Healing Herbs of Midsummer

A posy of “St. John’s Herbs” tied with a ribbon in the colors of Catalonia. (Photo EK)

What’s Saint John got to do with it?

In pagan Europe, the longest day (and shortest night) of the year, associated with the summer solstice, was considered a sacred event. The actual date can fall anytime between 19 June and 25 June. In Southern France, and many other places, bonfires were lit on the hilltops, and healing herbs gathered before dawn were thought to be at the peak of their potency.

When Christianity was introduced,  the Church – not yet divided into Orthodox, Catholic, and Protestant – allowed some of the ancient traditions to continue, after sanctifying them with a layer of religious varnish.

Thus, the 24th of June became the feast day of St. John the Baptist, and the bonfires became “St. John’s fires” (Les feux de la St.Jean in France and Québec) on the eve of it.

In some areas, the gathering of healing plants also survived. This has been the case in French Catalonia, where part of my family lives.

The magic of herbs

I happened to be present for the occasion a few years back, and have a few pictures (very amateurish ones, I’m afraid) to share. My sister Clara, who is married to the mayor of Montauriol, a tiny village in the Roussillon-Languedoc, has always been concerned about the disappearance of old local traditions and the danger of them being supplanted by foreign imports, like trick-or-treating on “Halloween.” She and her husband continue to encourage the old ways.

 

The villages of the region no longer have any permanent parish priests. Outside pastors are invited for occasions like this. (Photo EK)

And so it happened that, on the morning of June 24th, 2015, I found myself outside an ancient little chapel in a clearing of the woods, part of a small congregation celebrating la St. Jean, “comme il faut.” A white-robed priest pronounced the appropriate prayers to bless the “pagan” herbs, as well as the congregation, who were liberally sprinkled with holy water in the process. In conclusion, a hymn of praise was sung to Our Lady of the Canigou, an epithet of Mother Mary associated with a majestic local mountain peak.

One family’s supply of medicinal herbs for the year. (Photo EK)

The locals had gone out at the crack of dawn to gather wormwood, houseleek, ground ivy, daisy, yarrow, sage, and, of course, St. John’s wort. These would now be taken home to be dried and used throughout the year, individually or in combination. Clara had made little posies, to be given to relatives and friends. They would be fixed over the door in their houses as a decoration, but also to ward off illness and evil.

Congregants lining up for Communion. (Photo EK)

After the prayer service, the doors to the little chapel (too small to hold even this smallish crowd) were opened, so we could all have a look at the interior, decorated with flowers and candles for the occasion.

Candlelight creates an intimate atmosphere inside. (Photo EK)

The medieval Romanesque-style chapel is opened only a few times a year.. (Photo EK)

Saint Nicholas. (Photo EK)

Let me know if you have enjoyed this short journey to the South of France!

Gond and Baiga: A Tale of Two Tribes in Madhya Pradesh

MAY 2, 2017  BY SHARELL

Reblogged with permission of the author.

http://sharellcook.com

A long time ago, legend has it that Baiga ancestors were created by God from the womb of Mother Earth. They became the keepers of the world. And, after God had finished creating the world, he offered to make them king. However, they declined because they wanted a simple life. “Give the kingship to our brothers, the Gonds”, the Baigas told God. He did so but also blessed the Baigas. “All the kingdoms of the world may fall to pieces, but he who is made of earth and is lord of the earth, shall never forsake it. You will make your living from the earth but without ploughing it, as you must protect the earth. You will never become rich because to do so would forsake the earth”. The Gonds revered the Baigas as spiritual healers and protectors, and invited them to preside as priests in their ceremonies. Yet, as per God’s blessing, the Baigas have never prospered financially.

The ancient Baiga tribe is indigenous to central India. Many of them can be found in the Mandla district, near Kanha National Park, in Madhya Pradesh. They live traditionally, in villages with mud huts and no electricity, completely untouched by modern development. They cook using primitive implements, cultivate and store their own rice, and brew potent toddy from the flowers of the sacred mahua tree. Throughout various phases of their life, Baiga women get tattoos on their head, arms, chest and legs, representing aspects of nature integral to the Baiga way of life.

