The Dark Side Of The Moon

Location:
Kakhandaki, a remote village close to the town of Vijayapur, India.

Suddenly, but not surprisingly, tears filled our eyes as we huddled together and thought about those kids – some with so many dreams for their future but no one to guide them, some unaware that they had very little time on Earth and some who can only dream of going to school someday.

Back in Bangalore… how it all started?

It was a fine evening in Bangalore, the roads were wet by the rain and the streetlights slowly began to light up the dark city. In a Volvo bus, surrounded by traffic, we were making our way to the city’s inter-state bus stand, from which we were to board a bus to our destination. On our way, an hour and a half journey, we shared our love for the city, its people and its miraculously surviving green amidst the chaos of the hustling environment. We were ten college kids in pursuit of understanding the lives of women and children in a remote village of Bijapur named Kakhandaki in India.

We satisfied our hunger with a good street-dinner and boarded the bus to the other side of Karnataka. During the refreshment break in the middle of the night, someone had lit a cigarette and in no time, like water floating in zero gravity, all of us gathered to form a perfect circle taking turns for a puff, and those who didn’t smoke completed the chain by passing it on. Our adherence to form a circle united by a single joint became the reason why we call ourselves “The Circle”. Our reveries were interrupted by the driver who asked us to get back. Looking from the bus’s window the night sky and every passing streetlight were hallucinating, meanwhile, the cold breeze outside and yet the warmth inside the bus felt cozy enough and we were all fast asleep.

The next morning, by the time we were all awake, we had reached the town of Bijapur. Looking outside the window… we saw dry green weeds covering the side of the roads. In a while, we had reached our place to stay for the day- a hostel that belonged to the school. We were going to hold a two-day workshop at the local school named “Loyola High”. Right after breakfast, we gathered all of our energy and set out for our mission.
The school’s principal who is also a church father gave us a clear picture on how to address and communicate with the kids at his school. Making us aware of the troubled backgrounds of most of his students, he was kind enough to be transparent about the sensitivities in the society they come from and showed no inclination to restraint us from anything we had in store to teach. He wanted us to impart everything we had to the students.
Some kids who studied at Loyola came from the village of Kakhandaki. The reason we had decided that Kakhandaki would be the place of our study was not only because of its vivid culture and people but mainly because of how culture and tradition had exploited these people.

The story of the women and children of Kakhandaki

Ancient India has observed traditions rich in culture and religion, yet cruel in so many ways. The women of Kakhandaki are one among the victims of such practices. In the past, an idiosyncratic ritual had emanated from this village. All the girls that came of age were married off to the temples just like the Egyptian vestigial virgins. For years, this system continued… but ambiguities are surely to occur in such systems and therefore some women began to have a sexual liaison without the knowledge of the temple.
With the world stepping into modernism and as technology grew, the system had slowly and somehow turned into prostitution and prostitution, along with it carries mental and physical diseases.

We were intended to understand how these women were living their lives as they tried to let go of the system while taking help from the society that had once looked down upon them but with time had begun to understand the morale of change and growth.

After a brief talk with the Father, we split and scheduled ourselves to take classes. We were overwhelmed to see the children and their eagerness to learn something new which drove them to school every day.
The first few minutes of every class were introductory, after which we thought them a little bit of English and administrative skills. Some of us in the team knew the local language ‘Kannada’ and this way communicating with children became much easier.
After a lunch of the local food ‘jolad rotti’(roti made from jowar), we were tired and were wondering how our teachers at college managed to do this every single day.
To make sure the children weren’t bored, we decided to give them little insights about the universe they were a part of and its magnificence, from The Big Bang to the neighbouring galaxy… It was a good decision.

It felt amazing to look at all of their startled faces, they wanted to know more and kept shooting questions at us. The curiosity that sprung in them encouraged us to keep our spirits high and we gave them everything we could.
After we promised them that we would be returning the next day to teach and interact with them more, we left to explore the markets and the streets of Bijapur.
The colourful street lights and the cold night was all warm and inviting. The street vendors sold delicacies, earthen pots, colourful rangoli powder and flowers with a fresh fragrance. We held our hands and walked until our stomachs cried from hunger. In the nick of time, we found the restaurant cited to be the best in the locality. By the looks of it, it looked pleasant and reasonable. As we sat down chilling in the cool AC drinking ice-cold water, soothing our thirsts… everything seemed to have come to a pleasant pause.
BUT
As one of us took a look at the menu and passed it with a hint of an awkward smile all the while when the waiter stood there waiting to take an order we came to an understanding that the place was out of our league. We sat there clueless and trying to keep the conversation going when in fact we only wanted to run away from the place. Someone announced, ”Guys! There are 7 more folks to join us and there’s no space for them here…Sorry but because of that we have to leave”. (There was none to join us)
That was our cue… after a bit of mumbling, all of us got up slowly and like little sneaky kids we began to rush out of the restaurant, in a blink we were running in random directions… pausing to catch a breath all of us began laughing at each other’s faces. It was hilarious.
Eventually, we decided to parcel some food from the streets of Bijapur.

