Sthitee Mohanty

Student Reporter

Swadesha Sharma

Editor

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“Every time the bhatti [furnace] is lit, I injure myself.”

Salma Lohar’s knuckles are scarred and
two on her left hand are split open. She picks a handful of ash from the
furnace and rubs it in to speed up the healing.

The 41-year-old’s family is one of six
Lohar families who call a chain of juggis
in Sonipat’s Bahalgarh market their home. On one side is the busy market
road and on the other is a municipal garbage dump. There is a government toilet
and water tanker nearby and Salma and her family rely wholly on these
facilities. 

The juggis
have no electricity and if it rains for more than 4-6 hours, the entire
settlement floods – as it did last October (2023). At such times they have to
sit on their cots with their legs drawn up, waiting for the water to recede –
it takes 2-3 days. “It stinks a lot
during those days,” Dilshad, Salma’s son, recalls.

“But where else will we go?” Salma asks.
“I know that living here next to trash makes us ill. Flies that sit there come
and sit on our food too. But where else will we go?”

The Gadia, Gadiya or Gaduliya Lohars are
listed as a Nomadic <a href="https://sje.rajasthan.gov.in/Default.aspx?PageID=68">Tribe</a> (NT) as well as a Backward <a href="https://sje.rajasthan.gov.in/Default.aspx?PageID=67">Class</a> in Rajasthan. People
belonging to this community also live in Delhi and Haryana but while they’re
recognised as a Nomadic Tribe in the former, they are termed a Backward Class
in <a href="https://www.haryanascbc.gov.in/reservation-in-haryana/list-of-backward-classes">Haryana</a>.

The market where they live is next to state
highway 11 and attracts vendors selling fresh produce, sweets, kitchen
condiments, electrical devices and much more. Many set up stalls and leave once
the market closes.

But for people like Salma, the market is
both home and workplace.

“My day starts early, around 6 a.m. When
the sun rises, I have to light the furnace, cook for my family, and then get to
work,” says the 41-year-old. Together with her husband Vijay, she works at the
furnace twice a day for long stretches, melting and hammering iron scraps into
utensils. In a day they manage to make four or five of them.

Salma’s chance for a break from work
comes in the afternoon, with a hot cup of tea which she drinks sitting on her
cot, flanked by two of her children: her only daughter Tanu is 16 and her
youngest son Dilshad is 14. Her sister-in-law’s daughters – Shivani, Kajal and
Chidiya – are also around. Only nine-year-old Chidiya goes to school.

“Will you put this on WhatsApp?” asks
Salma. “Mention my work first!”

The tools of her trade and the finished
products gleam in the afternoon sun – sieves, hammers, hoes, axe heads,
chisels, kadhais, cleavers and much
more.

“Our tools are the most precious things in this juggi,” she says, squatting before a
large metal pan. Her break over, the tea cup in her hand is replaced by a
hammer and chisel. With an ease that comes from practice, she hammers holes
into the bottom of the pan, changing the angle of the chisel after every two
strikes. “This sieve is not for the kitchen. Farmers use it to sort grain.”

Inside, Vijay is in front of the furnace
which they light twice a day – morning and evening. The iron rod he is shaping
glows red, but he appears to not be bothered by the heat. When asked about the
time it takes to prepare the furnace, he laughs, “We only know when the insides
glow. If the air is damp, it takes longer. One or two hours usually, depending
on the coal we use.” The coal costs anywhere from Rs. 15 to 70
a kilo based on the quality. Salma and Vijay travel to brick kilns in Uttar
Pradesh to buy it in bulk. 

Vijay starts hammering the glowing tip of
the iron rod flat on the anvil. The small furnace is too weak to melt the iron
sufficiently and so he applies brute force.

The Lohars claim ancestry from a <a href="https://unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/pf0000061262">weapons-making community</a> in
16th century Rajasthan who moved to different parts of north India after
Chittorgarh was captured by the Mughals. “Those were our forefathers. We live
very different lives now,” Vijay says smiling. “But we still follow the craft
they taught us. And we wear these kadhais
[thick bangles] like them.”

He is now teaching the trade to his own
children. “Dilshad is the best at it,” he says. Dilshad, Salma and Vijay’s
youngest, points out the tools: “Those are hathodas
[hammers]. The larger ones are called ghan.
Bapu [father] holds the hot metal with chimtas
[tongs] and uses the kaenchi [scissors]
to shape it into curves.”

Chidiya starts rotating the handle of the
hand-operated fan which regulates the temperature of the furnace. She giggles
as the ash flies all around.

A woman approaches wanting to buy a
knife. Salma tells her it’s worth Rs. 100. The woman responds, “I don’t want to
pay 100 rupees for this. I can get a plastic one for much cheaper.” They
bargain and settle on Rs. 50.

Salma sighs at the retreating woman. The
family cannot sell enough iron to support themselves. Plastic is a fierce
competitor. They can neither keep up with the rapid rate of manufacture, nor
match the price.

“We have started selling plastic now,”
she says. “My brother-in-law has a plastic shop in front of his juggi and my brother sells plasticware
at Tikri border near Delhi.” They buy the plastic from other vendors in the
market to sell elsewhere but have yet to turn a profit.

Tanu says that her uncles earn more in Delhi.
“City people are willing to spend on little things like this. For them, 10
rupees is not that much. For a villager, it is a lot of money and they don’t
want to spend it on us. That is why my uncles are richer.”

“I want my children to study,” says
Salma, the first time I met her in 2023. I was an undergraduate student at a
nearby university. “I want them to make something out of their lives.” She
feels this keenly since her eldest son had to drop out of secondary school
because of a lack of necessary documents. He is 20 now.

