Category: Water Archives

We are no strangers to the fact that water is a primary need for human subsistence. We need water for the domestic purposes of cleaning, cooking, washing up and so on; and we need it to carry on with certain vocations on which human life is totally dependent, like agriculture. Accustomed to a sedentary and urban life, we forget there are communities that have a very different relationship with settlement, natural resources, and work – and organise their lives according to rhythms that seem at once distant and foreign to us. 

One such community is of the Dhangars. A group of people who have been in the profession of herding animals since a long time, the Dhangars live across the western and north-western states of Rajasthan, Maharashtra, Madhya Pradesh, and Uttar Pradesh. Traditionally herding sheep, the Dhangars have an annual migratory pattern.

Their main income comes from rearing sheep. Their source of income is easily the flock of sheep at their command. When a male lamb is born, it is marked for sale, and after being bred for three months, it is sold off. To continue the breeding cycle of their sheep, one male lamb is kept for every twenty lambs sold. Besides selling their male lambs, the Dhangars draw income from various ends of the pastoral economy. They maintain their stock and optimise their health – not unlike the way people manage their investment portfolios. Their income is also supplemented by the wool that comes from the sheep, but that has been on the decline due to far cheaper supply of synthetic fibres. The wool serves them in making their own clothing, shawls, mats, and items for domestic needs. Organic manure is yet another supplementary source of revenue. When the community is on its annual migration towards agricultural lands to avoid the summer heat and aridity, they collect fees from the farmers who would prefer that the sheep graze in their fallow lands and fertilise them. Not only is the money they make sufficient to continue this pattern of life, they also barter their goods and services with members of villages and trade them for rice, vegetable, and other essentials in return. 

This entire way of living is dependent on a complex and webbed inter-relationship between the shepherds and their sheep, the sheep and the grassland, and of both the sheep and the grassland ecosystem with the other animals who live there. 

First thing in their rituals is the relationship between plants, water, and their flock. The priest, usually an elder of the community, chants to beats of a drum, and exhibits endurance and willingness to be there for the community. These rites include walking through fire, vowing to take care of their families, who would in turn vow to take care of their sheep. Their gods are aptly: fresh-cut grass, a horse, and a dog –– the three necessities which make it possible for them to rely on their livelihood through sheep. Promises often also include commitment to plant certain trees and guarding water sources. 

Nomadic life may only seem easy from the outside, for its detachment from the materialistic rat race that most of our lives are attuned to. But the work involved here is not only perennial but also defined by nurturing relationships with nature that we may not understand. These shepherds know the members of their flock individually, attend to their specific needs, and move, live, eat, sleep –– everything –– in accordance with their flock’s adequate comfort. The nomadic life is thus attached to the rhythm of the flock –– for instance, they cannot move between places too fast, it is always required that they go slow and allow their sheep to take time to graze and drink water that they will need to carry on. 

Every year, the Dhangars set foot towards the Konkan coast for the monsoon, and then return to their drier environs once the season has passed. While the migration is agreed upon, it is the needs of the flock that guide the route. Any route they take must have sufficient grass for the sheep. Between one camp and another, there has to be a source of water. Thus, the migration is planned beforehand, and the routes and stops are decided upon the green-cover of the grasslands and the availability of water. 

We may assume that as nomads the community is always keen to be moving, but this is a simplistic and misguided reading. Nomads have a certain method to their movement. In the case of Dhangars the key is water. Their life revolves around their livestock, and once they find both grazing area and water in abundant supply and close proximity, their next move is to set up their camp in the area, instead of, as we might assume, to keep moving. Since water is the key to their journey, it should be noted that the resource is more and more difficult to depend on these days. As they move westwards, the water sources they draw from become inevitably more polluted, since they are all contaminated by pollutants from the factories that dot their route. The most dependable source of water for them are seasonal streams, small village wells, and irrigation canals. While they do carry clean water, they are so numerically sparse and spread unevenly across the region that any encounter with them is seen as a sign of good fortune. When deciding to move from one watered area to another, there is always a risk that the location may be too distant or too inadequate. While the headmen take the lead in commanding routes and making decisions, the community charges children and young adults with the responsibility to scout water and grass in the area near them. Sometimes they will run into more sources of water, even cleaner, even better, like a borewell or an irrigation pump. They bring some of this water back using their utensils, and this water is boiled and put to use for human consumption, especially for cooking or later use.

