Читать книгу The Religion and Folklore of Northern India - William Crooke - Страница 64

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The business of selecting a site for a new village or hamlet is one which needs infinite care and attention to the local godlings of the place. No place can be chosen without special regard to the local omens. There is a story told of one of the Gond Râjas of Garh Mandla, whose attention was first called to the place by seeing a hare, when pursued by his dogs, turn and chase them. It struck him that there must be much virtue in the air of a place where a timid animal acquired such courage.31 The site of the settlement of Almora is said to have been selected by one of the kings before whom in this place a hare was transformed into a tiger.32 Similar legends are told of the foundation of many forts and cities.

But it is with the local godlings that the founder of a new settlement has most concern. The speciality of this class of godlings is that they frequent only particular places. Each has his separate jurisdiction, which includes generally one or sometimes a group of villages. This idea has doubtless promoted the rooted disinclination of the Hindu to leave his home and come into the domain of a fresh set of godlings with whom he has no acquaintance, who have never received due propitiation from him or his forefathers, and who are hence in all probability inimical to him. But people to whom the local godling of their village has shown his hostility by bringing affliction upon them for their neglect of his service, can usually escape from his malignity by leaving his district. This habit of emigration to escape the malignity of the offended godling doubtless accounts for many of the sites of deserted villages, which are scattered all over the country. We say that they were abandoned on account of a great famine or a severe epidemic, but to the native mind these afflictions are the work of the local deity, who could have warded them off had he been so disposed. Hence when a settlement is being founded it is a matter of prime necessity that the local godling or group of godlings should be brought under proper control and carefully identified, so as to ensure the safety and prosperity of the settlement. The next and final stage is the establishment of a suitable shrine and the appointment of a competent priest.

There are, as might have been expected, many methods of identifying and establishing the local gods. Thus in North Oudh, when a village is founded the site is marked off by cross stakes of wood driven into the ground, which are solemnly worshipped on the day of the completion of the settlement, and then lapse into neglect unless some indication of the displeasure of the god again direct attention to them. These crosses, which are called Daharchandî, are particularly frequent and well-marked in the villages occupied by the aboriginal Thârus in the sub-Himâlayan Tarâî, where they may be found in groups of ten or more on the edge of the cultivated lands. So, among the Santâls, a piece of split bamboo, about three feet high, is placed in the ground in an inclined position and is called the Sipâhî or sentinel of the hamlet; among the Gonds two curved posts, one of which is much smaller than the other, represent the male and female tutelary gods.33

In the Eastern Districts of the North-Western Provinces a more elaborate process is carried out, which admirably illustrates the special form of local worship now under consideration. When the site of a new settlement is selected, an Ojha is called in to identify and mark down the deities of the place. He begins by beating a drum round the place for some time, which is intended to scare vagrant, outsider ghosts and to call together the local deities. All the people assemble, and two men, known as the Mattiwâh and the Pattiwâh, “the earth man” and “the leaf man,” who represent the gods of the soil and of the trees, soon become filled with the spirit and are found to be possessed by the local deities. They dance and shout for some time in a state of religious frenzy, and their disconnected ejaculations are interpreted by the Ojha, who suddenly rushes upon them, grasps with his hands at the spirits which are supposed to be circling round them, and finally pours through their hands some grains of sesamum, which is received in a perforated piece of the wood of the Gûlar or sacred fig-tree. The whole is immediately plastered up with a mixture of clay and cow-dung, and the wood is carefully buried on the site selected for the Deohâr or local shrine. By this process the deities are supposed to be fastened up in the sacred wood and to be unable to do any mischief, provided that the usual periodical offerings are made in their honour.

This system does not seem to prevail among the Drâvidian races of the Vindhyan plateau. Some time ago I discussed the matter with Hannu Baiga, the chief priest of the Bhuiyas beyond the Son, and he was pleased to express his unqualified approval of the arrangement. Indeed, he promised to adopt it himself, but unfortunately Hannu, who was a mine of information on the religion and demonology of his people, died before he could apply this test to the local deities of his parish. His wife has died also, and I understand that he is known to be the head of all the Bhûts or malignant ghosts of the neighbourhood, while his wife rules all the Churels who infest that part of the country.

At the same time, to an ordinary Baiga the plan would hardly be as comfortable as the present arrangement. It would not suit him to have the local ghosts brought under any control, because he makes his living by doing the periodical services to propitiate them. Nowadays he believes fully in the influence of the magic circle and of spirituous liquor as ghost scarers. Both these principles will be discussed elsewhere. So he is supposed once a year at least, or oftener in case of pestilence or other trouble, to perambulate all round the village boundary, sprinkling a line of spirits as he walks. The idea is to form a magic circle impervious to strange and, in the nature of the case, necessarily malignant ghosts, who might wish to intrude from outside; and to control the resident local deities, and prevent them from contracting evil habits of mischief by wandering beyond their prescribed domains.

The worst about this ritual is that the Baiga is apt to be very deliberate in his movements, and to drink the liquor on the road and to spoil the symmetry of the circle during his fits of intoxication. I know of one disreputable shepherd who was upwards of a fortnight getting round an ordinary sized village, and the levy on his parishioners to pay the wine bill was, as may easily be imagined, a very serious matter, to say nothing of several calamities, which occurred to the inhabitants in their unprotected state owing to his negligence. At present the feeling in his parish is very strong against him, and his constituents are thinking of removing him, particularly as he has only one eye. This is a very dangerous deformity in ordinary people, but in a Baiga, who is invested with religious functions, it is most objectionable, and likely to detract from his efficiency.

In Hoshangâbâd a different system prevails. When a new village is formed by the aboriginal Kurkus, there is no difficulty in finding the abode of the godlings Dûngar Devatâ and Mâtâ, because you have only to look for and discover them upon their hill and under their tree. But Mutua Devatâ has generally to be created by taking a heap of stones from the nearest stream and sacrificing a pig and seven chickens to him. “There is one ceremony, however, which is worth notice, not so much as being distinctively Kurku, as illustrating the sense of mystery and chance which in the native mind seems to be connected with the idea of measurement, and which arises probably from the fact that with superficial measures, by heaping lightly or pressing down tight, very different results can be obtained. A measure is filled up with grain to the level of the brim, but no head is poured on, and it is put before Mutua Devatâ. They watch it all night, and in the morning pour it out, and measure it again. If the grain now fills up the measure and leaves enough for a head to it, and still more, if it brims and runs over, this is a sign that the village will be very prosperous, and that every cultivator’s granaries will run over in the same way. But it is an evil omen if the grain does not fill up to the level of the rims of the vessel. A similar practice obtains in the Narmadâ valley when they begin winnowing, and some repeat it every night while the winnowing goes on.”34

The same custom prevails among the Kols and kindred races in Mirzapur, who make the bride and bridegroom carry it out as an omen of their success or failure in life. By carefully packing and pressing down the grain, any chance of an evil augury is easily avoided. We shall see later on that measuring the grain is a favourite device intended to save it from the depredations of evil-minded ghosts.