‘Winter is coming.’ Bhola Rai may not have much of an idea about this buzz phrase, but he means it; he is preparing. Baraka Rajpur, a village located in the Bihar province of northern India, is preparing for winter. Bhola Rai, in his 70s, is a laborer at the government secondary school located on the outskirts of the village.
“I have to prepare the firewood and the dung cake every day because the nights are long and cold, even though it is early November,” Rai says as he sits down to light the brazier. Electricity is still a fancy thing for the villagers, though they get it every day for 3-4 hours; it’s enough to charge mobile phones and turn on TVs for news and entertainment. But Bhola Rai is not dependent on electricity at all; he fears that the electricity is spoiling the children and “old memories”.
‘No more bonfires and children’s ghost stories. I miss ghost stories in particular. They were not only for children, but also for adults. You know, telling ghost stories requires a lot of creativity. It’s not easy to scare anyone easily,” reflects Rai.
Life seems comfortable for Bhola Rai as he survives on the salary he receives every month, but for other villagers, it is time to prepare for winters.
Baraka Rajpur consists 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 Rabi’s crops; It is a time, as they say, of betting. Chickpeas, tomatoes and potatoes are the main areas of concern. It is the frost (the white walkers) that they fear the most. If it reaches their plants, they will be forced to rush to the cities to do manual labor.
‘I never liked the idea of going to the cities, leaving our agriculture. Agriculture is a noble and respected thing. Things aren’t like they used to be, but they still are. The government should do something about it. I don’t understand what we will eat if we don’t grow. Government work or agriculture, this is what I suggest young man, ‘Rai disagrees with him.
The abandoned 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 look at him with delay and misery.
You can only be proud of it if you have a lot of land of your own. If you have little land or work on someone else’s land 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. Maybe it will tell them that we are in some kind of business or work’, Mukesh, a high school student, also Bhola’s nephew, shares his views.
Bihar villagers even today sleep early compared to cities. Mukesh and I had a plan to spend the night in Bhola’s dera (room). We could feel the icy wind and the eerie atmosphere of the desert as we passed through the bushy paths towards the Bhola residence. In the falling darkness, the trees appeared like ghosts and the song crickets provided the background music. The solar lantern that Mukesh carried was a piece from the old days.
Bhola, who was wearing 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. When Bhola rested for the humble bubble of hers, Mukesh was ready for bed.
“It seems that no one is interested in ghost stories anymore,” Bhola snapped.
‘You name us one, man; 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 girl when she drowned and died. Her ghost couldn’t leave the peepal tree on the other side of the river. She even today she shows herself…she now she has aged a lot…’Bhola continues.
In winter, the mercury drops to 0°C in some northern Indian provinces. The poor and the homeless are the most affected. Hundreds of deaths are reported each year; the condition gets so bad that even the government seems powerless.