Kaiputras: The pig herders' song
Walking miles after miles from one agricultural land or swamp to another in Gopalganj, losing our way on multiple occasions, we met the Kaiputras, a pig rearing community living in the south
As far as the eye can see, there is hardly any sign of human habitation. There are only the green open fields and the blue sky seemingly merging with the far-off line of trees on the horizon.
Overhead, the sun of Chaitra, the last month of Bangla calendar, is radiating such fiery sparks that it feels as if one's scalp would split open before long. There aren't any trees or shades nearby to seek refuge under.
Still, there are some people visible in the low-lying swamplands that will succumb to the deluge of monsoon rains within the next few months. These people seem to be unfazed by this inhumane condition and carry on with their tasks.
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With umbrellas atop their heads, wielding large sticks, and carrying jholas (bags made of cloth) slung over their shoulders containing clothes and two-litre water bottles among other things, they are making various peculiar sounds like "Aaaaaay," "Hurrrrr," "Pssssst" with their mouths.
Under their guidance, a herd of pigs is grazing and oinking in unison. Hundreds of black swines of different ages, from young to old, are moving across the field together, rooting their faces into the ground to eat whatever they find – weeds, roots, tubers and insects. Any pig straying from the designated area is promptly being brought back on course with beatings from the sticks.
Looking around, we discover two more herds of pigs in two other open fields. In total, there are around 15 Rakhals, or shepherds, leading the three herds of nearly 500 pigs. Apparently, they belong to the same group.
It's somewhere deep inside the Bolakoer Padma Beel in Korpara Union of Gopalganj Sadar. Starting our journey from Dhaka and then walking miles after miles from one agricultural land or swamp to another in Gopalganj, losing our way on multiple occasions, we have finally reached here.
As we make our way through the high aisles between the fields towards the herds and feel the strong, pungent odour of pig manure, a Rakhal in his mid-40s raises his voice to ask: "Where are you headed, brothers? There's nothing whatsoever around several miles."
"Nowhere else, we have come right here to meet you," we also shout back to make our voices heard.
Immediately, the Rakhal rushes towards us and hands us a half-full water bottle. We notice scars scattered across his body, while his skin bears an additional layer of darkness, likely from prolonged exposure to the sun throughout the day.
"You must be parched. We've been watching you approach for the last half an hour. It's brutal walking under this noon sun," he tells us, revealing that he goes by the name Prashanta Mondol.
As we take a sip from the water bottle, Prashanta informs us that they fetch water from a farm tubewell, which is a 30-minute walk from here. He explains that the water is usually cold and refreshing. But due to being under the sun for hours, it too is now as hot as ever.
And the taste? Better not to talk about it. Just one hint: if you were to cook a curry with this water, you probably wouldn't think of adding extra salt.
We tell Prashanta that we are journalists and have come all the way from Dhaka in search of them so that we could "make something on them where they will be the heroes."
"We may be outsiders here, but still you are our guests. Unfortunately, we have nothing else to offer," Prashanta looks genuinely sorry, with a cloud of disappointment hovering over his face. To our immense surprise, his Bangla dialect is almost free from any regional undertone.
"So, you aren't locals? Where are you guys coming from?" we ask them. But there's really no easy way to answer this question.
The herds of pigs belong to Dafa Tarafdar from Vayena Mondol Para of Taraganj in Jashore, and the Rakhals are from Dhakuria village of the same district. However, they haven't directly come here from Jashore.
Before arriving in Gopalganj in the first week of Poush (late December last year), their last stop was Barishal. Since beginning their journey in the Bangla month of Ashadh (in mid-June), they have also travelled through Magura, Jhineidah, Chuadanga, Meherpur, Kushtia, Rajbari, Faridpur, Madaripur, and Shariatpur along the way.
One might wonder why these pigs are brought to regions with low-lying lands for grazing. This is primarily because these areas are, as mentioned earlier, often flooded during the monsoon season, making them unsuitable for agriculture. Pigs are able to thrive in these conditions as they can eat a variety of vegetation and roots that grow in wet areas.
Additionally, pigs are omnivores, so they also consume insects, small animals, and kitchen scraps, making them adaptable to different environments.
In the meantime, Prashanta's group has a one-year contract with the owner of the herds which will conclude in the next Ashadh, when they intend to return to Jashore. Until then, they are likely to remain in Gopalganj, a true haven for pigs with a lot of swamps. But of course, their plans could alter at any time on a short notice.