In the auto-rickshaw(over flooded with 10 of us, one over the other)

After a day of complete excretion, looking at the quiet road from a moving auto-rickshaw’s back is a feeling of sheer ecstasy, every passing vehicle and building seem to hallucinate your thoughts. We sang to the loud music that played in the rickshaw, re-living the day, sharing our experience and at the same time embarrassing one another. A completely different time in a different world. By the time we returned to our hotel, we had inevitably concluded that everything we saw and heard today, teaching and at the same time learning from the kids had somehow made us feel different.
After a change of clothes, refreshment and a good dinner, accompanied by a lazy so-called dance party, we were all fast asleep.

The next morning was rushed, we got up late, grabbed some cookies and muffins from a nearby store and ate on our way to the school in the rickshaw. At the school, a Sunday morning, we were surprised by the number of students who turned up, a day they probably had planned to have fun… but we understood that somehow the curiosity for knowledge gets hold of the one who seeks for it.
We concluded the class by asking them to share their ideas to develop the town they lived in. Oh! They had beautiful dreams.

In no time it was the afternoon and we were to bid a goodbye to these kids. We left with a heavy heart, assuring them our return. Before lunch, we decided to visit the famous “Gol-Gumbaz”. Gol Gumbaz, meaning a “circular-dome” is the tomb of Adil Shah, a mausoleum. Its circular dome is said to be the second-largest in the world after St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. The most peculiar thing is that the central dome stands without any pillar support.

The sun was hot and the ground below us burnt… we walked from the entrance taking pictures in the garden to the dome. From up close, it was big!… was bigger than we had imagined it to be. We were requested to not wear footwear inside. The ground almost blistered our legs as we ran in. Like dipping a burnt finger in a bowl of ice, the transition came as a surprise and a great relief. The floors inside were chill, as if air-conditioned. We were to climb seven floors through one of the side pillars. Ancient stairs seem to have been built for flamingos, the ground slippery and each step miles apart.

As we climbed up, we were met with names and symbols of friends, lovers, and hearts scratched all over these historic walls. ALL OVER THE PLACE… the intentions might have been sweet… but it felt wrong. Somehow, people were forgotten to be educated to keep something of such prominence from the past safeguarded for the future to admire.
It was clear by looking at all of them that they came from modern society, there was no end to these initials, each and every floor of the pillars bore them.
Right below the tomb is the whispering gallery, the unique structure is built in such a way that a small whisper gets amplified and is carried across the entire structure echoing. We were informed, how the carving had massively reduced the number of echoes the dome was capable of, from 12 times in the past, it had now reduced to 9 and in the years to come, it will continue reducing if it isn’t obstructed somehow.

We, at the same time, were lost in the magnificence of this structure itself, from the balcony of the dome to the burial ground below, it was an architectural beauty. Intricately designed to view from the top, the place itself carried a thousand-year-old history.
Thousands of people going there every day to adore its grandeur… it was as if we were living through time.
We spread across the circular viewing balcony and in unison screamt “Saahitya”, the literature club of the college that united us together, it literally means literature in Sanskrit. Hearing the echo sounding “saahitya” was a moment of pride we all shared. With hungry stomachs, we climbed down the slippery stairs and gobbled up some good food at a nearby restaurant and were to leave to the village we were so curious about – Kakhandaki.

We were provisioned with transport to the village by the Father at Loyola.
We are kids brought up in city’s and have, therefore, not only seen rapid development in its people and culture but we have also downheartedly witnessed how the green behind the very essence of the city being called “The Garden city” having been overlooked over the past few years.
Looking at the green fields that surrounded the empty roads for an hour was all that we did… absorbing the rich beauty of the crops the farmers grew, the huge windmills. People riding cycles for kilometres long was not something we were usually accustomed to seeing either.
In a while, we had reached the tiny village. We were greeted by a dog and a silent road.
To give you an idea about the village, first of all, it was quiet… roads empty and houses with doors closed. There was a petit store that sold certain necessities.
We were taken to a house at the end of the street by a Guide which Father had sent along to help us navigate.
After requesting them, many women gathered up at this house for us to interview them. With the women came along the tiny tots… most of them in primary school. We split into teams, some interviewing the older women, some of us interviewing the older school-going girls and some of us keeping the other kids busy, playing games with them.

