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One of the most important features of this group of
islands is the primitive cultures they still supports. Primitive, did
I say? Well, in fact, some of them are still living in the stone
ages!
It was early morning in
Port Blair. But 5.00 a.m. Indian Standard Time in these eastern
latitudes does appear a shade queer. The sun was already out and well
above. It seemed more like time to get ready for office.
A short trip downhill
from the tourist bungalow brought me to the jetty which was already
agog with activity—as people and sundry cargo all clamoured for
a place on board a largish, white vessel, the ‘Chowra’. By
the time I boarded and got down to finding my berth—deep inside
the hull somewhere—time had crept by. At six o’clock the
Chowra lifted anchor, hooted a couple of times and let the heavy
marine diesels take on the rest of the job. She would sail the whole
day today, then the night, and somewhere the next morning would sight
land once again—the isle of Car Nicobar.
Travel by sea is a slow
affair. Time becomes stubborn and refuses to pass. An hour seems to
linger for more than one. Soon the Chowra cleared Ross Island, at the
mouth of Port Blair harbour, and set course for the deeper seas. Most
mainlanders like me are on the airy deck looking wistfully at the
receding land, while the seasoned islanders are already in deep
slumber below—rocked to sleep by a roll and pitch that the
Chowra displays ever so slightly.
We are now an hour and
more into the cruise. The South Andaman island, where Port Blair is
situated, has receded beyond the horizon. A short while later she
skirts Rutland Island. The next few hours are going to pass in
solitude with the boundless sea as she navigates the Duncan Passage
bound mostly dead south. Then finally, almost eight hours from Port
Blair, with the Rutland well behind us, the Chowra veer around the
Little Andaman Island to rendezvous with a small settlement, Hut
Bay—my point of disembarking.
Hut Bay is a tiny
settlement and the only accommodation here is that afforded by the
bungalows of the Forest Department or the Andaman and Lakshadweep
Harbour Works. Having got a room, some good chaiy and, of
course, solid ground to stand on once again, I launched myself into
planning what I had come here for—a visit to the Onge Tribal
Reserve on this island.
The Onge Tribal Reserve
is situated about 30 or 35 kilometres north of Hut Bay. I was told
that I could go the first 25 to 28 kilometres by road (in fact that
is the only length of road of Little Andaman). A few local buses ply
the road for the convenience of settlers. At the end of the road, I
was further told, I would be able to take a boat which would talk me
to the settlement.
I had all of tomorrow and
up to lunch on the day after, before my ship back to Port Blair was
due at Hut Bay. And needless to say, I had not a little enthusiasm
for tomorrow’s excursion for which I had traversed the entire
span of the Bay of Bengal—well, almost! The cook at our little
bungalow—a south Indian settler—had prepared a simple but
sumptuous dinner of fried fish, dal and boiled rice. There was
no dessert and we settled down to a cigarette. Of course, I can
assure you that to relax under the canopy of the Andaman
sky—resplendent with a myriad stars (and even shooting stars if
you gazed long enough)—and the smells and sounds of the jungle
all around (with snails and crabs on the pebbled ground, just beyond
the porch) are an experience unto themselves. To even the most
insensible of visitors, this experience (as umpteen other ones to be
had in these islands) drives home the alarming fact of what humankind
is destroying in its unthinking haste.
But pristine nature has
also a second side. If it can be charming, it can also be awe
inspiring. I was to learn this the hard way when, next morning, I
trudged to the lone road. The bus was there alright. But the
conductor told me in his characteristic language that there would be
no services that day because a bonga (tree) had blocked the
road. In one short stroke nature now threatened to undo all I had
planned and willed.
There was only one option
left. I could rent a cycle and try doing the 28 kilometre long
stretch. In fact, I did just that. Starting at six o’clock in
the morning, a group of locals and me made it to the other end by
nine the same morning. The undulating terrain on certain stretches
and the uprooted tree (which had blocked the road about eight
kilometres from Hut Bay) had accounted for our sluggish pace.
