One day in 2015, in the open lands of our village, I came across a group of people moving with a large flock of sheep. Instinctively, took a photograph or two. But, by the time returned to picture them once more, they were already gone. And after a yearlong effort, I could meet those pastoralists again. They were from the Gaya, Bhagalpur, Banka, Jamui, Munger, and Jehanabad districts of Bihar, who mainly step in the plains of Birbhum and Bardhaman districts of Bengal, in search of pasture, every winter. They arrive at the end of December when the reaping of the rice crop is complete. In April- May, when the land is being prepared for another course of rice, they gradually move towards the highlands of the Chota Nagpur Plateau. Being transhumance in nature, these shepherds migrate seasonally and follow similar routes for centuries. Though they come to Bengal to graze their flocks, the sheep excreta left on the agricultural fields, increases the fertility of the land and completes a symbiotic, nutritional cycle in the ecosystem Rarh. I was astonished to see a gipsy shepherd in the Gangetic plains, in my neighbourhood.

 

These vagabonds’ way of living is intriguing. These herdsmen are unique in their shared livelihood of an agriculturalist and of a pastoralist. Surprisingly, while they migrate to pasture, their families lead a settled domestic life in Bihar. Their wives perform household chores, bring up children, and do labour in their family farming. Living in their community is like experiencing a collateral clock where the concept of time is unbound from our imposed limitations and deadlines. It follows a common symmetrical pattern for generations. The pattern is explicitly evident in their dialects, clothing manners, eating habits, and even in their ethical viewpoints. After enduring the hardcore nature for decades, they instinctively develop a deep sense of morality and devotion within. But now, this legendary community is losing its entity day by day. To survive, people are opting for alternative facilities and often end up as migratory labours. 

 

The inadequacy of pasturage is primarily liable for this crisis. To fight with the rapid population growth, in the past, the colonial administration had put all arable land of this region under cultivation. The disappearance of pastures had forced the pastoral communities to give up their traditional livelihoods. Sudhir gave us some insight, while carefully kneading Khaini, the chewing tobacco, on his palm. “I was in Gujarat. Worked in the textile industry. Actually, I fall prey to my brother. He called me and said, ‘There is an emergency. I am not feeling well. Please come.’ I trusted him and returned to aid. The very next day he left the herd and never returned. Now he is in driving. He drives the eighteen-wheelers now,” Gorilal, another herdsman of early thirties who wanted to be a mason, shared his version of the crisis, too. He said, “Do you know why I am ruining life in this herd? I had to drop from school out in the eighth standard. We could not have adequate food then. The parents with my four brothers and three sisters, it was impossible to cumulate food for all of us. I had to leave for work. If I could pursue a bachelor’s degree, though it is difficult to get a job nowadays, I could privately tutor twenty-twenty five pupils at least. Think, I would income four thousand rupees per month, even from my home. What to say, it is completely bad luck. But I have to pasture this flock for two-three years more. As long as the parents are alive, I will have to. They get sentimental about it. Baba had spent his whole life in the herds. He has even threatened to poison himself to death if I abandon this profession. But when they are finished, these sheep are finished.”

 

It is unknown how long these semi-agriculturalist pastorals will be able to outlive the tide, but with each winter sundown, I will yearn to see a thousand sheep hoofing dust through the naked fields of the horizon.