To put it in short, we were stunned by the information we got out of the interview.

The “Devadasi” system in southern India has been a part of the society since the 3rd century AD, primarily the system involved being married to the temple and worshipping a deity for the rest of their lives.
The women explained how this ritualistic practice had somehow evolved into a chaotic evil.
Once these girls (the devadasis) reached puberty, they are initiated into sexual transactions, where men bid and pay their families for their first sexual transaction. Men who associated with “devadasis” provided some assistance, but it was never an obligation. Any child born of such associations isn’t entitled to any social or financial security from the father.
What was even worse was that some of them have succumbed to STD’s. Tragically, these infected women have given birth to diseased children.
The Indian government, in recent years, has worked in helping and developing the lives of these women and children but sadly many cases never come to light.

The interview with the teenage girls was an eye-opener, some of them studied at the public schools.
Initially, the girls made the conversation happen, easing our nervousness. They questioned us about our college and what we were doing at their place. After a bit of exchange of information, they told us about the sanitary and water problems, and how many girls are forced to child marriage. They told us about how far the schools were from their homes. Even though the government had provided them with cycles, they didn’t use them. Reasoning that parents were scared and advised kilometre’s walk over riding a bicycle.
An average family in Kakhandaki consists of 7 people and they all live in the same tiny house. Certain government schemes such as the “Bhagyalaxmi” forced these girls to opt for Kannada medium schools over English for they could avail its benefits only this way… when in fact, the girls preferred going to English medium schools.
When we encouraged them to find ways to make their dreams come true. One of the girls quoted “manasiddare marga“ which means “the path exists only when you desire for it”.
It took us a minute to process the words when they told us about a friend of theirs, a thirteen-year-old who had been married off and was at that time pregnant. It was not just that one girl, they began listing the name of other friends who were also facing the same situation, some who even suffered from sexually transmitted diseases.
When asked if their parents wish to do the same, they told us they were lucky that they promoted education for their daughters.
We were told with regret that the superiority of the elderly and their egoistic behaviour kept the girls from having any form of influence or voice to speak up against false practices and ideologies.
They cheerfully mentioned that looking at all of us inspired them to do much better and achieve their dreams and be independent in the future. We shared some tips and advice on how to make it out of the world they didn’t wish to be a part of anymore, reinforcing on the opportunities that lie beyond the confines of their village.
One of the girls who dreamt beautiful dreams of how she would one day go to college and run the country in the future quoted “No one can steal your knowledge”. And with that, we ended their short interview.

No sooner were we all set to wind up with our interviews and head back with a heavy heart did we realise that word had spread of our arrival. Swarms of kids flooded around us as if Santa had come to town in broad daylight. If only we had gifts for each of them. We did, in fact, have one gift in store for them, and that was to give them a good time, and so we gifted them just that.

Having rounded up all the kids in a circle, we engaged them in games that involve pure fun and laughter with an added bonus of chocolates we had bought for this very purpose. Although most of us weren’t fluent in their language, all of us undoubtedly formed a special sense of connection with these ordinary kids going through extraordinary struggles kids of their age should never go through.
These children are the perfect epitomes of optimism and hope and happiness that lie sometimes obscured in the chaos of daily life. Rather than dismissing their smiles as the ignorant bliss of a child, it’s in understanding that their sense of pure joy in the smallest of things is what makes life beautiful.
As we gradually set to bid our goodbyes after having a great time knowing that we might never meet again, the children didn’t seem to be on board with the idea of us leaving.
All of a sudden we became celebrities in that village. Handshakes and Handshakes everywhere. Every kid wanted a handshake! And so we gave them. It’s the least we can do.

With hundreds of handshakes and hugs delivered assuring everyone of a bright future, we head to our minivan and played loud music as anaesthesia. Some of us jammed while the others stayed quiet, each of us discovering our own methods to process what went by.

The rest of the journey was in a similar state of trance, a bittersweet taste in our mouths, with nothing much to say or listen. Time went by as it does, but the images of those kids always seem to flash in our head at times.