Luck met me with a smile
at this end. My boatman was missing but his competitor was all the
more willing to take me to Onge land. By the time we had wound our
way to the slippery banks of the creek, there were about eight
passengers already—all willing to hitch a free ride since it was
I who would pay.
But who was thinking of
all this at that time. I was agog with the rain forest around me and
the creek we would soon be navigating. Frankly, I had never known
that water could stand so still. Indeed, the creek was more like a
sheet of transparent glass that did the job of a looking glass as
well. It reflected the surrounding, dense rain forest without a
ripple to distort it and the stillness allowed you to peer down its
shallow depths. The creek was full of dead wood, but little marine
life. The rain forests were lush green and overcrowded with creepers
to the extent that the visibility was down to a mere four or five
feet. The ground was perpetually soggy due to the excessive tropical
humidity.
The diesel engine of our
flat-bottom boat was either overly loud, or it so appeared in the
midst of such complete silence. The creek was fairly long—about
a kilometre and a half. Actually, most of the islands here are
fissured by creeks—once ideal hideouts for the pirates from
south-east Asia and the large salt-water crocodiles that love to laze
about in such waters. To be somewhat poetic, the pirates are all gone
and the salt-water crocodiles are going (due to poaching)!
It is only when one
approaches the end of the creek, opening up to the sea, that one can
discern some movement in the limpid waters and some fish which have
got caught in the receding tide. But now luck decided to frown once
again. The boatman was engaged in frenzied dialogue? “We can’t
proceed because there is a storm coming up,” they declared.
So the boat was moored
and we all got down on the sandy shore—not far from where the
waves were viciously lashing the shore. We would not have to take the
route along the shore. But just as we had begun our trek, our boatman
espied a small fishing craft coming in fits and gasps from the open
sea. “If they can do it why can’t we try,” the boatman
wondered. And not withstanding the fact that my mouth had gone
completely dry at the very proposition, we boarded the boat once
again and headed for the furious sea. The thud of the diesel now
appeared to become a whimper and even at full power to the fore we
were hardly moving faster than a snail. But more was to come.
We were still only a
hundred metres, out of the creek. But the waves had grown to 20 feet
monsters (which are actually little ones to seasoned seafarers). Our
little flat bottom had to be maneuvered in such a way that the coming
wave hit the bow, rode it, and then plunged all of 20 feet with a
thud. What made things worse was that I had a huge crab near my feet.
And even though it seemed half dead, it heightened my discomfort. It
must have been a good part of a half hour that this stomach churning
exercise went on before she finally turned towards the shore.
As fate often has it, the
storm died down as we entered the calmer bay. By the time we were at
the wharf by the Onge Tribal Reserve the sun had broken out from
behind the receding storm clouds. Now was to begin a completely
different experience. Rather, a different kind of journey to the very
beginning of human civilization.
We were greeted by the
officer of the tribal reserve and some young Onge boys. There was the
inevitable round of chaiy even here and then we were taken
around the settlement where about 100 Onges (the total number of
their population) live.
Together with the
Jarawas, the Great Andamanese and the Sentinelese, they form a
distinct group a tribal inhabitants classified anthropologically as
negritos. Their origin and arrival on these islands is
shrouded in mystery. And there is no one theory that appears to have
gained significant grounds as the most plausible. To those who are
new to the Andaman Islands, it comes as a great surprise that two of
these tribes—the Sentinelese and the Jarawas—still live
without any contact with the outside world. As modern civilization
ushers in the 21st century, these tribes continue to live
in the stone ages. They have no agriculture, no metal tools and
nothing to do with raiment to cover their bodies.
What is, probably, the
most important fact is that these tribes do not have more than a
rudimentary spoken language and absolutely no idea of the written
word. So it is least surprising that their origin and subsequent
history (before the British first started studying them) has been
lost in oblivion for good.
Of the four groups, the
Great Andamanese (of whom only 30 were alive in 1990) and the Onges
(numbering 98 in the 1981 census) came in contact with the settlers
and gave up their traditional life in the jungle. But this very
intermingling also exposed them to new diseases, brought in by the
settlers, which their immune systems could not withstand.
Subsequently, a great number of both tribes perished and the decline
could only be arrested after placing them in strict reservations.
