Purusottam Thakur

P. Sainath

Editors

Sharmila Joshi

large_01-20200408_135500-PST-Corona_makes_Kamar_village_a_basket_case.jpg

medium_01-20200408_135500-PST-Corona_makes_Kamar_village_a_basket_case.jpg

small_01-20200408_135500-PST-Corona_makes_Kamar_village_a_basket_case.jpg

thumbnail_01-20200408_135500-PST-Corona_makes_Kamar_village_a_basket_case.jpg

01-20200408_135500-PST-Corona_makes_Kamar_village_a_basket_case.jpg

“The kochia [middleman] has stopped visiting our village since the corona outbreak,” says Jamuna Bai Mandavi. “It’s already been three weeks since he last came here to buy baskets. So we are not able to sell any, and we have no money to buy anything.”Jamuna Bai, a widow with four children, is a resident of Kauhabahra village in Nagri block of Dhamtari district. Around 40 years old, she is an Adivasi from the Kamar tribe, listed by the union Ministry of Home Affairs as a Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group (PVTG) in Chhattisgarh. There are 36 other Kamar families like hers in this cluster of the village. All of them, like her, earn a living by collecting bamboo from the surrounding forests and weaving baskets.The &#39;kochia&#39; she’s talking about is very important to Jamuna Bai and other basket weavers. They are middlemen, or traders, who visit the village every week to buy baskets, which they then sell in retail at the town markets and village haats (markets).Soon, it will be a month since their last appearance in Kauhabahra – they stopped coming after the Covid-19 lockdown began.Jamuna has four children – Laleshwari, 12, who left school after Class 5, Tuleshwari, 8,  Leela, 6, and Lakhmi, 4. Her husband Siyaram died, in his mid-40s, of diarrhoea four years ago, leaving her and the children in a grim survival battle. The lockdown affects not just their income from baskets, but also from other sources.This is the season for mahua flowers (from which local liquor is made) in the forest – a source of income for the Adivasis here in lean periods.

“The markets and weekly haats are closed due to corona,” says Jamuna Bai. “So we are even not able to sell [as a decent price] the mahua flowers that we collect. This in turn means we are not able to buy anything for ourselves due to a lack of money.”Jamuna Bai is entitled to a widow’s pension – Rs. 350 a month in Chhattisgarh – but she has never been enrolled for the scheme and therefore does not receive one.The Chhattisgarh government has made serious efforts to reach its promised two months of rice – entirely free and full quota rations – to BPL (below poverty live) families across the state. They have received 70 kilograms (35 kilos for each month) free and in advance. They’ve also got four packets of salt (two for each month) free for that time. BPL families get items like sugar at subsidised rates (Rs. 17 a kilo) but have to pay for it. That’s what keeps Jamuna Bai’s family going right now.But earnings have come to a complete halt and there is no money to buy any other essentials. Official deliveries here have not included vegetables. And some obviously poor families do not have ration cards. With the lockdown extended, things will get even more difficult for all the Kamar families in this isolated village.Jamuna Bai and her family share their house made of wood, mud and clay tiles with her in-laws, who live separately in the rear portion of the house (they have their own ration card).“We also earn our livelihoods by making baskets and collecting forest produce,” Samari Bai, her mother-in-law, says. “But officials have told us not to venture into the forest because of corona. So I am not going there, but my husband has been doing so these past few days to collect mahua flowers and maybe some firewood as well.”

“If the mahua is not collected daily on time, then it could be eaten by animals or go bad and be wasted,” says Samari Bai. Mahua is considered an Adivasi cash crop and sold at the weekly haats. The money the community gets from this, apart from what they earn selling baskets, is a significant part of what they spend on their own purchases.“The last time the kochia visited us, I made Rs. 300 by selling him baskets. And that money was used to purchase oil, masala, soaps and other things, said Samari Bai. “But since corona came, the costs of our essential needs have doubled.”All of Samari Bai’s four children – including Jamuna Bai’s husband Siyaram – are dead. She becomes very emotional, telling us about this. She seems to be clearly over 65 and should be getting the old age pension of Rs. 350 – but she has not been enrolled and does not receive it.There are just 26,530 Kamars in India, according to Census 2011 (with a healthy sex ratio of 1025). Many of them, around 8,000, live in neighbouring Odisha as well. However, in that state, they have not even been recognised as an Adivasi group, let alone certified as a PVTG.

Back in Kauhabahra, another elder, Sunaram Kunjam, over 65 years, says that he too is not receiving an old age pension. “I am old and weak and unable to work anymore. I depend on my son’s family,” he tells us in his mud home. “My son is a daily wage farm labourer but gets no work these days. So today both he and my daughter-in-law have gone to the forest to collect mahua flowers.”The Adivasis are being forced to sell the mahua at very low rates – a distress sale. “Now people in nearby villages don’t have money to buy our baskets, so we have stopped making them,” says Ghasiram Netam, 35. “My wife and I are both collecting mahua. Since the haats are closed, I sold around 9 kilos at a nearby shop for Rs. 23 per kilogram.” At the haat, he would get up to Rs. 30 for a kilo.Ghasiram has five children, one of whom, Mayawati, left school after Class 5. He did not want her to. “I tried a lot, but Mayawati did not get a seat in any boarding school for tribal students. So she has stopped studying further,” he says. Others like her couldn’t get in because they could not produce a caste certificate.The villagers here – already weakened by malnutrition, mired in poverty, excluded from many social services or welfare measures – are particularly vulnerable during a pandemic. The lockdown has severed their livelihood chain, though many are trying to retrieve parts of it – they’ve gone into the forest looking for mahua flowers.

