Samrudhi Kerkar
On the way to our cashew plantation, situated on a hill, we pass by a sacred grove named Biramanyachi Rai.
Every year, when we plan to visit it, the path is often covered with thorny bushes, burrs and overgrown weeds, making the entire pathway difficult to navigate. So much so that, sometimes, it becomes challenging to recognise our plantation among the others! That is when my grandmother would advise us, “Just try to find that tranquil, dense patch of greenery, the Biramanyachi Rai. Then you will know that you have reached our place.”
We would heave a sigh of relief when we reached there. During the scorching summer heat, this place would indeed feel like an oasis. With its dense, dark canopy of evergreen trees such as Caryota urens, cane, Ficus and other wild varieties, it offers a welcome respite from the heat.
My baba told me that the grove once housed a stone sculpture of ‘Brahmani Maya’, a female folk goddess and the presiding deity of the grove. She was depicted quietly holding a hooded cobra in each of her hands. The sculpture is missing today but everyone still believes in her presence in the grove.
Her blessings are felt when the wind rushes through the forest, swaying the trees, carrying the wild fragrance of the vegetation and caressing every passerby with a serene, gentle breeze. After arduously climbing up the hill in the dry, scorching summer season, this breeze indeed feels peaceful, almost like the gentle, caressing hand of a mother.
My village, Keri, has more than ten sacred groves. Among them, Biramanyachi Rai is very close to me.
My grandparents, who had established a cashew plantation here, had deep reverence for this place and the goddess. They would keep the grove clean and would never spit or wear footwear inside it.
In our region, according to traditional beliefs, one should not enter a ‘Rai’ (sacred grove) wearing footwear. Today, looking at the thorns and bushes, it might seem difficult to walk barefoot through these dense forests. But once your feet touch the softness of the leaf litter or the damp, cool soil, you can experience a direct connection with the earth.
I would often yearn to catch a glimpse of one of the animals my grandmother used to spot as we walked through the area. She would say that they wouldn’t harm us, as they were the divine protectors of the grove. But I still haven’t been fortunate enough to see one.
It has been so long since those heartwarming memories and the moments spent with my grandparents. Yet, I still feel their care in the places they held close to their hearts, in the trees they planted and nurtured. This cashew plantation was one such place.
But after they passed away, it became difficult for us to frequently climb up the hill to look after these trees. Slowly, one by one, the cashew trees disappeared.
Sometimes, we simply visit the area to trek or relive those memories in the shade of the trees.
This time, we have planned to plant some native trees in the area – trees that would be better suited to the natural landscape of this forested region. We hope to create a grove of our own, right beside the sacred grove of Biramanyachi Rai.
This year, when we visited it for the first time after such a long gap, I was delighted to experience the same sense of peace that we had felt during my earlier visits here with my grandparents. It felt as though this was one of those rare places that never really change and always remain equally welcoming, no matter how much our lives change. While it was bright and sunny outside, the interior of the grove appeared dark and deep, as though the jungle held many unsaid mysteries.
We sat in the cool shade of the old, familiar trees, absorbing the atmosphere and letting it seep into our souls. That day, we descended the mountain with a sense of divine satisfaction.
However, that feeling was unexpectedly shattered when we visited the place again.
The trees, the jungle, everything was just as it had been. But this time, we hesitated to walk barefoot. Not because of the thorns, but because of the plastic and litter scattered around. The trees were festooned with plastic decorations, while milk packets and plastic bottles lay scattered everywhere.
It was disturbing to see a place that I regarded as a temple in such a condition.
I wonder how we can travel all the way up a mountain, into the heart of a forest, and still not think twice before blemishing such an undisturbed, serene place.
I wish we humans could learn to leave these places as peacefully as we find them.
