Bonbibi - Part 4

Accurate chronicling of history, I think, is a predominantly western concept. India has often relied on myth, epics and a rich body of literature as a substitute for historical accuracy. Fact and fiction are unashamedly in bed with one another and it's hard to tell one from the other. This couldn't be more true for the Sunderbans. To trace it's history is a futile task. What will it lead to - an account of how the British set up Canning as a commercial establishment, and possibly the words of an intrepid British explorer witnessing a native of Gosaba in his quaint habitation through his 'civilized' colonial glasses.

No I'd rather revel in the myth, to learn about that alternate history which recounts both the real and the fantasy (of the native), in his distinct voice / language soaked in cultural context and symbolism. Bonbibi's emergence as a forest deity has a literal narrative, as we have seen so far and a sibilant undertone that can be easily overlooked. Her family, the circumstances of her birth and her accomplishments serve two purposes to the native. Firstly to establish Bonbibi as figure of great power to be respected and revered. Secondly to reassure the local, that she is one of their own, with the same culture and values. It is this second aspect, that affords the outsider a glimpse into the culture of Sunderbans.

Consider the rise to power of Bonbibi and her initial confrontation with Dakkhin Rai. The battle supposedly takes place between Dakkhin Rai's mother, Narayani, and Bonbibi. Similarly, other stories of Bonbibi, describe her brother Shah Jangali taking on Dakkhin Rai. One might interpret this, as a clear segregation of sexes as far as power struggle is concerned. For though she is a feminine deity and her dominion is unquestioned, the native chooses to ignore what could happen in a battle between the sexes, perhaps out of fear for the consequence it might have on the social order and accepted roles that both sexes play.

Bonbibi - Part 3

That loving helplessness of the mudbanks brushing, scathed
by the rippling waves. The sound of your footsteps,
twisting your way, every inch of space, every drop of rain,
every bit of day is yours to take.
That drowning breath, my conversations encircled
by bubbles of air clamouring their way
to be lost on your face while you gaze. And as you walk away, I stay
watching the purple night and extend my arms to grasp as
much of this world as I can save.

Bonbibi - Part 2

Dakkhin Rai ruled the land of the eighteen tides before Bonbibi and her brother arrived on the scene. It is interesting to note that Dakkhin Rai (and his mother Narayani) are ostensibly Hindu, while Bonbibi and her brother Shah Jangali are Muslims. The myth talks of a fierce battle between the forces of Dakkhin Rai (led by his mother) and Bonbibi in which he is displaced as the ruler. A truce is worked out and thereafter Bonbibi rules the inhabited part of the Sunderbans and Dakkhin Rai retreats to the inhospitable nether reaches of the forest.

The truce is however a tense one, fraught with constant skirmishes. Different stories show how Dakkhin Rai tries to gain the upper hand, only to be shot down by Bonbibi. It echoes the realities of the land. The constant tussle between the mangrove swamps (with its wilderness and tigers) and human habitation. The struggle between the tides and frequent storms and the ever-changing landmass. The daily fight for existence that the native has to endure, against the elements of nature to bring back his catch of fish or just cultivate his land without falling prey to the tiger. The lure of the wild as opposed to the steadfastness of domesticity. Faith in her benevolence versus fear of his guile and ferocity.

Bonbibi - Part 1

As myths go, Bonbibi is a recent myth, born out of the culture, beliefs, topography, flora and fauna of the Sunderbans. Bonbibi is literally the wife of the forest, and she rules that part of the forest which is inhabited or accessible to humans. The rest of the forest, deep and inaccessible, remains the preserve of her arch-enemy Dakkhin Rai. What they represent is easy to guess - the familiar narrative of good versus evil, recounted through  the ages in Greek mythology, Norse mythology or even in popular Hollywood movies such as George Lucas' Star Wars or the Harry Potter series.

But while some of these accounts of fairy tales seem intangible and inaccessible, the narrative of Bonbibi feels as palpable as a girl born only yesterday in the forests of Sunderbans. Bonbibi is the daughter of Berahim (vernacular for Ibrahim) a faqir from Mecca and his second wife Golalbibi. But for her to become a deity, this is not nearly enough. The myth therefore asserts that Allah sent Bonbibi and her brother Shah Jangali (literally king of the jungle) to earth to fulfill a divine purpose - and thus they were born to Golalbibi. They were born deep in the forests of Sunderbans, where Golalbibi lay forsaken by her husband. There is a certain drama to this story of her birth, a familiarity with the story of Jesus Christ, except that Berahim had left his second wife to be with his first wife Phoolbibi unlike Joseph who remained by Mary's side. The plight and helplessness of Golalbibi must make her seem so real to local forest dwellers. And so to reinforce her divinity the myth reassures the native listener that Allah sent forth four maids to help Golalbibi deliver her twin babies.

The names, customs are common to any Muslim household of that area. But the apotheosis of the female child is perhaps inspired by Hindu goddesses such as Durga or Kali. Some sources also indicate that Gibril (Archangel Gabriel) helped bring Bonbibi and Shah Jangali to the land of the eighteen tides, but then again Gibril is as much a part of Islam as he is of Christianity.

That I might open an umbrella

That I might open an umbrella to a sky dripping like a leaky tap
And be blown away by the wind
whirling me by degrees and whispering into my ears
alarmist stories from the daily news about
political unrest or an outbreak of a deadly pandemic,
anything really, to keep me engrossed
while I am transported - no planned engineering works
or unscheduled stops - to an unknown destination,
with a book in my hand, the notion of time melting
into the warm bread of lassitude.

That I might look out of my window,
to the dome, glowing in half light,
reflecting the vicissitudes of regular clerks,
and programme managers irritated by
the constant flashing of cameras of
easily surprised tourists and find a path
of gravel or shingle,
gradually disappearing into a thicket,
emerging into the open overlooking
the sea of the insolent smile of a wastrel,
waves frothy with disrespect,
disorderly, disengaged and self-willed.