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For centuries, on the third Saturday of August, notwithstanding the ominous
threat of monsoon rain, the beautiful island of Divar in Goa celebrates Bonderam,
the festival of flags. Its origins are revealing of folk psychology. Apparently,
there used to be frequent land-related disputes between the parishes of my
native Piedade and neighbouring Malar. These oftentimes degenerated into bloody
feuds, reaching their peak just before harvest time, when the fields were lush
with ripe paddy.
In order to sort things out, the Portuguese government
introduced a system of demarcating property boundaries with flags every year.
Naturally this did not satisfy everyone. Rival groups went about surreptitiously
knocking down offending pennants with stones, and when caught out, readily
indulged in combat. Over the decades the strong arm of the law and better sense
prevailed, and peace between the neighbours secured. However, in a parody of the
past "either to sublimate their mutual antagonism or to mimic their own
foolishness" in late August every year the Divarkars continue to parade the
streets with an array of colourful flags, then wield the fotash, or bamboo
stick, as a weapon in mock battle, pelting each other with wild berries, and
topping the whole thing off with music, dance and merriment, recreating echoes
of the carnival.
In an uncanny coincidence, a rather violent variation of
this very same sort of festival is observed every August in a town called
Pandhurna, in the district of Chhindwara, Madhya Pradesh, where years ago I was
collector and district magistrate. Though Pandhurna is thousands of kilometres
away from Divar, the observance bears a striking resemblance to Bonderam. But
here the festival is called Got-Mar, meaning 'pelting of stones'. And true to
this, it is stones that people pelt. A stream flows through the town and early
in the morning on the appointed day people of one side swim to the middle and
plant a flag. The other inhabitants take this as a deadly affront, and cannot
rest until they have uprooted it. Defenders and invaders both shower each other
with rocks propelled with slings. Broken tiles are the least of it — heads and
limbs are cracked with glee, and hundreds of casualties ensue, sometimes even
death. I suppose it would take another couple of centuries before the
towns-people of Pandhurna learn to sublimate their animo-sities in a manner akin
to those of the villagers of Divar.
From
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/754137.cms
David Pawson, 5 August 2008
