Turban Tales

A Bhatti in orange

Once upon a time, in Rajasthan: The Land of Kings, there existed a city of gold. It was used as a famous trade route to Pakistan for merchants that would transport copper, jewels and beautiful cloth using camels that could travel long distances and withstand the desert heat. Within this city, lies a Golden Fort run by the Warrior Caste: Bahttis.

A Brahmin doing
Pooja by the Ganges

While it is important to note that modernisation (especially in the major cities) is decreasing racist attitudes, in a lot of India tradition still prevails. The tradition I refer to, is the Caste system; it categorises locals into one of four main castes: Brahmana (Brahmins), Kshatriya, Vaishya and Shudra. The explanation I most connected with broke down these 4 castes into physical divisions on the body. Brahmins are the highest, the head, the intellectuals and the priests. Much like during Feudal times, they held the most power and respect in the community and commonly wore white turbans and 'Janaeu' (symbolic white thread) around their body. Kshatriyas are in charge of public service & defence,  the warriors/ protectors, the physically strong, the chest. Under each caste falls hundreds of subcategories, all of which are distinguishable through certain earrings, dress or colours. The Bahtti's for example are one of the Kshatriyas and the men were known for wearing white dress with saffron turbans that stood for bravery. From what I've been told, the 3rd and 4th ranks (Vaishya and Shudras) tend to merge into one another, they are the businessmen, merchants, traders, farmers and physical labourers described on the body as the stomach; they would wear more bronze. And finally a group that is ostracised from the caste system completely but is understood by most locals as being the lowest: the Dalits or The Untouchables that can be known to wear bright red turbans and would typically work as slaves (but now do jobs that have least societal and monetary gain such as rubbish collectors or street sweepers); the anatomical division would be around ones hips and sexual organs. When I was told of these physical divisions I couldn't help but conjure up an image of Freud's 3 divisions of consciousness: 'The superego' being the highest, most Brahmin-like and 'The Id' being the lowest, most animalistic, sexually impulsive in the band around ones sexual organs (like The Untouchables).

Through this piece I aim to describe and not validate, what I have come to understand about this ancient system throughout my time in India. Note that there has not been much mention of women in my descriptions of dress; this is partially due to my lack of exposure to them and their opinions, given that India is such a male-dominated patriarchal society in which women tend to stick together and not fraternise with foreigners as much. But also, as A. explained to me: the caste system historically allowed for a functioning society in which one was physically and mentally 'suited' to their role. This working role was typically taken on by the man while the women remained at home, cooking, cleaning and nurturing the kids. But women's dress and garments were also distinguishable as to what caste they belonged to. The shorter the dress, the lower the caste as it was more practical for doing physical labour. The type of jewellery (i.e. gold, silver or bronze) also indicated ones status, although jewellery adorns all Indian women.
Individuals were (and still commonly are) expected to marry within their caste or risk being disowned by their family (one of the greatest cultural sins). I made a comparison to the caste system in western society with socioeconomic status (albeit to a lesser extent). In Psychology, one attraction hypothesis is that we tend to choose partners from the same socioeconomic status as ourselves. I suppose this is due to the likelihood of meeting, shared values, friendship groups etc. but it is far less rigid. The deterministic nature of the Caste system is inherently discriminatory and must have profound effects on ones psyche.

Rajasthani ladies

Untouchable kids

So much so,  that between the 12th and 16th century The Bahtti's in Jaisalmer, in true Warrior fashion committed the Transgressive act of 'Jauhur' (ritual mass suicide, stemming from the sanskrit word life & defeat) 2.5 times in favour of allowing their women to be shamed and giving up their Golden Fort to Mughal invaders. It was a fascinating, bone chillingly beautiful ritual. The women would dress in their finest clothes (often their wedding dress') and walk one by one, with their children into the fire; their last glimpse of the golden city they were nobly departing from. There was a drummer who stood at the front of the fort and would play the beats of whatever was taking place at the time (i.e. a birth, marriage or Jauhur). So as the last of the women faded into the light and the rhythm began to change, the men would charge out in their saffron turbans to face their deaths. Ironically, during the battle as the sun set and the night became cool, the men would set aside their differences and enjoy a game of chess together regardless of what side they were fighting for (only to continue the battle at sunrise).

An Illustration of Jauhur

The final '0.5 Jauhur' occurred in the 16th Century during which there was no time for the usual ritual ceremony, so the men cut the throats of their wives and children to save their dignity before going to fight... After much invasion and through a cleverly thought out scheme, the Bahttis eventually reclaimed their land and today, there's much care taken to maintain the beautiful city in which fascinating stories linger under each layer of golden sand. As for the Caste system, hopefully one day it will no longer serve a purpose and transform into just another story that makes up India's rich history...