The Baigas still coexist with the Gonds. Yet, the Gond villages tell a different story of how this community has prospered while the Baigas have not. Artwork, which the Gonds have become well known for, has provided them with a lucrative source of income. Their homes have more facilities, often including electricity.

As I prepared to visit a local Baiga tribal village, while staying at Singinawa Jungle Lodge near Kanha National Park, my guide and naturalist told me we needed to get there well before sunset — that is, before members of the tribe became inebriated.

For many Baigas, the consumption of mahua toddy has become a part of their daily routine. A way to escape. It’s a concerning indication of the troubles faced by this tribal community.

As we got out of our jeep, the head of the village came over to greet us. He was a slightly built man clad in white, with a large sliver earring in one ear.

“He’s already started,” my guide and naturalist commented, as I caught a whiff of the alcohol myself. It became apparent that it wasn’t only the men who had been drinking, but women too.

A friendly young woman with a tribal tattoo across her forehead came over to us, carrying a baby. Aged in her 20s, it turned out that the baby was one of her five children. Which one was her husband? She pointed to a man lounging on a charpoi nearby. Lack of education and things to do in the village meant that having babies was a way to keep occupied.

For the Baigas, India’s efforts to conserve its national parks and protect tigers has come at a huge price. For generations, they lived peacefully in the forest, in harmony with nature. However, following the establishment of the National Tiger Conservation Authority in 2005, thousands of Baigas have been forcibly evicted from Kanha National Park. The Authority wants to make the national park free of humans to maintain a safe habitat for tigers. However, ironically, it’s the Baigas that are facing quickly dwindling numbers and the threat of extinction.

The eviction from the forest has upended the Baiga tribe’s lifestyle, and left them feeling displaced and confused. The land that they’ve been relocated to is bare and unfamiliar. They are worried that their children may never learn about medicinal herbs in the forest. To earn a livelihood, some have had to become menial laborers in the area.

One man who has been helping the Baiga tribe is talented self-taught local artist and snake rescuer Ashish Kachhwaha. Brought up in Mandla, about an hour from the main gate of Kanha National Park, remarkably he now lives among the Baiga tribe just outside the gate. “I could speak their language, so it wasn’t difficult to integrate into their community,” he tells.

Ashish was attracted to the tribe by their peaceful relationship with nature. Their culture, and the pressure that the tribe is facing from the outside world, is reflected in his art. He has also devoted time to reinvigorating the tribe’s traditional dance, as a way to supplement their income. This dance, and the use of traditional instruments, had faded in the community. However, members of the tribe are now performing the dance for the public.

What satisfies Ashish about his work the most? “Whenever I make a painting of a Baiga, it brings me much happiness,” he says.

Singinawa Jungle Lodge offers the opportunity to connect with local tribes through visits to the Baiga tribal village that they support, and painting classes with a local Gond artist. Named Most Inspirational Eco Lodge of the Year in the 2016 TOFTigers Wildlife Tourism Awards, the lodge also has a unique Museum of Life and Art that showcases the region’s tribal culture.

© COPYRIGHT SHARELL COOK | WRITER AND AUTHOR

About Sharell Cook

Australian author/photographer  Sharell Cook has been writing about her love affair with India since 2008.

It was probably sometime in 2011 or 2012 that I discovered a blog named Diary of a White Indian Housewife. Sharell Cook, an Australian woman married to an Indian, wrote about her life in Mumbai. I loved the way she wrote about the country and about her experiences. My husband and I were, at the time, seriously considering our move to Bhopal. When we were in the USA, we were addicted to HGTV’s House Hunters International. Ms. Cook mentioned somewhere in her blog that she and her hubby had been featured on the show. I searched and found the episode in question. I learned a thing or two from it.

