Widow sans marriage

Tangiri Wadeba, 40, has never been married but lives like a widow. Her head is clean shaven, and she wears only light-coloured cotton saris and no ornaments. Tangiri, who lives in Railima village in the Niyamgiri Hills of Odisha’s Rayagada district, can never forget the day her father told her that her marriage had been called off, and that she would have to live alone all her life.

“I was 15 when a young man proposed marriage. According to the customs of my Dongria Kondh clan, wine and buffaloes were exchanged between the families, and my father threw a lavish feast for everyone,” she recalls. Everything went as planned until, one day, the groom’s family simply decided they did not want their son to marry Tangiri. “I don’t know what happened but our alliance broke. He went on to marry someone else, but tradition demanded that I live like a widow,” she sighs. She knows her former fiancé will never come back, but “our customs have forced me to wait for him, forever”.

Tangiri now stares at a future without companionship or hope, something that Lakke Pushika, 70, is familiar with. Lakke spends hours in the veranda of her small home in Khajuri village, staring vacantly at her surroundings. She doesn’t even remember the name of the man who was once betrothed to her. “I was only 10. My parents had fixed my marriage with a boy from the neighbouring village. Even then I did not really understand what was happening, I just saw that my parents were really happy. One year later, when I was 11, my father came to me and said that from then on I was to only wear white saris. It seems like forever now,” says Lakke, her eyes brimming with tears.

Tangiri and Lakke share a fate that is common to over 200 women across Railima, Khajuri, Khambeshi, Kurli and Kadragumma villages in the Niyamgiri Hills region. They are Dongria Kondhs, a sub-section of the Kondh community, a primitive tribe that has traditionally resided in this area. According to the Dongria Kondh Development Agency (DKDA), the Dongrias number 8,613, and live in 102 villages. Average literacy rate in the community is less than 20 per cent, with female literacy rate at a dismal five per cent. The Dongrias commonly practise polygamy but ensure that marriages don’t take place within the same clan. Earlier it was common for a Dongria to either capture or force an alliance, but in recent times, marriages are formally negotiated, as in the cases of Tangiri and Lakke.

The tribe has an interesting tradition aimed at facilitating alliances between youngsters. Every Dongria village has youth dormitories. When unmarried boys and girls attain puberty, they are packed off to the separate dormitories for boys and girls, located at the far end of the village.

As in any club, the youngsters sing, dance, and share experiences with each other. In what could be termed as a ‘modern’ move, girls and boys are allowed to forge relationships, including sexual ties, with those from other villages. The hope is that their ‘affair’ will end in marriage. The boy usually proposes marriage, and his family gives the girl’s family wine and buffaloes as offerings. If his feelings are reciprocated by the girl, her family sends some ‘gifts’ along with wine and buffalos to consolidate the union.

Unfortunately, not all liaisons have happy endings. Dase Jakasika, 20, still can’t believe that the young man she fell in love with spurned her just before marriage. Even now, her beautiful face lights up as she recalls their courtship, “We met in the youth dormitory on the outskirts of my village, Khambeshi. He used to visit the girls’ dormitory along with his friends. We were together for about two months and then he proposed to me. One month later we were supposed to get married but he left me all alone to lead a miserable life.” Dase is still young and longs to dress up, but custom forbids her from doing so. Also, she is no longer allowed to go to the dormitory and participate in dance or musical programmes during festivals. Ramesh Chandra Nulla, an activist with the DKDA, has worked in the community for several years. “The youth dormitories are a way for the Dongrias to educate the young in their traditional ways. Girls are taught social taboos; they listen to the myths, legends and stories around their culture. But Dongria girls who face rejection are not allowed to stay in the dormitories,” he explains.

Considered ‘rejects’, life becomes tougher as they grow older and struggle to make ends meet without support. Kurmi Wadeka, 60, is a case in point. “All my siblings got married and they are staying separately with their families. As long as my parents were alive, I did not face any problem. I used to go to the forest with my father and collect minor forest produce. We also had a small patch of land where we grew pineapples. However, after he died my brothers distributed the land equally amongst themselves, leaving me out. I am a woman and that too one who has been rejected. At least I still have my hut to live in. Earlier, I used to work in others’ fields to earn but now I am old and can’t do hard labour, so I have no option but to live on alms,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Women are not allowed to seek a second marriage alliance if the first one fails. The Dongria Kondh tribals have zealously clung to such traditional practices despite many development projects initiated by the State. Even the educated zealously cling to traditional practices.

Some, like Ghasi Kadraka, head of Khajuri village, do not agree with this custom but find it difficult to raise their voice against it. “If we try to marry the girl elsewhere, there could be a big fight between the villages. It becomes a matter of prestige and dignity. My own daughter is a victim of this practice. She is 25 and stays with me for now, but I am worried about her future. After I am gone, how will she survive? I know the consequences of this practice but am helpless to do anything about it. I dare not go against my community,” says Ghasi.

Rayagada-based researcher Uday Chandra Panda says primitive tribal communities are getting depleted by the day, and the Dongrias are no exception. “Practices like this are now posing a huge risk to their very existence and the Government and civil society need to make the community aware of its negative impact.”

— © Women's Feature Service

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