Storytelling in Jodhpur

JAGNOOR SINGH

I sit in the dusty gullies of Jodhpur and observe how memory constitutes a part of creation in this city. The forts, the palaces and the bustling markets of the old city are only a few things that preserve accounts of the past. But what truly sets Jodhpur apart is its tradition of telling and retelling of stories that have passed down through generations. When imagining Rajasthani storytelling, one is reminded of an intricate network of ideas crafted around bravery, also loyalty that feeds into caste and class as well as belonging. The stories manifest and reflect the fundamentals of the society.

One amongst the more famous stories of Jodhpur is that of Pabuji, a local hero who is worshipped much like a deity by the people of Marwar. The story of Pabuji is an epic tale of bravery, loyalty and sacrifice, passed down through generations by the Charans, hereditary genealogists, bards and storytellers. Apart from the Charans, there the Bhopas, priest-singers, who share the stories of the multiple folk deities in Rajasthan, using a scroll (the phad), with the ‘story’ painted on it, as a visual backdrop. They then perform the story of Pabuji, through song and dance using an ektara, a one string instrument. Often they add contemporary interventions to the traditional legend, much like the revue performed in other parts of the world where the ‘now’ is told through the traditional form, thereby communicating new ideas. These storytellers are the living chroniclers of their time and space.

The Kalbelias, an itinerant community of snake charmers, are also known for their storytelling. Patronage of the ruler and of the community has been the mainstay of these storytellers.

The Langas and the Manganiars of Rajasthan continue to perform because of the patronage they receive. They move from village to village performing their rich and vibrant repertoire, are welcomed and looked after by the community, are celebrated and honoured, in a concerted effort to keep their very special oral tradition alive. Patronage, though potent, whether it be of the ruler or of the community, or both, is not seen as a mere responsibility, but imagined to be a robust continuation of an idea that makes the community proud. It is interesting that this tradition of patronage is not limited to the traditional elite alone and is, in fact, far more pervasive. The katputli (puppetry) tradition of Jodhpur, for example, receives its patronage from the Dalit community of the city. This brings them a degree of respect and acceptance. Having said that, Dalit participation in the katputli shows tends to  stand apart from other castes. The reason for this is that there exists a presumption that patronage as an ideal is localized to the elite, the participation of Dalits in both the creation as well as performance represents an ethereal elevation of caste as an idea when it comes to creative expression. These artists like many others lost their space of performance, they thus were part of a great exodus that took them to places like Delhi where they created settlements known as ‘Katputli colonies’. Their art form is one that is losing breath as time flows.

The values around storytelling are important at two levels – of societal construction, and the immediate value of the story itself. The societal construction is about the form the storytelling takes, while the story sells a dream.

Storytelling, or katha, prevails across India. However, what sets Jodhpuri katha apart is its unique blend of music, poetry, and drama. The storyteller, the kathavachak, uses all these elements to conjure up a rich and immersive experience for the audience. He begins by reciting a poem in a dramatic, deep and resonant tone of voice, using gestures and foot movements to bring alive the story. The baithak, is another form of storytelling through music and song. The hathai is a now rare form of socio-cultural storytelling where older generations sit together with the younger generation of the clan and community to share the historical stories of the society that was, with its different social mores of a time past.

The hathai has been described by some of the elders as an exchange, a conversation, sometimes laced with gossip, exploring a past reality. But, that description does not seem to be sufficient as an explanation and needs to be probed. When I asked one of the young people sitting around the hathai, he said that a hathai is something that only Brahmins can do. The reason being that anyone capable of having an intelligent and thought provoking conversation can only be a Brahmin – ‘the low caste people are not capable of a hathai; the women are not capable of a hathai; only Brahmins are capable of it.’ Therefore, the question of who is included or excluded from these great oral traditions of storytelling reflecting the past and the present, lingers on.

Komal Kothari recognized the importance of the Charans who were, and are, the traditional chroniclers, narrators who are carrying forward their storytelling. He dedicated his life to the study and documentation of their art. Kothari’s work with the Charans helped them to access a wider audience, both in India and abroad, thereby facilitating the process of keeping the tradition alive to pass it down to future generations.

Born in the 1920s in Jodhpur, the young Komal Kothari, recognized the slow and consistent erasure of ‘stories’, the valuable oral histories of generations, layered in the cultures of communities. Apprehensive of what would happen if these stories faded into oblivion, Kothari decided to spend his life being a scribe, trying to understand the culture of Rajasthan and become a keeper of memories. With this, he embarked on a mission to embrace and protect the many stories, record them, archive them and also resurrect the men and women who told those stories by introducing them to the world beyond their communities and landscape, absorbing them once again into the larger whole.

Komal da chose Borunda village in Rajasthan to commence his work. It was not possible for him to travel to every single part of Rajasthan to have conversations with people and transcribe their stories. Instead, he found a solution where he had conversations with the women of every family within that village. The woman in the village came from villages beyond and brought with them stories and memories of their villages and communities. Kothari did the same with the Langas and Manganiars who were bards, the musicians of Rajasthan. He recorded their voices, their music, their stories.

When Komal da was done with his research, he had 20,000 stories, all archived, all in one space resting together in Jodhpur. Kothari, his memories and the work of his storytelling have made sure that even if we forget these stories as a culture, they will be safe in the voices of those who sung them. This is the history of storytelling in Rajasthan, using memory and the present, framed in music, song and dance, to celebrate its great oral traditions. New ideas from a globalizing world are being added to the repertoires. The memory of past stories we were once told, remain in a capsule within the traditions of storytelling, much like a social glue that helps bind people together, reinforcing shared values. As the great anthropologist Clifford Geertz once said, ‘The stories we tell ourselves about ourselves are the stuff of which identity is made.’ 

In Jodhpur, storytelling is not merely a form of entertainment, it is an endorsement of shared identities and sense of belonging.