We bought a lovely townhouse in a brand new colony not far from Raja Bhoj Airport. We were promised possession in the summer of 2013. When we finally received the keys in November, I started spending a lot of time in Bhopal to transform this brick shell into a real home for my soon-to-be retired hubby and myself.  Meanwhile, Sharell’s blog grew ever more successful, too much so for her taste. It led to a book offer (Henna for the Broken-Hearted, published 2011) and a job managing the content of About.com’s India Travel site (now https://www.tripsavvy.com/india). While her blog reached 5000 page views per day (!), and had brought her many faithful fans, it also brought with it quite a few stalkers and trolls, which eventually made her decide to quit. Being a rather private, even shy, person, she had never sought this kind of fame. Plus, she did not enjoy being labelled or put in a box like “expat.”

The Diary of a White Indian Housewife has disappeared. Now Sharell has a new site: Sharellcook.com. She continues to travel the country as a journalist and travel professional. She graciously allowed me to reblog her article – with lovely photographs – about the tribal cultures of Madhya Pradesh: http://sharellcook.com/2017/05/02/gond-and-baiga-a-tale-of-two-tribes-in-madhya-pradesh/ . She also recently gave a TEDx talk (after turning down the first request), overcoming her fear of public speaking – so inspiring.

Thank you Sharell! I hope to welcome you in Bhopal one day soon…

 

Beautiful Brussels (3)

Within walking distance from the Grand’ Place:

Need a shower in a hurry? Enter here.

When I was a teen, I loved to window shop at the windowless, “underground” Agora Gallery, just off the Grand’Place. In those days the shopping arcade was anchored by a large, exotic Japanese store. “Shibui” was stashed full of silk kimonos, fragrant chrysanthemum tea, incense, bamboo, and porcelain from the Far East. Alas, Shibui is long gone. Nowadays, the gallery’s offerings lean towards more popular tastes, like leather goods, sportswear and, of course, souvenirs. However…

Bargains galore at the Agora shopping arcade.

… should you be in the market for a sari, you can find one here, too! Most of the Agora shops these days are owned by South Asians. I’m told you can even use your bargaining skills, if you’re so inclined.

A sun dress, a windbreaker, or a silk sari; this Bengali-owned store has it all.

The mother of all shopping arcades

Before there were malls, there were elegant glass-roofed shopping arcades in Europe, and the Galeries Royales St. Hubert in Brussels is one of the oldest examples in existence. If you’re at all familiar with the Belgian weather, you will realize the genius of this idea.

Come rain or shine, you can have an outdoors feeling and still stay dry.

The Royal Galleries, designed by architect Jean-Pierre Cluysenaar, were inaugurated by king Leopold I in 1847. (A full 30 years before the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II in Milan, which is often called “the oldest shopping mall in the world.”)

Its three parts, the King’s gallery, the Queen’s Gallery, and the smaller Prince’s Gallery still house upscale jewelry and couture shops, a theater, restaurants, ice cream parlors, and tea rooms offering lunch and wonderful pastries. Also at least one excellent bookstore specializing in art books.

Indoor café terrace in the Royal Galleries.

“Chocolates or macarons, what should I buy?”

At the colonnade in the middle, you may decide to veer off into a narrow cross street, the touristy dining paradise of Brussels known as the rue des Bouchers. This street will lead you in the direction of the Opera House and the popular pedestrian-only shopping area of the Nieuwstraat/rue Neuve.

Rue des Bouchers (Butchers’ Street) offers dining options for every palate.

The area is reserved for pedestrians, and restaurants spill over onto the cobblestone pavement.

Fresh seafood is always an appealing option.

Ten euros is not a bad deal for our national dish (drink no longer included?).

 

And there are always other options nearby: Greek, Indian, Tunisian, you name it.

Like it spicy? This is the spot.

Not by bread alone…

Fancy some high culture? Close by is the famous Brussels Opera House named the Muntschouwburg (Dutch) or Theatre de la Monnaie (French), known for its quality productions. There has been an opera theatre on this site since 1700! The current Neoclassical building by Joseph Poelaert dates from 1856, with a 20th-century update by (among others) Charles Vandenhove.

