Aawa and Aama Bagh in Kardang, my abi ji’s village

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The fragmented filming and research—which for now has taken the shape of this brief article and five short videos— was conducted over two years. We first filmed the Bagh (mask) ritual of Kardang village in January 2017, returning again in the summer of 2017 to gather more information. Our initial plan was to document the ritual in the winter of 2015. But that year (pre-tunnel), we couldn’t reach Lahul on time, owing to the erratic winter helicopter service and miscommunication over precise dates with my grandmother’s family in Kardang. 

The Bagh ceremony of Kardang, we were told, is unique and one of the few remaining remnants of Lahuli folk tradition. Those aware of the ritual cited it as a living case of Buddhist and pre-Buddhist symbiosis in the valley, and also informed us about similar bagh based rituals elsewhere—like in the villages of Jobrang, Goshal and Yor in Miyar valley—both in the trans-Himalayas and across Western Himalayas. We were specifically cautioned about the strict codes and conducts of this village-bound ritual. No one outside of Kardang village is allowed to witness the ritual unless one enters the village before Kuns, the local new year, commences. In such cases, those who enter the village can leave only once the bagh ritual concludes. The rule to not cross the village boundary applies to Kardangpas as well. People from the neighboring village of Gozzang, however, are allowed, but not via the main pathway that cuts through the village. The only permitted access for Gozzangpas during this time is the route that runs along the village boundary. 

In 2017, when we finally managed to reach Kardang on time, it was after four consecutive days of waiting at the airport in Bhuntar, hoping for the helicopter to show up. First day, there was an issue with air pressure; on the second day, the then Chief Minister was touring Kangra with the same helicopter; on the third day, it was supposedly off to Chandigarh for servicing. Finally, on the fourth day, we took off at 3 p.m. from Bhuntar airport to Stingri (the nearest helipad to Keylong). That year, we finally witnessed the night of Halda (wooden fire torches) in Kardang, followed by the three days of bagh ritual.

Following, you can see the first of the five video series we have composed. The narrating voice is of Uncle Dorje, who warmly welcomed us in his house. Along with other Kardangpas, Uncle Dorje brings out Halda at night, gathering again in the afternoon the next day for mangs-alcha, opening of the masks, or the “opening of the dream”

Aawa (father) and Aama (mother) bagh are considered embodiments of male and female deity. Any unwanted actions and impurity are likely to offend them, as well as Tsoro, their seven children. Adults continue to partake in the ritual for several reasons: from not disrupting the annual village ritual calendar, the ritual’s village centric character, to being guided by reasons of faith, belonging, fear and loss. For children, it offers the possibility of collective play, dance and fun. The very act of kyorbi, to play, remains central even in the ritual’s current manifestation, as told to us by an aging Palmo Karpa (89 years old when we interviewed her), and affirmed by the young kids of Kardang who wait eagerly to tease and provoke the bagh family. 

Continue reading “Aawa and Aama Bagh in Kardang, my abi ji’s village”

To you, Tandal

Artwork by Krishna Tashi Palmo

Dear Tandal,

I heard you will come to life today. I hope your mother Pir Panjal is not deceiving us yet again, with her zillionth labour pain. You were to arrive five years ago. Never mind. Now, in 2020 and a frugal bill worth 3200 crores, we are waiting for you, outside the operating theater. How can our arms tire out holding the Kalchhor (ceremonial libation) and Khatag (white scarf)We, Lahulis, thank you for teaching us the art of waiting.

Your mother had a painful journey. She bled profusely in these years but doctors said her pains and cries were mere geological surprises. If not for the masses, you need to come alive for the media that gloriously announces the same old saga of your birth every few months. I heard you were even given a new name after some closed door discussions. Atal Tunnel, Rohtang. Congratulations, this infrastructural feat of Bharat Mata is a Man. I do not wish to hurt you or question the choice of your name, but I must tell you that ever since you were conceived, I have only known you through the hesitant utterances of my Aama (mother) and Abi (grandmother): Tandal. I still get goosebumps recalling how softly and reluctantly my Abi first whispered your name to me, as if you didn’t belong to us. As if she didn’t want Meme (grandfather) to claim her eccentric pronunciation of your name. But each time Abi tries to unify you and Rohtang, she’s breathless. For us, you have overtaken Rohtang’s sacredness, for Abi, not as yet. How could you? Rohtang is her refuge. Rohtang is her sacred escape to the sky. Rohtang is her formless realm. You, in your enticing emptiness, are profoundly concrete, deeply earthly. Tandal, even today when she calls you out, you unsettle the warmth of our sun soaked tandoor room as you did back then. But my Aama and Abi too have cultivated faith in you. It shows in the dissolved color and coarseness of 108 rosary beads. They have obsessively chanted, prostrated and circumambulated on the doctor’s prescribed mantra day and night.

