In Jharkhand: Disappearing forests, dying craft

“If you wear a ghunghu to the forest, lightning will never strike you,” says Shukhani Asur, a resident of Kujam village in Jharkhand’s Gumla district. Ghunghu is a sort of umbrella crafted from leaves of the maloo plant (Phanera vahlii), a commonly found creeper in the region.

Ghunghu is used all year round. In summers, it protects from the loo (hot winds), in winters against the chilly air and in monsoons against the rain. Importantly, the dome-shaped ghunghu when placed over the head allows the wearer to work with both hands free.

Shukhani learnt how to make ghunghu from her mother as a child. “Earlier everyone used to collect leaves from maloo growing in the forest and make ghunghu,” adds the 56-year old. “But now few use it, and fewer still make it.”

Shukhani is from the Asur community – listed as a Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Groups (PVTGs) in the state. Her family cultivates 10 acres of land that they own, mostly growing paddy, maize and gundli (little millet).

The Bishunpur Forest Range starts barely 500 meters away from Shukhani’s three-room mud house, where 12 members of her family live. The residents of Kujam have relied on that forest for firewood, fruits, grazing land and more – “Hamra roji roti sab yahi hai [Our livelihood and sustenance are all here],” says Shukhani.

This has been severely impacted by red bauxite mining being carried on in villages across Gumla district, including areas near Kujam. The grazing land is shrinking and villagers complain that cattle can die by falling into the deep pits dug for mining.

“The water table has gone so low that in summer women have to walk for kilometres to collect drinking water,” says Shukhani. When this reporter visited, the distant roar of heavy machinery extracting bauxite – drilling and blasting, loading and transportation, was relentlessly on.

“Earlier, the Sal trees were so thick that if two men stood behind one, you couldn't see them. Now look, they have dug everywhere up,” says Shukhani. “There is little space left even for our cattle to graze. There used to be many wild animals in the forest range but they are all gone because of the blasting in the mines.”

Everyday, Shukhani and her neighbours walk 10-12 kilometres to reach the denser parts of the Bishunpur Forest Range.

“We collect ghunghu leaves while our cattle and goats graze,” says Shukhani. Her family owns nearly a dozen of these livestock, which they sell during festivals or when money is tight. Shukhani travels to Jobhipat haat (weekly market) five kms from her village to sell them. Last year, she managed to earn Rs. 25,000 from this.

“It takes 1,000 to 2,000 leaves to make a ghunghu which an adult person can use, and involves two to three days of work,” Shukhani explains. “We usually pick the lower leaves with the long stem attached – but if the leaves are good, we climb up the tree.”

The maloo creeper whose leaves are used for ghunghu is an evergreen plant with tendrils which can grow up to 10-30 metres, sometimes reaching treetops.

Each ghunghu leaf is broad and divides into two rounded parts.

Shukhani arranges the long-stemmed leaves in layers to make ghunghu. “Jaise hamlog mitti ke ghar me khapada ko sajate hai na, waise hi patta ko sajaya jata hai [Just like we arrange clay tiles on a roof, we arrange these leaves similarly],” she explains how leaves are overlapped with the softer part facing inwards. One leaf is linked to the other using the stem, where the stem acts as a clip.

Once a dome-like structure is ready, the process is repeated to layer the structure and make it robust. With time, the fresh green leaves dry and become light.

The ghunghu falls from Shukhani’s head to her knees and shields from all sides. “These days everyone has those colorful plastic umbrellas, not a ghunghu,” Shukhani adds.

“Earlier, one ghunghu would sell for three paila of paddy,” she explains. One paila, a standard aluminum bowl used locally, holds about a kilogram of paddy. Three paila meant three kilos of paddy which yielded one kilo of rice.

This was more than 30 years ago.

“Back then we had nothing to eat and would survive on just one meal for two-three days,” says 62-year-old Suman Asur, who is Shukhani’s friend and neighbour. She is referring to the droughts in the 1980s which led to severe food shortage in the region. Women would craft everyday items like ghunghu and sell them in the neighbouring villages for sustenance.

Then and now, the forest has been crucial for the Asur’s survival.

“We get everything from the forest – food, firewood, charcoal for smelting iron, leaves for making ghunghu,” says Shukhani. “Our deities are also in the forest.” They worship the land during the festivals of Karma and Sarhul.

“We also make potang from the leaves of the maloo creeper,” says Shukhani. Potang is a round-bottomed container used to store grain, seeds, and flowers. “Even if you keep these leaves for 20 years, insects will not infest it.”

During the Sarhul spring festival which celebrates the start of the new year, potang is filled with newly-harvested rice. “We place it on our heads and dance,” Shukhani explains.

“Iron made by Asurs does not rust,” says 61-year-old Bandhua Asur, Shukhani’s husband. He is holding up an iron hammer, without a spot of rust, which he claims is at least 200-300 years old.

Asurs are traditional metal smelters, making iron tools like kudari (spade), tangi (axe) and faar (ploughshare) for farming and pausul (iron vili), hasua (sickle) and teer (arrow) for the household.

“Go to the Tanginath Dham. The farsa (battle axe) there has been made by Asurs,” adds Bandhua, referring to a famous temple nearby where an old farsa is embedded to the ground and has remained free of rust.

“But ever since the forest department took control of the jungle, all our crafts have died,” Bandhua says.

The Forest Conservation Act, 1980, imposed a complete ban on the cutting of Sal trees. The charcoal from its wood has been used by Asurs to fuel bhatthis (furnaces) which extract iron from ore found in the region.

“The furnace is made of mud and is this high,” says Shukhani, gesturing up to her hip. The inside of the furnace is conical on both sides to concentrate heat on the iron ore. A foot bellow is used to ignite and maintain the fire.

But the furnaces have fallen silent in the last few decades. And with no iron being made locally, the craft of making iron tools has also declined among the Asurs.

“Sarkar hamlog ko bola ki aap jangal nahi kat sakte hai, fir sara jungal mining company ko de diya [The government said we cannot cut the forest. Then they gave off the entire forest to mining companies],” says Bandhua.

With time, the Asurs have shifted to agriculture. But in this Patt region, even that is not assured to bring in a stable income, “We do not have much water here,” explains Shukhani. “So we cultivate the land only once a year.”

“Mining takes away whatever little water we have,” she adds.

Many residents of Kujam have leased or sold their agricultural land to the mining companies in exchange for jobs as labourers. Bandhua also works as a daily wage labourer in the mines nearby, earning around Rs. 350 on the days he manages to get work.

“We go wherever they speak of Asur craft,” says Shukhani. “All four of us.” She visits fairs organised by the government or NGOs and is often joined by her neighbours Nayihari Asur (60), Nidhi Asur (70) and Taki Asur (75).

After Shukani’s daughter passed away last year, she became even more determined to educate other young women from her community about their crafts. “I could not teach my own daughter, but I will teach all my other daughters about our heritage,” says Shukhani.

Some of the prominent names within the Asur tribe attempt to discredit their craft and label it as ‘fake’ – supposedly lacking finesse and authenticity. Shukhani and her friends are sometimes taken to craft fairs and not paid anything. “But we are not bothered,” Shukhani adds with some defiance. “This is our craft."

This story is supported by a fellowship from Mrinalini Mukherjee Foundation (MMF).