Another notable fact about this opera house: this was the site where the Belgian revolution, leading to the county’s independence from the Netherlands, was sparked by the patriotic aria “Amour sacré de la patrie” in Daniel Auber’s opera “La muette de Portici” in 1830.

De Munt or La Monnaie is our temple of the arts.

Last but not least, your spiritual side needn’t starve either. The doors of an unassuming little Catholic church, “Our Lady of Refuge,” near the Brussels Bourse (Stock Exchange) remain open all day. You can sit down and meditate undisturbed for a while, or walk around and look at the artwork (don’t miss the ceiling and the historic organ.)

Our Lady of Refuge, on the corner of the Kolenmarktstraat/ rue du Marché au Charbon.

Easy to miss, this little 17th-century church is a gem of baroque architecture.

In its quiet interior you can admire the baroque details… as well as a message of peace and love for the world, in the shape of these Islamic and Jewish banners. (Apparently the parish priest had at one time served in the Middle East.)

This little baroque-style church is a haven of peace in a bustling area.

Of course there is much, much more to say about Brussels. But this is where I end my walking tour. Tot weerziens! Au revoir! Hope you enjoyed the experience. (I look forward to your questions and comments as a source of inspiration for future posts.)

Please note: All images belong to the author.

Only in India 1.1

Image credit Zsolt Zatrok Dr. (freeimages.com).

 (latest version of a prose poem recently published on Medium…)

In India, in the rainy season, verdant medians become prime pasture grounds, and national highways are turned into bovine dormitories.

Think I exaggerate? Traffic obediently skirts a calf napping in its path and slows to walking pace behind a herd on the move – with or without a herder.

Cattle are never in a hurry, you need to learn from them. Admire the beauty of the brahma bull strutting his stuff on the left, while avoiding the black heifer resting on the asphalt to your right.

A day trip to the hills becomes a test of endurance as an “All-India Conference Of Cows” congregates at the crossroads (I thank my witty sister-in-law for that expression). We don’t lose our sense of humor on account of a few cows – not even a few dozen of them.

Then there’s pedestrians who cross the road as in a trance, and motorbikes coming at us the wrong way – without lights – after dark. Oncoming cars never dip their high beams.

Add to the mix a few buffalo, goats, and stray dogs – not to mention speeding buses that straddle the lane marker and overloaded trucks in danger of toppling.

Given enough time, one gets used to it all. Just don’t tell me that traffic is worse between Delhi and Gurgaon. You metro dwellers only have other cars to contend with.

 

Madrassa Boys

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The view from my window inspired this prose poem, written earlier this year, before the monsoon started…

 

From my bedroom window I can see the madrassa boys play cricket. I can hear their joyful shouts as they’re at last unwinding after a long day of learning. I smile, peering down through the branches of the red-flowering palash tree, at these skinny kids in their white skullcaps and shalwars, their little blue and grey kurtas. They run about, oblivious of the 107-degree heat, the threatening thunderstorm, across the cracked earth of their playing field, barefoot on the withered thatch of what was once grass, and will be green again, God willing, once the monsoon breaks.

Meanwhile in Morocco, clouds have fallen onto earth. The viral video shows locals, excited as little children, running around, praising Allah, as surely this must be a sign from Him. A sign, but of what? Here in India, half a world away, the images travel by WhatsApp, to the believers and the skeptics alike. A close-up shows a hand scooping up what looks like foam. Weird, aren’t clouds composed of water? Did we not learn that in school? The cycle of evaporation and precipitation? Elementary, my dear Watson.

The madrassa boys are poor. Which is why they get their education in this religious charity school. I wonder if any of their parents own a smartphone, but most likely their teachers do. Even these youngsters must have heard of the miracle, in far-away North Africa. Surely they’ll discuss it later, as they crowd, eager for their evening treat, around the panipuri vendor with his glass case full of goodies, in front of the school’s rusty gate.

Tagged in India, Religion, Life, Prose Poem, Nature

By Elisabeth Khan on May 8, 2017.

Canonical link

Exported from Medium on August 5, 2017.