“I ran everywhere from the Sarpanch to the
district headquarters with everything they asked for – Aadhaar, ration card,
caste papers. I stamped countless papers with my thumb. Nothing came of it.”

Dilshad also dropped out of Class 6 last
year. He says, “Government schools don’t teach anything worth learning. But my
sister Tanu knows a lot. She is padhi-likhi.”
Tanu studied till Class 8 but did not want to continue. The school nearby did
not have Class 10 and she would have to walk almost an hour to attend school in
Khewara, more than three kilometres away.

“People stare at me,” says Tanu. “They
say very dirty things. I’d rather not repeat them.” So now Tanu stays home and
helps her parents with their work.

The family must bathe in the open, near
the public tankers. Tanu says softly, “Everyone can see us when we are bathing
in the open.” But a visit to a public toilet costs Rs. 10 a trip, and that adds
up to a lot for the entire family.  Their
earnings are not enough to rent a proper house with a toilet, and so must stay
on the pavement.

No one in the family is vaccinated against covid-19. If
they fall sick, they go to the Badh Khalsa primary health centre (PHC) or one
in Seoli. Private clinics are a last resort as they are expensive.

Salma is careful how their money is
spent. “When money is tight, we go to the rag pickers,” she says. “There we get
clothes for around 200 rupees.”

Sometimes the family visits other markets
in Sonipat. Tanu says, “We will go to the Ram Leela which will be held nearby
for Navratri. If there is money, we will have street food too.”

“Though my name is mussalman [Muslim], I am Hindu,” Salma says. “We worship everyone –
Hanuman, Shiv, Ganesh.”

“And we worship our ancestors through our work!”
Dilshad quickly adds, making his mother laugh.

When business in the market slows, Salma
and Vijay go around nearby villages selling their wares. This happens once or
twice a month. It is rare for them to make sales in the villages. But when they
do, they earn at best Rs. 400 to 500 from the visit. Salma says, “Sometimes we
roam so much that it feels like our legs have broken.” At times, the villagers give them cattle
– young calves which need to be separated from their milk-giving mothers. The
family does not earn enough to rent a proper house and stay on the pavement as
they have no choice.

Young Tanu laughs off the drunkards she
has had to chase away at night. Dilshad adds, “We have to hit them and shout at
them. Our mothers and sisters sleep here.”

Recently, people claiming to be from the
Nagar Nigam (Sonipat municipal corporation) have been asking them to move away.
They are told that the gate to the waste dumping grounds behind the juggis is to be built and they need to
free the government land they are occupying.

The officers who visit record data from
the family’s Aadhaar, ration and family cards yet leave behind no documentation
of their visit. So, no one here is quite sure who they are. These visits happen
about once every two months.

“They tell us we will get a plot of land,” Tanu
says. “What kind of plot? Where? Is it far from the market? They tell us
nothing of this sort.”

The family’s income certificate shows
they once earned around Rs. 50,000 a month. Now, they earn only around Rs.
10,000. When they need money, they take a loan from relatives. The closer the
relation, the lower the interest. They return the money when they sell enough
but the pace has been slow since the pandemic. “Covid was a good time for us,” says
Tanu. “The market was quiet. We received food rations from government trucks.
People would even come and distribute masks.”

Salma is more contemplative, “After the
pandemic, people are more suspicious of us. There is hatred in their gaze.”
Every time they go out, some locals verbally abuse them using caste-based
slurs.

“They won’t let us stay in their villages. I
don’t understand why they abuse our caste so much.” Salma wants the world to
think of them as equals. “Roti is roti for us and them – we all eat the
same food. What is the difference between us and the rich?”

Lohars in Sonipat: futures on the anvil

حالات کی کسوٹی پر سونی پت کے لوہاروں کا مستقبل

సోనీపత్ కమ్మరులు: భావిజీవితాలకు సుత్తి దెబ్బలు

சோனிபட் கொல்லர்கள்: பட்டறைக்கல்லில் எதிர்காலம் தேடும் நாடோடிகள்

ਸੋਨੀਪਤ ਦੇ ਲੁਹਾਰਾਂ ਦੀ ਬੁਝਦੀ ਜਾਂਦੀ ਭੱਠੀ

ନିହାଇ ଉପରେ ନିର୍ଭର କରୁଛି ସୋନିପତ୍‌ କମାରଙ୍କ ଭବିଷ୍ୟତ

സോനിപത്തിലെ ലോഹാറുകൾ: കൂടക്കല്ലിൽ അമരുന്ന പ്രതീക്ഷകൾ

ಸುತ್ತಿಗೆಯಡಿ ಸಿಲುಕಿರುವ ಸೋನಿಪತ್‌ನ ಲೋಹರ್‌ಗಳ ಭವಿಷ್ಯ

એરણ પર ચડેલું સોનીપતના લુહારોનું ભવિષ્ય

बिपत मं परे सोनीपत के लोहार मन के भविष्य

सोनीपत के लोहारन के भविष्य पर खतरा

হাতুড়ি-নেহাইয়ের মাঝে আটকে সোনিপতের লোহার জনজাতি

সোণিপটৰ কমাৰৰ দোদুল্যমান ভৱিষ্যৎ

निहाई पर ज़िंदगी बसर करते सोनीपत के लोहार

Bahalgarh

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Lohars in Sonipat: futures on the anvil

Members of a nomadic community (Lohar), Salma and Vijay live and work on the pavement in makeshift homes in the Bahalgarh market of Haryana. Here they make and sell sieves, hammers, hoes, axe heads, chisels and much more, under the constant threat of eviction

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