A community that has been in this profession since time immemorial, the Dhangars are now facing signs of water tension that their ancestors didn’t. Every move is a gamble and the odds could very well not be in their favour, in which case, with a number of people and 50 odd sheep and 20 horses, they make for a group that is very unlikely to manage itself. The hardship they endure in today’s time is not so much caused by the nature of the work they do, but in the depletion of the very natural resources in sync with which this form of work emerged.

The earliest civilizations that emerged on earth were near water resources, since for obvious reasons, water is a crucial source, required for survival. In fact, the Indus Valley civilization, the ruins of which can be found near the Mohenjodaro and Harappa regions, was in fact heavily dependent on the Indus river, for almost everything, from agriculture to trade. So, water resources have been, in a way, the stepping stones for civilizations. 

Imagine the importance of the very same water resources, in a dried up, hungry, desert region – Rajasthan and Gujarat, where people managed to create sustainable routines. Back in the day, towns like Chittor and Ranthambore were inculcated within the fortress, where they were directly linked to the water resources. Such settlements wouldn’t have been possible without the said “water resources.”

The fort of Chittor alone had 84 water bodies. The kunds and bawris (stepwells) were always constructed right under the talabs (lakes) to promote harvest seepage. In the Ranthambore fort, water bodies were well-spread, so that no one would have to walk long distances to collect water. Many historians marvel at the structures of water bodies in Rajasthan, which are hallmarks of the Rajasthani civilization. 

Water architecture, like those of kunds and bawris, did not only function to serve the population and be the main sources of their survival, but were also important structures that became a part of the Rajasthani and Gujarati culture. Women and water became one of the strongest interdependent factors back in the day. 

It is believed that since men were busy defending their homeland, and fighting at the front line, the women back at home preserved and cleaned such water resources for centuries. This instigated a myriad of water cultures to take place, In fact, a large number of such water resources were built by women, like the famous Rani ki Vav in Patna, Gujarat, which was built by the Queen herself during those days. 

For states like Rajasthan and Gujarat, water bodies were celebrated, since they were the symbolized life and purity. Water bodies became crucial, and holy, for the desert people, since it ensured them of a sustainable and fulfilling life. This celebration, upholding of water bodies became a strong reason for the numerous community worships and get-togethers. 

Women would go together in groups to collect water. It was a part of their daily routines. People would take baths in such water bodies to rinse off their sins, and children would play around water bodies. Did you know that in Rajasthan, the Bhawai dance was another water ritual? 

The Bhawai dance requires a dancer to lift several pots, filled to the brim with water, on their head to appease the God of Chicken/ Smallpox – Sheetla Mata. It was just one of the many dances or rituals revolving around water and religion. 

Water and religion in India has always been a prominent theme, not only for the sake of religion, but also for cultural harmony. Water resources back in the day were considered as communal resources, and anyone could use it according to their preference. Though this was later deemed as unhygienic, and changed by the British, it was still a cultural embodiment. 

Interestingly, baoris and kunds can be linked to the Great Baths of the Greeks, where water was considered as a means of building relations and staying in touch with neighbors and the community. 

Another example of this is Pushkar Lake, a man-made lake in Rajasthan that converted the dried regions of Pushkar into the fruit basket of the state. This water body is referred to as the sacred, holy water body where several thousands of people  visit to understand the richness and the uniqueness of this water body. 

In history, it is believed that Nahar Rao Parihar of Mandore, was chasing a boar during a hunting expedition, when in order to quench his thirst, he dipped his hand into the lake and was astonished to see that the Leukoderma marks on his hand had disappeared. Impressed with the sacred curative nature of the lake, he got the lake restored to its glory. Pushkar hence was a pilgrimage site even long back, though it did not fall into any of the trade routes. 

However, the British invasion changed things dramatically when it came to the water resources, Though the Mughals before them had allowed the stepwells to continue work, and believed in its advantages, the British believed that the water resources could use better infrastructure to function better. They installed pipes in the baoris to ensure that they functioned properly and served the community. 

In present, through the government has grand schemes of focusing on water management and providing clean water to all, the Indian government is also taking initiatives to manage water resources in Rajasthan through its flagship program Mukhyamantri Jal Swavalamban Abhiyan, where they are working on reviving the rainwater harvesting structures as well as reestablishing the traditional water structures to cope with the water crisis in India.

