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Of mango kernels and bottled water

Rasheeda Bhagat

KASHIPUR (Orissa), Sept. 17

``DID you see the expression on their faces,'' my companion asks as our car winds down the serpentine roads of the Kashipur block in Orissa.

As if reading the villagers' minds aloud, he continues: ``...they are saying that yesterday, the Union Food Minister and the Chief Minister came here. Today, some more VIPs are going by. How are our lives going to be changed by these VIP visits?''

One is wont to believe him for he apparently knows the minds of his people, though he had contested the panchayat president's election and lost. Unconvinced when you refute your VIP status, he remarks: ``To a hungry tribal or adivasi with no work and abs olutely no money to buy food, anybody who can afford to travel in a car is a VIP.''

Strong images of human misery, chronic malnutrition, atrocious sanitation and pathetic health care facilities are tucked away in the underbelly of this idyllic region, made lush green by the recent rains. The fresh air, the rain drops on the glistening l eaves, the frequent streams which greet you at regular intervals, go hand in hand with stories of hunger, horror and death.

At the first village, Dikaral, about 60 km from Rayagada, as soon as you alight from the car, the women push before you seven-year-old Loki Majhi, who has lost her 27-year-old father Nori Majhi. ``Her mother ran away from the house a couple of years ago and with her father dying now, she is an orphan, with nobody to look after her,'' says a tribal woman in the village.

Obviously, the child has been paraded like this several times before and her large, dark eyes bear a vacant look. Nothing more. Not even tears. She is dressed like all the other women, with a faded sari-like cloth wrapped around her little frame, and not hing else.

Unlike some of the other villagers, the people here are very vocal about their plight and the Government's apathy. Another adivasi woman, Gahara Majhi, also lost her husband last month. The cause of the death is simple enough. ``In July, we had continuou s rains for four days. There were hardly any foodgrains in our house. Some ate mushrooms and some others else ate mango kernel. The lucky ones survived and the unlucky ones died,'' says one villager.

In this mohalla there are 30 families, all with BPL (below poverty line) status, but not one of them has yet received the BPL card, nor help from any quarter, is the refrain.

Right on cue, one of the women gets two little baskets _ one filled with dried mango kernel, and the other with powdered kernel _ and willingly poses for photographs.

The tradition among these tribals and adivasis is to remove the kernel from the mango seeds, put them under a running stream to remove the bitterness, dry them and leave them either whole or powder them.

This is then stacked away for rainy days. But during the monsoon, the kernel kept in the damp huts grows fungus and, when consumed as food, instead of relieving hunger and providing nutrition, becomes the agent of death.

Mr Paresh Rath, who had done some research on tribal lifestyle and food habits, gives another insight. He says the men in this region, whether tribals or adivasis, more often than not spend their time consuming alcohol and smoking beedis. ``Whether it is ST or SC, it is the women who do most of the work, both in the fields and at home. Under tremendous pressure, they have very little time for the kitchen.''

He explains that in one of the houses where death took place due to dysentery, the woman had cooked the meal and kept it for three days. ``She thought she was saving herself the hassle of cooking every day. But obviously, the food got spoilt and the pric e she paid was the life of her husband.''

Local officials say that these people prefer to eat mango kernel. But they use it only to either supplement the food or to add to its taste. ``One tribal woman in a village told me that they take mango kernel like we take pickle. She asked me: What will happen if you have no food and are compelled to consume only pickle for an entire meal? I had no answer,'' says Rath.

Remembering the Rayagada Collector, Mr Bishnupada Sethi's claim that food poisoning occurs frequently in these villages ``because the tribals do not wash their vessels for days, and sometimes not till a death occurs in the family,'' I ask the women in a couple of huts to show their vessels. Mind you, no death has taken place in these homes and the few vessels kept in the dark, damp huts, made of mud and little else, are washed and absolutely clean.

It is near lunch time; but there is no sign of any fire or food. You wonder if there is any food to cook and, suddenly, guilt overtakes you thinking of the biscuits and bottled water lying in the car.

Pic.:Loki Majhi, the seven-year-old girl in Dikaral village, who has lost her father.