For instance, influential locals or law enforcement agencies could become upset with them for some reasons and demand their departure from the area. Alternatively, the herdowner might send words to relocate elsewhere. Even the landowner may also decide to revoke permission for the Rakhals and their herds to remain on these low-lying lands.
The constant uncertainty of what tomorrow may bring always weighs heavily on the Rakhals. And it simply doesn't feel right to romanticise this nomadic life. Nothing is romantic when you aren't making the choice on your own but are coerced by fate into doing so.
"Often we feel like we have no roots. One day we're here, and the next day we have to set off somewhere else, regardless of whether or not we would be given a generous welcome," Prashanta says.
"It's been nine months since I last saw my family. There are several others like me, while few went home on a short break during Durga Puja." But that too was five months ago.
As he speaks, sweat beads form on his forehead, and he retrieves a striped gamcha (cloth towel) from his jhola to wipe it off. It's challenging to continue a coherent conversation for someone who has been under the sun for seven hours already since 6 in the morning, with another seven hours left ahead. Yet, he maintains a calm voice, just as his name suggests.
He further shares that if they weren't on a tight schedule this year, they might also visit Barguna, Jhalakathi, and even Bagerhat, which is very close from here.
After the one-year contract concludes, the owner of the herds will sell the pigs to traders in Dhaka at a rate of Tk5,000-7,000 for every 2 mons (1 mon is equivalent to 37.324 kg). There is a market for pork in Dhaka's Farmgate, where all these pigs will be sold at a rate ranging from Tk350 to Tk450 per kg.
Prashanta introduces themselves as Namasudras, an Avarna Bangali Hindu community originating from eastern and central Bengal. Nonetheless, they have another specific identity.
In modern literature and media, they are called Kaiputras, who are traditionally engaged in the profession of pig herding and live in different villages of Jashore, Satkhira, and Khulna.
According to a monograph published by the Society for Environment and Human Development (SEHD) in 2019, the Kaiputra community is concentrated in 41 villages of the three South-western districts with a guesstimated population of 12,000.
Harichand Thakur (1812-1878), who was born in Gopalganj and known for forming the Matua sect of Hindus around 1860, is also esteemed as the progenitor of the Kaiputras. Still now, Kaiputras follow him as their spiritual leader.
In the past, however, there was another common name used to refer to the Kaiputras: Kawra. "But that term is somewhat derogatory, as it means low-caste Hindus. So we saw our murubbis (elderlies) hate this term. We also prefer not to be called by it," says Prashanta.
But even though some people have stopped calling them by that name, they still face disdain in Bangladeshi society because they rear pigs, an animal 'filthy' and prohibited for consumption to the Muslims. They are also marginalised as 'untouchables' to the upper caste Hindus.
In turns, we engage in conversation with the Rakhals of all three herds, and they all appear to be down-to-earth people. It is a pleasant surprise, as we wondered on our way here if they would welcome our presence.
However, it seems they don't mind conversing with unfamiliar people like us, and they don't even seem to be bothered by us constantly taking their photos. Only a few of them display curiosity about seeing their photos, and "if there is a chance to go viral through these photos."
So, we continue to ask Rakhals like Suman, Bidhan, Moni, and others why they persist in such a demanding job that keeps them away from their families for most of the year, requiring them to work at least 14-15 hours a day and then spend the night in a tent.
A common response from all of them is that they don't really have any other options available to them. They couldn't pursue education to change their fortunes, and they rarely have the opportunity to explore other types of work. Only a small fraction of the male population among them work in other sectors.
According to the SEHD study, approximately 80% of Kaiputras are illiterate, with only 2-3% able to complete SSC. Consequently, very few can secure official jobs.
The fate of the next generation doesn't seem quite promising either. Everyone we speak to reveals that their sons may study up to the fifth grade, but it's futile to go beyond that. Particularly because they don't even have a primary school in their own village. Their boys have to go to other nearby villages to attend school. And the prospect of education for their daughters is simply out of question.
Aside from pig herding, some male members of the community work as agricultural labourers, day labourers, tailors, beggars, and domestic help. Additionally, a significant number of Kaiputras have been turning to fishing in recent years.
Is the job of pig herding worth it? Suman says, "For some, it's better than others." Those select few can earn up to Tk17,000-18,000 per month. Others get a salary ranging from Tk8,000-15,000."
With this meagre salary, Rakhals not only have to sustain themselves, but have to bear the responsibility of their families consisting of five to eight members at least. No wonder, they are one of the most backward and underprivileged communities in the country.
