A little boy weeps.
There is pain in his stomach and he can’t explain what it is. Neither
can his mother. So, she does what all Korku mothers in Madhya Pradesh
and Chhast- tisgarh do. She takes him to a ‘damhah’ expert who brings
out an iron sickle, heats it on an open furnace and when the metal burns
red, starts branding the baby, careful to cover every inch of his delicate
skin.
As the baby is held up by his
mother, the ‘medicine man’ presses the glowing iron to his body — once, twice,
10 times, 100 times. The baby’s screams could burst its lungs.
Flailing
wildly his tiny arms and legs in pain, fear and helplessness,
he fights, his mother’s iron grip, but she doesn’t
let go. It’s for his good. Then, as the air is filled with the pungent,
smell of burnt flesh, his mother comforts him now. Just a little
bit more and we’re through. This will make you strong and healthy.
No more stomach aches.”
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FLAILING ITS
ARMS WILDLY,THE BABY WAILS,BUT THE MOTHER DOESN’T LET GO WHILE THE DAMHAH
BRANDS HIM WITH A HOT SICKLE.
IT’S FOR THE BABY’S GOOD. SHE MURMURS
TABOO TALES |
Children
born in the Korku, Gond and Banjara tribes of Central India suffer damhah
each time they fall ill. As they reach adulthood they even
begin asking for it. Just like aspirins. In this belt, still far away from
what in urban India would be termed civilisation, damhah is the mother
of all treatments and the doctor is the man with the sickle.
Initially prevalent
among Korkus, damhah gradually became the accepted treatment for ailments
with the Gonds, Banjaras and some Bhils.
It thrives
in tribal belts of Jhabua and Betul in south Madhya Pradesh and in Bastar
and Dantewara in south Chhattisgarh.
In Betul,
so prevalent is the practice that villagers shun quacks. “When I can’t
breathe, these are times when I feel like someone is trying to smother
me to death, I go to my daughter-in-law for damhah,” says 75-year-old
Jawahar Singh Banjara.
He did
go to the district hospital once, where doctors told him he had asthma,but
the pills - “white clay balls” - didn’t work. Damhah did.
Tokri
Bai, 50, another damhah expert in the village, says she’s been administering
the treatment since she was a child. “My first patient was my mother,”
she says proudly. “Since we were poor, we could not afford the village
doctor or a blacksmith for treatment. I had to do it.”
In Gulhardhara
village, 12-year-old Shantibai is given a dose of damhah whenever she
gets fever. Her sister Mongri suffers from epilepsy and is given the
same treatment.
Their
father Shankar gets philosophical when pressed for an explanation: “You
have to suffer in order to rid your body of diseases and ailments. Damhah
cures,” he says.
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