Om Mane Padme Hum

Tandal, an engineering miracle

Om Mane Padme Hum

Tandal, a new awakening

Om Mane Padme Hum

Tandal, mighty as our men

Om Mane Padme Hum

Tandal, tourist’s paradise

Abi has consistently been complaining though. In the stubborn and overprotective care of your mother Pir Panjal, we didn’t justify our ways of being, she says. “What is this show of tribal tourism?”, she shouts at me even if she’s nearly lost her voice. “Have we already put our values and beliefs on sale?” Tandal, I am truly confused. Your doctors authorise worth in packaging our history, our rivers and mountains as tourist itineraries. Only now that I am learning my language, each lesson is an encounter with depths of your contamination. Lahul isn’t Lahul anymore. It’s a tourist place. As you are opening us to the world, the dakinis (female Buddha) and dakas (male Buddha) are retreating into caves, remerging into rocks and stones. The wisdom inflows of Chandrabhaga are drying out. Will ego and individuality flow now on?

Abi’s rainbow body has shrunk visibly since the definitive announcement of your birth. She’s sleepless at night, unable to distinguish the ferocious mood of her guardian deity Palden Lhamo from those of men and machines churning inside you for the one last time. You know, your big mouth was once her fertile field where she sang and danced with the dakinis.

Aama is waiting outside the operating theatre luminous in her goshen (silk brocade) cholu (attire). By her side is an inconsolable Chandrabhaga. Your bright and shallow eyes have possessed us. I heard they are the longest in the world. But will you have the courage to look into my Aama’s eyes? I should let you know, in my dream last night, she revealed her desire to transform your wrath into blissful radiance of the Khatag. 

Text by Kesang

This essay is first in the ‘Tandal’ series, a collaboration between Kesang and Krishna on infrastructure and gender in Lahul valley.

A shorter version of the essay was first published in The Tribune

A few updates!

Filming Lahaul continues collecting new visual and sound material. Meanwhile, the editing for the first feature film has begun. Soon, we’ll post the teaser, as well as some visual studies we did on the material. Also, we would like to share updates on different platforms we presented our visual research in the past two years. 

In April 2018, we presented  ‘Khandroma’ , a visual study on the local movement against hydropower dams in Tod valley of Lahaul at Displacements, the 2018 Biennial Meeting of the Society of Cultural Anthropology and Society for Visual Anthropology.

Soon after in the month of May, we showcased our short film on the bagh (mask) ritual of Kardang village at ‘Chandrabhaga Flavours’, an evening of poetry, music, painting, and films organised by Samgh Foundation in Manali.

In November 2018, Filming Lahaul travelled to Dharamshala International Film Festival to participate in the Film Fellows Programme.

In Sapno ko kaun gayega: Lahul main Kavita’, a poetry event organised in January 2019 by Save Lahul Spiti Collective to celebrate Ajey’s poetry, a progressive poet and writer from Lahaul. Filming Lahaul presented its visual study on Ajey’s poem ‘Byoons ki tehniyan’ (Willow Branches).

Filming Lahaul at IALS

Filming Lahaul presented its “work in progress” at the 18th Conference of the International Association of Ladakh Studies, held from 2nd to 6th May 2017 in Pozan, Poland. The conference was jointly organised by the Polish Academy of Sciences, Humboldt University, Berlin and the Nicolaus Copernicus University in Torun, Poland.

The conference brought together sixty researchers from Europe and South Asia working in different regions of the Western Himalayas. We were delighted to share our visual research on Lahaul and received many thought provoking inputs. A big thanks to IALS, especially for the opportunity to meet and exchange ideas with young scholars from Ladakh and Kargil, India.

Filming Lahaul in LSR

Filming Lahaul team recently conducted a two day (3rd-4th March, 2017) hands on workshop on filmmaking with second year Sociology students at Lady Shri Ram college for Women, Delhi University. Two inspiring days of teaching/sharing techniques of ethnographic filmmaking with young minds brimming with critical ideas.

We were happy to share some clips from Filming Lahaul project with the students and faculty to facilitate conversations on fundamental aspects such as frame as a point of encounter between the filmmaker, subject and the audience.