It is true that what we
see of the Onge aborigines today is only a faint reflection of what
they were in the past. Among the things they have imbibed from modern
culture are clothes, the use of metal utensils and tools, and of
course, the transistor and paan. I observed with surprise that
both the Great Andamanese and the Onges had taken to betel leaf
chewing with gusto,
The Onges were very
friendly without being obtrusive. The little children frolicked
around calling us entel. As I came to learn this meant
‘officer’ in the their language. But then, for the
simplistic Onges, every body who was not an Onge had to be an entel.
Or so their logic went.
We had the good fortune
of seeing them build their typical huts from bamboo splinters. They
offered us as many green coconuts as we wished to drink; took us on a
quick hunting trip in their slim and fast canoes; showed us exactly
how they hunted turtle; and even showed us around their little
dwellings.
Though these dwellings
are not their traditional huts, they do retain one very important
feature of their culture: the fire place. It is not clear whence they
acquired fire or learnt to produce it. But all the four tribes knew
its use prior to the advent of more civilized intruders. The fire
place was unique in the sense that it had a bamboo loft right above
it where the tribes kept excess food stocks naturally protected by
smoke.
Yet another mentionable
feature that they still retain is the crafting of canoes (actually
dugouts) from a single log of wood. What is important, however, is
that they do not possess the knowledge to build any kind of larger
craft which would have been essential for these tribes to migrate to
the islands by sea routes. This feature has only added further
darkness to their already mysterious past and how they arrived in
these islands.
It was five in the
evening by the time we were ready to return. Three Onges had decided
to accompany us back to Hut Bay. The return journey was not as
tumultuous as the one in the morning. When we disembarked at the
creek the Onges who had brought a heavy load showed us how they made
ropes out of sundry rain forest foliage. One of tribals peeled off
the bark from one of trees. Obviously, they knew which ones made
strong rope and which ones didn’t, though to my untrained eye
they all seemed quite indistinct. I, for one, was very surprised that
such thin peels of bark could ever carry the kind of load they were
subjected to by the Onges. By rough estimate, not less than 40
kilograms per person were strung to their backs by these flimsy bark
strips.
But what strikes the
likes of us is the great resourcefulness that the Onges display in
their knowledge of the jungle and the sea. It is the vast experience
of past generations that is still reflected in the vastly changed
Onges of today.
And now I had all of 28
kilometres to cycle back. I was tired alright, but the sense of
relief of accomplishing what I had come here for was certainly the
more dominant feeling. As I neared Hut Bay all I remember is that the
huge tree was still lying across the road as it had in the morning.
Darkness overtook me as I
reached the store to return the rented cycle. Dinner was a great
relief but one which had to be given only a passing thought. I had to
leave early the next morning for the Nicobarese reservation just
eight kilometres south of Hut Bay.
THE LIVING RELICS OF THE STONE AGE
The Andaman and Nicobar
islands were known to many of the cultures in Asia as early as the
1st century AC. The Chinese and the Japanese called them
Yeng-to-Mang and the Malays. Handuman. Among the Indians, they were
known to the Cholas whose mighty fleets traversed these seas on their
way to south east Asia. Marco Polo (who passed these islands in 1290
AD) remarked: “Angamanian (Andaman) is a very large island not
governed by a king. The inhabitants are idolators…” I
detest from quoting further because most people consider Marco Polo’s
remarks uncharitable to the aborigines of these islands. For Marco
Polo concludes his description by saying, “they… eat
everybody that they can catch if not of their own race.”
Nothing of course, can be
further from the truth about the aborigines of these islands. As the
British themselves were to realize when they first came and
established their base in the Great Andamans (consisting of the
North, Middle and South Andaman Islands basically), the aborigines of
these islands—though very primitive in culture—exhibited
absolutely no tendencies towards cannibalism. In fact, later
researches have shown more evidence to support this fact and
discredit earlier accounts based, in all likelihood, on hearsay
rather than interaction.
