River Town Chronicles Read Online Free PDF Page A

circled their bullock carts on the outskirts of River Town and wandered through town offering to sharpen knives and repair tools, recalling the life of gypsies in other parts of the world, to whom some claim they are related.
    We walked out beyond the town boundaries and passed a Muslim slaughter house and the Hindu cremation grounds, where the spirits of dead bodies were released in the smoke and flames of the funeral pyres.
    Next we headed for the small mission hospital located on the outskirts of town. Inside the compound were cots spread out under the overhang of the roof. Sick and ailing patients were wrapped in blankets and family members squatted next to the cots with their kerosene stoves, cooking utensils and bedding, prepared to stay as long as necessary next to their sick relatives. I introduced myself to the New Zealand doctor in charge and met an Indian Christian doctor and several New Zealand and Indian nurses. They greeted me warmly but couldn’;t understand why I chose to live in the bazaar “like a native.” The New Zealand missionaries had never set foot in the bazaars and lanes of River Town. They were fluent in the Hindi language, though they never mastered the intonation and local phrasing of native speech, which left me wondering if the missionaries did not hear the subtleties of the spoken language or was it that they did not want to hear them? I felt conflicted about the activities of the missionaries, but secretly relieved to discover the hospital. Who knew if the missionary doctors’ skills might be necessary for our own well being?
    As we continued our walk, Chamu pointed out to me the huts of the dhobis (washermen), the bhangis (sweepers), where Kaga lived, and those of the chamars (leatherworkers), where Chamu himself lived. I followed him down a path towards his hut. The hut was made of mud and surrounded by puddles of stagnant water. We waded through the water to reach the opening to his hut. A woman and a gaggle of children scurried away from the door. Chamu invited me inside and we sat down on the bare dirt floor of the hut. “I would offer you tea, but we have run out,” he said apologetically. I looked around the stark interior of the hut, its bare walls protected by a tin roof held in place with rocks and dirt piled on top. A little girl darted in front of me wearing a tattered shalwar/kamiz. Her eyes were bright and she had an impish smile. “Jaao.” She scampered away and disappeared out the back door. “We are the despised ones,” Chamu hissed through his teeth. “Look how we live. We live like animals.” Then he continued, “As much as the others (the higher castes, like the merchants) despise us, they cannot live without us. Who else would be willing to remove the carcasses of dead animals from the fields and streets, or mend the broken down shoes of those who ignore us?.” Then he went on, “But, we have powerful forces on our side. Our women can contact the goddesses that will cure disease, like smallpox, and can even cure a woman’s infertility. We may be dirty, but we are powerful.”
    Chamu got up and I followed him along the dirt path that circumambulated the town outside the merchant neighborhoods. We passed the huts of the naiis (barbers), the kumars (potters) and thathiyars (metal workers). As we walked the outskirts of town I sensed the kind of “look-see” calculus that defined one’s life in River Town. “Look what I am doing with my hands, see who I am.” Among those castes living on the outskirts of River Town, working with your hands to transform raw materials (clay, metals) into useful objects (pots, utensils) resulted in a caste status only slightly higher than those who collected or handled raw bodily fluids and polluting substances (sweepers, washermen, barbers, leather workers). Those in the higher caste neighborhoods, like the merchants and Brahmins, kept their hands