-The End- 

Music of the day: Rajasthani Gypsy music
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bA37uhK7IXQ&list=PLB674F3A632EBE1ED

A golden surprise

Waiting for the bus with a cuppa chai

Hooly cow. An appropriate phrase that I'm beginning to feel originated here, given that cows are holy to Hindus and I find myself repeating it daily. We've just arrived back to 'Ba's Guesthouse' situated inside the Golden Fort of Jaisalmer, India.
The Sandstone fort rises out of the desert sand like a magnificent sandcastle, alive with women in colourful sari's and men wearing white shirts and saffron turbans; the original colours that the warrior caste wore & a clever shield from the scorching sun. We've just returned, sleep deprived and sun kissed from a night in the Rajasthani desert, in which we rode with the desert folk to the sand dunes that border Pakistan. The red border lights could be seen about 30km away flashing throughout the cool, cloudy night. But like many things in India, it didn't exactly go to plan...

N & I :)

The monkey temple: Jaipur

We arrived in Jaisalmer after a 9 hour night bus, our clothes damp from the manky double bunk that we'd shared. The pungent smells of the previous nights curry we'd eaten in our dark little cabin and various fumes circulating from the open window, still lingered on our sticky skin.
It had already been a whirlwind of activity: A backstreet meal in Jaipur, forgetting my passport & missing our bus to Pushkar, experiencing racism at its core in a tuk tuk bus in Ajmeer and being driven around Pushkar's mountains and lakes on Shiva day by our new friends N and C. While I'd love to expand that rammed sentence, to put all the events that have occurred into one blog would be total overwhelm; mimicking the sensation of this trip so far (in the best sense).

The Amer fort: Jaipur 

There was a moment on the night N. arrived that remains a perfect allegory for this trip. She was 4 hours late after the airport lost her luggage in Dubai somewhere and we were sat in J's tuk tuk that had just broken down. Positioned sideways, we were pushed through a stream of oncoming traffic on the highway listening to deafening horns of all frequencies blaring their business. We held hands tightly and with a hint of fear and a mound of joy, we laughed at the lunacy of the situation - knowing everything usually ends up alright. Sure enough, 5 minutes later we were puffing on a beadie on the side of the road, watching the mass of noisy cars we'd just been immersed in - and the flow goes on.

Pushkar

Due to time constraints, we were conquering each city in a matter of days, so we zoomed through peaceful Pushkar and weren't quite expecting such a scorcher in the Golden City where I now sit. The fort and Palace previously run by the warrior caste (Bahti's) deserves its own post altogether, for its elaborate history cannot be expressed in a few simple words. We'd conquered the palace and stood at all the viewpoints we could find, our eyes scanning over the parched rooftops, most of which are now restaurants or guesthouses. We managed to spot where we were staying that was distinguishable by the bright sari's flying in the wind of a half-constructed guesthouse. Our only job now was to book what Jaisalmere's famous for, camel safaris; we'd already received numerous offers all day. Many locals came from surrounding desert villages and owned camels (or had a connection that did). They could navigate through the desert like it was the back of their hand. I laughed at how what is such a novelty to us, must seem so normal to them, showing excited tourists their pet camels and sandy garden.

Pushkar lake

Jaisalmere ladies
dressed in colourful sari's

We were walking down the large stones leading to the exit of the fort, passing rows of closed travel agents and slightly wishing we'd accepted one of the previous offers. And then, like the law of attraction, B. pops out of a dimly lit side street and offers us a camel tour. We allowed ourselves to be pulled along by the warm wave of the evening, up another set of foreign stairs, leading to another magical rooftop that evoked a sense of Aladdin's Arabian nights.
After talking business and haggling hard, B brought up a welcome tray of drinks and snacks, paying homage to the hospitable nature of the Indian Culture. We gazed up at the bizarre pink cloud that was floating above us, that soon became a desert storm. We sat in the restaurant below, trapped from both sides (that had no walls) in a power cut, watching the city reveal itself through the odd flash of lightning. We soaked in the energy of the rain (that this desert can go up to 7 years without seeing!) knowing that tomorrow night we'd lie under the milky way, with nothing but dry dunes and a desert breeze...

Jaisalmer

 Recipe of the day: Dhal Bati (A classic Rajasthani dish)
 http://nishamadhulika.com/special/dal_bati_recipe.html