pundit Sais Narain, Jankie Soomar, Sundardaye Gooberdhan and Bhanwattee Sanacharra as well as Fiji born Pundit Rajendra Sharma received plaques after an aarti thali was waved around them to ward off evil.

 

Tassa commanded attention and Bobby Teelucksingh with his band of boys did not disappoint. Sawh with jhaal in his hands danced in a folk rhythm while some the ladies moved to the rhythm in keeping with the temple atmosphere. Amrita Chatterpal performed two dances. She is the teenage daughter of a Trinidadian mother and Guyanese father. The temple singers performed classical and folk songs and from 10.00 am to 2.30 p.m with more than 200 in attendance, the program flowed smoothly with Sharda Jaishree as Master of Ceremonies.

There were many speeches and I have learnt to add drama in my talks. I called it “ THE SAGA OF INDIAN ARRIVAL.”

“There is a crowd at the banks of the Hooghly River in Kolkata. All eyes are on the river where a boat is about to sail.

Someone calls out to a man boarding the ship, “Bhaiya, Jaldi wapas anna.”

And you strain to hear his answer, “Mei Zaroor awoonga.”

The man stands in soiled cotton, barefooted.

He is thinking that in an hour or so he would have crossed the Kala Paani to begin sifting “chinni” (sugar) in a place called “Chinnidad”. He will only stay three days he decides, and with money in his pocket, he would return to his family.

His mother was rocking the baby to sleep when he left. He hears her sweet voice in his head singing, “Haray Murari…..”     

With the song in his head, he goes inside the ship to find people packed like animals; people from different castes and far flung villages. His heart is pounding in his chest. Hours go by; day turns to night, night to day,

On the third day, he hears someone singing from the Ramayan. Prabhu Sri Ram is mourning for his brother Lakshman, lying wounded in the battlefield.

“You gave up life in a palace to come to the forest with me – what happiness did you get.

“What will I say to Mother Sumitra and Mother Kaushalaya…

He sings with them …Chor ye Ayodha ka sook tumhara, yogi roop banaya. Jis bhaiye ka liya yu udh may praan ke baat banaaya….. Mata Kaushalya aur Sumitra jo koye baat hi hare, kaand mool asay haat mella ka, akayia paar paar ayee…….Utho Lakhan lall priya baiye.

Tears are falling from their eyes. And he pictures himself on the battlefield. Then he  hears the joyous shouts as Hanuman Ji is spotted coming with the tree of life – mol sajeevan….and he sings along... “Aye gayawo Hanumana Siya Pati RamchandraJi Ki Jai Saranam.

Out of darkness comes light. Hope springs within his heart.

And still the ship sails, days turning to weeks and the months roll on. Many are sick; almost daily fellow passengers are jumping overboard; the ordeal too hard to bear. He doesn’t want to think of the betrayal at the hands of evil men, the same ones who invaded his homeland.

Faith was sinking lower into his soul when one morning he raised his head in prayer to Shri Surujnarayan and listens to shouts.

The journey has come to an end after 103 days at sea.

He becomes one of 147,572 Indians registered on arrival in Trinidad. They send him to the south of the country.

He is cheated of his 12 cents a day labor; he gets instead 2 pounds of rice. 2 ditto of dhal, 2 ounces of salt, some oil and tamarind. They give him for the whole year 2 dhotis, 2 blankets, a shirt and a cap.

He cannot go back. They offer him a piece of land. He sits down to think but doesn’t want to remember. He will surely go mad. He surrenders to God and accepts a marriage proposal. She, like him, has worked the bonded labor where expectant mothers weed, cut cane and tote big bundles of cane often aborting and with no time to grieve, tore a piece of their orhnis and tie it tight beneath their abdomen to hold their wombs in place.

He cuts a bamboo and plants it on the river bank. It is his mandir where he offers jhal before the rising sun. He embraces Mother Earth and she rewards him with bumper harvests. India slowly recedes.

All around him are his brothers and sisters of the ship. The battle has begun. They have children, they must fight for the right to be Hindus and Muslims; to build houses, mandirs and mosques, to worship and celebrate, build schools and educate their children. They cleared the land, planted fruit trees, taught their children everything they knew and still sent them to schools, to colleges and universities.

Still barefooted and in soiled cotton clothes, he endured. They called him a Coolie. He told them he was a Bong coolie – they made him so He was proud of what he was able to accomplish out of the cruelty and humiliation he and his Jahaji bhai suffered.

As we stand here today, we have done our ancestors proud. We took the education; they took pains to give us. We moved out of agriculture, we fought for our freedom; we won equality, we have refined the traditions they handed to us. Most of all, we went back to Bharat Mata to search and find out roots; to fulfill the desires of the man who came. 

And like him, we hold on to the hands of God as we hear the voice singing, “Siya Rama mei sab jag jaani…karho pranayama Jodi jug paani…….”