‘Winter is coming.’ Bhola Rai may not have much of an idea about this buzzword, but she means it; It’s getting prepared. Baraka Rajpur, a village in the northern Indian province of Bihar, is preparing for winter. Bhola Rai, 70, is a laborer at the government high school located on the outskirts of town.
“I have to prepare firewood and dung cake every day because the nights are long and cold, even though it’s only the beginning of November,” Rai says as she sits down to light the brazier. Electricity is still a classy thing for the villagers, although they receive it every day for 3 to 4 hours; it is enough to charge mobile phones and turn on televisions for news and entertainment. But Bhola Rai is not dependent on electricity at all; he fears electricity is spoiling children and “old memories.”
‘No more bonfire and ghost stories for kids. I miss ghost stories in particular. They were not only for children, but also for adults. You know, telling ghost stories takes a lot of creativity. It’s not easy to scare anyone easily, ”Rai muses.
Life seems pleasant for Bhola Rai, as she survives on the salary she receives each month, but for other villagers, it is time to prepare for the winters.
Baraka Rajpur is made up of about 50 medium-sized families, most of them are small farmers. They don’t like the poetic beauty and philosophical explanation of autumn, although Bhola may not be one of them. The arrival of winter is the time to sow the crops of Rabi; it is a moment, as they say, of a bet. Chickpeas, tomatoes and potatoes are the main concerns. It is the frost (the white walkers) that they fear the most. If it hits their plants, they will be forced to rush to cities for manual labor.
“I never liked the idea of going to the cities, leaving our agriculture. Agriculture is something noble and respected. Things are not like before, but they still are. The government should do something about it. I do not understand what we will eat if we do not grow. Government work or agriculture, this is what I suggest young man, ‘Rai expresses his dissidents.
The desolate streets and lonely houses of the village bear witness to Bhola’s concern. Now young people do not agree with the concept that agriculture is a noble business. They see it with delay and misery.
You can be proud of it only if you have a lot of land of your own. If you have little land or work on the land of others on a profit sharing basis, then it is something to hide. I would not like to tell my friends in the cities that we are farmers. Perhaps, I will tell you that we are in some kind of business or job, ‘Mukesh, a high school student, also Bhola’s nephew, shares his views.
The villagers of Bihar, even today, sleep early compared to the cities. Mukesh and I had a plan to spend the night in Bhola’s dera (room). We could feel the icy wind and haunting desert atmosphere as we drove through the bushy trails towards Bhola’s residence. In the falling darkness, trees appeared like ghosts and crickets sang in the background music. The dim lantern Mukesh carried was a piece of yesteryear.
Bhola, dressed in a heavy black shawl, had already prepared the clay brazier and was about to put some seasoned potatoes on it. We sat around the brazier and talked a bit. By the time Bhola rested for his humble bubble, Mukesh was ready to hit the sack.
“No one seems to be interested in ghost stories anymore,” Bhola snapped.
“Tell us one, uncle; you know many. Maybe our guest would enjoy it too, ” Mukesh urged, and I couldn’t disagree.
Well, I’ll tell you the story of Chameli. She was just a child when she drowned and died. His ghost couldn’t leave the peepal tree across the river. Even today she shows herself … now she has aged a lot … ‘continues Bhola.
In winter, mercury drops to 0 ° C in some northern provinces of India. The poor and the homeless are the most affected. Each year, hundreds of deaths are reported; the condition worsens so much that even the government seems helpless.