On top of that, the conditions of their women are particularly precarious. As we ask Moni what their wives and daughters do, it takes us several minutes to only clarify what we mean. Because since he was a child, he has been under the impression that their women "do not really do anything."
But once he comes to understand what we exactly want to know, he replies: "Oh, you want to know if they bring any money to the family? No, how can that be possible? Once they are married off, household chores and child rearing is all they have to do."
More than 90% of Kaiputra women are primarily housewives. Approximately 4% can also be considered pig herders, as they serve as proxies for their men when pigs graze near their villages for a limited period each year. A handful of women either work in agricultural fields or resort to begging.
As we continue our conversation, evening draws near. Shepherds begin leading their herds to a small pond where pigs bathe. After several dips, they emerge remarkably refreshed.
Interestingly, these domesticated pigs are probably the most timid species we have encountered. Even if you approach them with a friendly manner, they become frightened and flee in the opposite direction.
As the bathing process goes on, Bidhan shares with us that sometimes their wives, in their absence, loan money from Mahajons, which later puts them in further trouble.
One such incident occurred last year when Bidhan's makeshift home in his village was severely damaged during a storm in October. Additionally, they had run out of food supplies.
Bidhan, along with other Rakhals from his group, was somewhere in North Bengal at the time. Despite his wife's best efforts, she couldn't reach him through mobile phone.
To survive the situation, she took a loan of Tk10,000 from a Mahajon. However, the loan came with a hefty 50% interest rate, and they had to repay it within three months.
Upon discovering this much later, Bidhan became extremely furious because he disliked the idea of bearing the burden of loan repayment. Even in December, when he made a short visit to his village, he remained angry with his wife.
Then, as Bidhan continues his tale, he took Tk15,000 from another Mahajon to settle his previous loan. However, this new loan comes with the condition of repaying Tk25,000 by next Aashadh.
"I'm not sure how I'll manage such a large sum," Bidhan remarks. "Pig herding is the only skill I possess, but it won't ever enable me to earn enough to break free from this cycle of debt."
However, will this profession be a sustainable one for the generations to come? Neither Bidhan, nor any other Rakhals we came across, is quite sure about this.
In recent years, there's been a huge decline in pig herding. Even last year, four different groups were in Gopalganj at this time of the year for pig herding. But now there's only one, because other herd owners decided to discontinue their trading.
"This is more or less the same scenario all over the country. Pig herding as a profession is in its last phase," says Suranjit.
In the past, many low-lying lands in Gopalganj and adjacent districts were utilised for pig herding during dry months. However, in recent years, a significant number of these lands have been converted into ghers (large enclosures built in shallow waters using bamboo frames and nets) for harvesting fish. Consequently, the availability of suitable locations for pig herding is dwindling.
Many Kaiputras have also changed their occupation and have given up herding pigs in the open villages. For example, there are 29 Kaiputra villages, mostly in Satkhira and a few others in Khulna and Jashore, which have all turned into fishing villages.
"They hide their traditional identity to escape dishonour that Kaiputras receive from their neighbours," informed Philip Gain, a prominent researcher and Director of SEHD.
"The pig herding profession may go extinct within this very generation," fears Suman. "Like others who have turned to fishing, we too need to look for alternative occupation."
At this point, much like the looming darkness threatening to overshadow the future of the Kaiputra community, evening swiftly descends upon the land.
Within a mere half-hour, darkness engulfs the entire area, rendering the surroundings nearly indiscernible save for dim glimmers of light emanating from distant bazaars and settlements. The sky, too, is obscured, devoid of stars or even the faintest hint of the moon.
However, this doesn't mean the Rakhals will call it a day just yet. "Pigs have a remarkably large stomach, much like humans. Perhaps that's why 'son of a pig' is a common slang among us," Moni says, chuckling at his own joke.
The bottom line is: the pigs will graze and keep eating till at least 8.30pm. We don't mind it, as we have already decided to stay the night with the shepherds. So, we are in no hurry to finish the day's work. In spite of the absence of bird chirping, we find solace in the buzzing of insects.
But now it becomes apparent that our presence among them may not be as welcomed as we initially felt. Some Rakhals express explicit objections to the idea of us staying with them all night, while others, despite not outright opposing it, caution that it may not be a good idea.
Hence, we sense a growing tension among the Rakhals, with distinct divisions emerging within the group. We can also feel that whispered conversations are taking place behind our backs, possibly deliberating on ways to dissuade us from spending the night with them.
