Woman Driving a Bullock Cart

Though I’ve worked for a number of years in rural areas I hadn’t ever come across the sight of a woman driving a bullock cart. It was one image out of many that I got to see on a two day trip to Karimnagar I made last week. It was another of those official visits to villages that I have been making since the past two months. I am beginning to get bored of these trips because of the mind numbing routine that it involves. We meet the same type of farmers, visit the same kind of fields, ask the same questions and get the same answers. There seems to be no respite from this for a while. However, the only happy thing about last week’s trip was that it was to a place not very far from Hyderabad. Another thing was that I got to travel by a bus, something which I haven’t done in any of the previous three trips. It took us just three hours to get to Karimnagar by bus.

I had to tag along another senior officer who suggested we leave early in the morning. So five thirty on Tuesday last found me at the bus station waiting for the bus carrying the other officer who had got in at another bus station. I was surprised by the number of buses to Karimnagar. There seemed to be one bus every five minutes to Karimnagar. When I got into the bus I was taken back when the conductor made out a ticket from a machine. He pressed a few buttons and voila, the machine coughed out the ticket.

It was still dark as we sped towards Karimnagar. I dozed off and when I woke up we had reached Karimnagar. Our host was waiting with a car. We freshened up at a nice guesthouse- I had an air-conditioned double bed room all for myself. After breakfast we set off in the small car with three of us squeezed into the back seat. We had to cover eight places in two days so we decided we would cover six places and try to squeeze one last place if we had the time on the second day. On day one we planned to visit four villages.

I was under the impression that Karimnagar was a dry place (so much for my knowledge!) I was quite surprised to see that almost all the villages had canal irrigation. The first thing one notices in areas where there is sufficient water is paddy fields. There were paddy fields every where, a carpet of green covering the earth as far as the eye could see. Then I was surprised to see giant harvesting machines in almost every village. The labour shortage has forced many to go for mechanical harvesting I was told. The roads were quite good and not at all dusty save for a couple of villages which was okay with me.

All our visits are to the farmer’s fields and after going around the fields we have to talk to the farmers. Usually around thirty farmers gather at a place which ranges from the shade of a tree to a ramshackle office or rice mill. The first of our meetings was under the shade of a tamarind tree. We sat on plastic sheets and talked to the farmers. It never fails to surprise me how little of the modern farming techniques our farmers know. I feel sad that we as a department have failed to reach out to the farmers. But the farmers are eager and it is always a memorable experience talking to them.

Normally I feel a bit nervous in the presence of strangers so imagine how I feel when I have to address a group of thirty or more farmers in the local language in which I am not totally perfect. But I have learnt from officers more experienced than me under whom I had the good fortune to work. The first of the rules I have learnt was that never to give the impression that the farmers are different from us. One has to start saying some good things one had noticed about the village. Some begin the talk discussing the name of the village if it is an unusual one. Some begin talking about the roads. Some talk about something unique one has seen in the village. One learns the trick of talking to the farmers by experience. I am glad to report here that I manage to hold the attention of the farmers for about fifteen to twenty minutes after which I start to falter and then pick up again until the end. I may not have exactly managed to give a stirring talk but the farmers give the impression that I have told them something new they did not know until then.

Karimnagar also happens to be Naxalite territory, once their stronghold. We went from village to village passing through several small hamlets on the way. I am always surprised that one visits places one never comes across again. I try to take notes of the places and the people, writing down something unusual I notice so I can store it in my memory because most villages begin to look the same after some time. The same roads, the same type of school buildings, the same fields and the farmers dressed in the same clothes- a simple dhoti and a shirt, both invariably white.

After covering two villages we broke for lunch. The food was one thing I won’t forget about these trips. The local officials in their efforts to please us ply us with a lot of food. I am a veggie so don’t have much choice but the others have a variety to choose from- mutton and chicken prepared in a variety of manner. After a heavy lunch in a small office located in a market yard scattered with sacks filled with cotton, we started off for another two villages.

We got back in the evening exhausted but we managed to cover four villages which meant we had to do only three villages the next day. Dinner proved to be another elaborate affair and I don’t understand why the local officers assume the visiting officers have to be fed until they are ready to burst. I am appalled at the amount of food that goes waste. I asked one of them why they had arranged so much food and with irrefutable logic he told me that it was one opportunity they too get to hog some good food. Hearing that reply I shut my mouth and concentrated on the food which was quite good, by the way. I am not describing it here because people will start salivating..

The next day we started off early and it was while on the way to the first village that I came across the woman driving the bullock cart. We were going on a narrow, dusty country road and the car slowed down behind a cart. A woman was getting into the cart and the car driver remarked that a woman seemed to be at the reins. I couldn’t see because I was in the back seat. The bullock cart moved aside and we over took it but I was not able to turn around because three of us were squeezed in the back seat. I wondered whether to ask the driver to stop the car so I could take a picture but I did not. But luckily for me the car stopped after a while because we had reached the meeting place. Bicycles were parked on the dusty road.

I scrambled out of the car and took out my digital camera. I had just enough time to click a picture of the bullock cart with a young woman standing confidently with the reins in her hands. The villagers did not appear to be surprised at the sight but I was sure amazed since all I see women in Hyderabad drive are cars or scooters. This image was the high point of the trip and one which I am not going to forget for a long time.