We have all looked at the endless images of women standing in lines with pots and buckets in hands, waiting for their fill of water for the day. This image is a mainstay of our times, and every season, as soon as the summer heat shoots up, so do instances of water shortage. What we see is common, typical, and traditional — as men go out of their domestic domains to work, women step out to fulfil their equally arduous domestic duties. Made several times difficult due to climate change, industrial use, table depletion, pollution, over-population, and misadministration — water, and its absence, percolates in all pores of our daily lives. 

While in cities, we get a quicker response and sprightly reporting about water crises which are resolved by allocation of municipal tankers. Life during water shortage in rural India, especially in the arid heat of Western India is vastly different.

Women line up, but not in front of routinely dispensed water tankers. They set out from their homes, travel long distances on foot, bearing their pots and urns back and forth to collect water that would sustain their families. Development in rural areas is uneven, and most times people living in these places either do not have modern-day public works or their functioning is mired by a number of issues. People remain dependent on traditional water systems, and in using them, affirm long-standing social traditions. Among these traditions are the gender roles designated to women. 

While we are accustomed to the notion of labour of women in the sense that they are more domesticated, the reality of these circumstances underline the actual work that domestic management is. It has been long argued by second-wave feminists since the 1960s that the labour of women is not inferior to that of men — it is simply unrecognised and unpaid. Just through the example of what procuring water entails alerts us to this fact. 

Water is procured either from naturally occurring sources such as lakes, ponds, rivers or from traditional water systems such as local stepwells or reservoirs. At times, in case a modern-day water reservoir is within proximity, it becomes the source of water. Women, and often children, travel to these and gather water with which they return home. This is a regular ritual in their lives. It is both time-consuming and physically exerting, and pinches away the time that they would get free from their daily work in the house or at the farm. 

Not only do women perform the traditional role of collecting water for drinking and consumption, they are also required to manage it. As they perform most of the domestic duties, they ensure an economical usage of water. Thus, what we consider a lesson in resource management and awareness, is something that is felt by these people at a very immediate level. Wastage of water materialises in harder labour the very next day. In this way, we can think of these households as microcosms of efficient resource management. 

The central sustaining role of water, as observed in the previous article in this series, has always been interlaced with religious and socio-cultural significance. As women traditionally procure and maintain water for their own families and communities, it becomes their prerogative to maintain whatever form of water resource they draw from. Thus, traditional water systems are not only just worshipped, but their worship has a gendered aspect, where rituals specific to village communities and ethnic groups incorporate the act of women worshipping the body of water and men, at times providing their labour to clean them. In absence of formal water management bodies that function and represent their interests adequately, ritual and tradition open up pathways to ensure that their access to water is perpetuated. 

In fact, many of the smaller stepwells of baolis are built to replicate grander projects.

Most of these grand projects functioned as subterranean temples, and would sometimes be accompanied by carved sculptures of male and female deities they would be dedicated to. The spiritual core of the bawli was thus culturally established and reproduced in the minor ones. In the case of Rani ki Vav — which means the Queen’s stepwell — religion, gender, and water resources come together in the most grandiose manner. The stepwell was commissioned by the queen Udayamati in 1060 CE in commemoration of her dead spouse, a rare instance in history of architectural commissions by women in pre-modern India. Another prominent stepwell commissioned by a queen in the Rudabai ki Vav, also known as Adalaj Stepwell. Located in Gujarat, it too was built as an act of commemoration of the king and employed artistic embellishments to what is functionally a utilitarian structure. 

The sculptures on these stepwells reveal that they were used as spaces specifically for worship of fertility goddesses, and not some the male gods. Depicted alongside images of deities are frieze panels that illustrate scenes from everyday lives of people. Evidently, these spaces were conceived with a resonant symbolism that revolved around typically feminine themes — domesticity, land and earth, and fertility. In addition to providing water, these spaces thus facilitated the worship of the feminine. Frequented largely by women, this allowed for identification and self-attachment. Just like how a religious text is supposed to guide in person in matters of moral, ethical, and spiritual concerns; spaces such as these offered a possibility to create a spiritual bond with the feminine ideal in the form of the goddess, and to venerate and emulate her example.