By now, we have struck the biggest rapport with Prashanta. So we request him to frankly tell us what problem could arise if we stayed the night with them.
He explains that if the locals were to discover that two outsiders are staying with them, they might assume we're relatives of the herdowner and could potentially attack us in the middle of the night, attempting to steal valuable items like our camera and mobile phones.
"Similar incidents have occurred before, especially here in Gopalganj. The locals in this area wield more influence compared to other places in the country," he informs us.
We reassure Prashanta that we're willing to take the risk. "If we don't spend the night with you and incorporate the experience in our story, we might end up losing our job," we explain with an expression of utmost seriousness on our faces.
As a result, Prashanta ultimately agrees to let us stay with them in the night, as he doesn't want us to become jobless and starve to death. And hence, when the pig grazing stops at around 8.30pm, we begin our trek towards their tent, approximately two kilometers from our current location.
It's worth noting that there is naturally no electricity available in the midst of the beel, so we stumble our way to their tent using the feeble light of our mobile phones. We can't let our guard down, lest we are bitten by snakes at any moment.
The Rakhals too have only a few battery torches and small lamps. Yet, as they are familiar with the territory, they don't encounter much difficulty. The herds follow without any trouble as well.
After reaching the tents, we literally experience a jaw-dropping feeling. There are only two small, tattered tents, hardly spacious enough for 15 Rakhals. Moreover, if it were to rain during the night, these tents wouldn't offer much protection against getting soaked.
Additionally, there are three corrals in total for the three pig herds to stay, without any shelter overhead. The Rakhals ensure that all the pigs enter their respective corrals properly before they themselves start bathing in the small pond located right beside their tents.
Once freshened up, a few of the Rakhals light a fire for cooking. But before anything else, they prepare some tea for us, which turns out to be very strong. They explain that strong tea helps them regain some energy after a hard day's work.
What they prepare for dinner is rather simple: rice and mashkolai lentil. It takes them an hour to finish cooking these two items. However, they don't start eating right away. First, they gather in several small groups to play cards, while others play songs on their button phones.
Under the glow of small lamps, the atmosphere becomes enchanting as the Rakhals continue playing cards while listening to various songs. Sometimes it's "Shada Shada Kala Kala," and then it's "Jobo Re Mon Krishna Name."
While they don't particularly look like religious people, still it appears as though the devotional songs have cast a spell on them, transporting them to a realm free from misery or agony.
As the clock strikes around 11:30pm and dinner concludes, it seems like the Rakhals are finally preparing to turn in for the night. But before they do, one of the Rakhals, whose face remains invisible amidst the darkness, begins sharing his recent encounter with Kanagolla Bhoot.
According to him, the Kanagolla Bhoot is a spirit known for deceiving people in the swamps or open fields at night, making them see things that aren't there.
A few minutes ago when he went to relieve himself near the corrals, he thought he saw someone dressed in white attire wandering around. When he approached the figure and asked who they were, the person simply replied, "Shabdhan! (Beware!)"
Once again, the Rakhals divide into two groups. One group says they too have encountered similar eerie experiences recently, while the other group mocks the storyteller, attributing his tales to the effects of substances he might have consumed earlier in the evening.
Certainly, the second theory seems more plausible. Still, a sudden chill of fear runs down our spines. Every sound, even the gentle rustle of the wind, startles us. We can't help but wonder if the Kanagolla Bhoot is lurking close by.
Moments later, exhausted from the events of the day, we drift off to sleep inside one of the tents.
We wake up at around 4:30am next morning, joining the Rakhals as they gradually rouse from their slumber. By 5:15am, everyone is up and about. They prepare tea, pairing it with a bowl of puffed rice for a quick morning snack.
Then, two Rakhals take charge of cooking rice and curry for both breakfast and lunch, while the others gear up for another gruelling day of tending to the pigs.
We also join the Rakhals as they head out to the grazing spot. Afterward, we bid them farewell. Before departing, we shake hands with Prashanta and the others, posing a final question: "Are you all content with your life?"
"With all the hustle and bustle of every passing day, we don't really feel any distinct emotions like happiness or sadness. We just keep counting the days until we can return home," Prashanta responds.
It's not like life back home is all sunshine and roses. But, as Prashanta puts it, every human being needs something to look forward to. In their nomadic life, the prospect of returning home is the one thing that serves some hope and purpose.