The original bifurcation
names 12 distinct tribes of the negritos. These, it must be
remembered, are totally distinct from the Mongoloid tribals: the
Nicobarese and the Shompens who inhabit the Nicobars. Nevertheless,
today most traces of this earlier classification have vanished and we
have only four tribes left. These are the Jarawas and Sentinelese on
the one hand and the Great Andamanese and the Onges on the other. The
former two are still largely hostile to intrusions by modern man,
while the latter two were befriended by the British.
But it comes as a great
surprise to most that the very tribes that came in contact with the
British and Indian settlers are now on the verge of extinction. While
the two hostile tribes, are still alive and kicking. The Jarawas
continue to live their old way in the western reserves of the South
and Middle Andaman islands and the Sentinelese are even more remote,
being located on the North Sentinel island. The reason for this is
easy to grasp. The outsiders coming to the islands also brought with
them a host of virus and bacterium that the immune system of the
tribals was not made to defend against. As a result the populations
of both the Onges and the Great Andamanese declined rapidly after the
British arrived and especially after convicts were allowed to settle
here.
It is a commendable fact
that the welfare of these tribes put on a solid footing after
independence. The Government of India decided to set up protected
reservations where the tribals could either live their original
lifestyle; or, where the groups which were being exterminated could
live in the protected environs of modern medical and other
facilities.
The scope of
communications with the isolated group of Jarawas has also been given
considerable impetus due to the efforts of Tribal Welfare Department
(under the Andaman and Nicobar Administration). Since 1974, this
department has been successful in contacting the previously hostile
Jarawas. Every full moon night it sends a party with gifts for the
tribals. The full moon night is specifically chosen since the
aborigines still keep track of time by the phases of the moon and the
seasons.
Similar efforts have been
tried with the Sentinelese (living on the North Sentinel island), but
with little headway as yet. According to the estimates made by the
administration the populations of the Jarawas and the Sentinelese are
around 200 and 80 respectively.
CUSTOMS AND TRADITIONS
A peep into the religious
beliefs of the negrito groups shows that they were animists in the
true old world sense.
They had great faith in
Puluga, an anthropomorphic deity who was responsible for all
the events around them. They also believe in the transmigration of
the soul which is supposed to pass to another world after the death
of a person.
Tattooing and painting of
the body is a very important part of their daily life and social
customs. This is also seen amongst the Onges. Normally the tribals
use various natural materials to paint their bodies. The kind of
materials and the designs they use indicate sickness, sorrow,
festivity, celibacy etc.
A person’s death is
mourned by relatives who gather around him and beat their breast. The
body is normally buried in shallow graves. But bodies of more
honoured members are often placed on a high platform especially
prepared under a tree. The tribals decorate the place and do not
visit it for the next three months.
Marriage is usually
exogamous. Sometimes the wife goes and lives with the husband’s
family; or the husband may choose to come and live with his wife’s
family. The Onges generally marry their children at around 10 or 11
years of age.
Since their language can
express only the most rudimentary emotions, they rely heavily on
gestures. It is mildly surprising that they do not have any words to
express greetings or thanking. When two tribals would meet in the
days of yore they would stare at each other for a while and then the
younger of the two would break the silence by telling the other some
news. If they happened to be relatives, they would sit on each
other’s lap and weep loudly. Among the Onges the custom is
somewhat different. They meet silently and carees each other with the
hand. And at the time of parting they take each other’s hand and
blow on it exchanging sentences of conventional farewell.
Strange as all this may
sound to us, these are first hand records of researchers who came
across the aborigines of these isles when many features of their
age-old lifestyle still persisted.
Naming of children is the
sole privilege of the mother. A girl child would normally be named
after one of the jungle flowers that would be in bloom at that time.
Among their prime
occupations, nothing can be more important than their hunting and
gathering activities. They also made many items of daily use such as
unglazed clay pottery (by the coiling process since they did not know
the concept of the wheel), nets and mats made of string from various
jungle fibre, bamboo baskets and canoes from hollowed tree trunks.
For weapons they used bows and arrows and harpoon spears in a
combination with nets. The arrow and harpoon heads were either made
of bone or chipped quartz flakes. They had no knowledge of metals or
the use of glass.
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