Wilting mahua, wasted baskets, silent haats

ਮੁਰਝਾਇਆ ਮਹੂਆ, ਮੂਧੀਆਂ ਵੱਜੀਆਂ ਟੋਕਰੀਆਂ, ਸੁੰਨ ਪਈਆਂ ਮੰਡੀਆਂ

বাসি মহুয়া, নষ্ট ঝুড়ি, নিঝুম হাট

मुरझागे मौहा, टूटत टूकना अउ काठ होगे हाट

ಮುದುಡುತ್ತಿರುವ ಮಹುವಾ ಹೂವು, ವ್ಯರ್ಥವಾದ ಬುಟ್ಟಿಗಳು, ಸ್ತಬ್ಧ ಮಾರುಕಟ್ಟೆಗಳು

വാടുന്ന മഹുവപ്പൂക്കള്‍, പാഴാകുന്ന കുട്ടകള്‍, ഒച്ച നിലക്കുന്ന ഹാട് ചന്തകള്‍

મૂરઝાતાં મહુડા, નકામી પડેલી ટોપલીઓ અને સૂની બજાર

মৰহি যোৱা মহুৱা, মূল্যহীন পাচি, মৰিশালি যেন বজাৰ

ମଉଳା ମହୁଲ, ଅଲୋଡ଼ା ଟୋକେଇ, ନିରବ ହାଟ

महुआ कोमेजला, टोपल्या वाया, सुना बाजार

கருகும் மகுவா, வீணான கூடைகள், மௌனித்த வாரச்சந்தைகள்

मुरझाते हुए महुआ, बर्बाद होती टोकरियां और ख़ामोश हाट

مرجھاتے ہوئے مہوا، برباد ہوتی ٹوکریاں اور خاموش ہاٹ

Kauhabahra 

At present, we can only accept donations in Indian rupees by Indian citizens. All donations made to the CounterMedia Trust are eligible for exemption under Section 80G of the Income Tax Act, 1961. Here is a copy of our exemption certificate.


India is bigger than New Delhi. And people need to know more about the rest of this vast nation.


Younger, media-saturated generations are growing up knowing little about their country, but a lot about the elites of a few metros and towns. For a narrowly-owned, commercially-driven media, the dumbing down of a nation is part of standard operating procedure. The last available data of the Centre for Media Studies (CMS, Delhi) show us that reports from New Delhi account for 66 per cent of news on the front pages of major dailies. The CMS data also found that just about 0.24 per cent of front page news came out of rural India. The TV channels are not much better.PARI exists to change that.We are a non-profit organisation. We publish under creative commons, and do not charge readers a subscription fee or put-up advertisements. Nothing is behind a paywall and we are completely free-to-access by anyone. We guard our independence and receive no direct grants from governments and corporations, nor any funding that could dictate our content. So, we are dependent on volunteer labour, donations from individuals, foundations and institutions that see value in independent and free media.PARI is changing the way Indian journalism reports and documents the rural.India is more than the elite of a few metros and towns. We report on rural lives and livelihoods, languages, communities, migrants and more. We need your help to pull off this most ambitious of Indian journalistic endeavours. The scale of this effort costs money. Donate generously - and spread the word about PARI.&nbsp;

Donate FAQs


Let’s get you acquainted

Welcome to PARI

All our content is, and will forever be free to consume. If you enjoy our work, you can support us by becoming a volunteer or by donating to help fund our work.

Want to republish this article? Please write to <a href="mailto:zahra@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">zahra@ruralindiaonline.org</a> with a cc to <a href="mailto:namita@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">namita@ruralindiaonline.org</a>

Wilting mahua, wasted baskets, silent haats

The Covid-19 lockdown has shredded the fragile economy of the Kamars, a Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group in Chhattisgarh, who depend on a trickle of income from weaving baskets and selling mahua flowers

Related stories

A rain-scented walk in Sivagangai

Living on ravaged land

Biswas and the bamboos on his bike

Recycling energy, Godda style

Bhadels of Goa

Pookadai: still throbbing with morning life

Koli Kadlas

Malnourishment high among children of migrants: study

Wheels of the rural Indian West

Living Under a Red Cloud in Bellary

Vedla – earrings of the Maher community

Dreaming of water, drowning in debt

Kali: the dancer and his dreams

Farmer's diet worse than a convict's

In Yavatmal, life goes on

Suicides are about the living, not the dead

Death of a carpenter

Hoisa Shigmo!

Women farmers: weaving a life in Anantapur

Defiant in Dhinkia

Spice and all that's nice

Kerala's Green Army

The ‘jugaad’ not-a-mobile

Health as someone else's wealth

Calibrating in a Kudumbashree assembly unit