“And beyond the last campfire man has faith for friend..”, Horace Shipp.
And you know it accompanied him to the top of the world..
“Drive no faster than your guardian angels can fly!”
At the hour of our greatest happiness and in the hour of deepest despair, each of us finds our own personal anchor. We hope against all odds, we pray for miracles, we look up to a power stronger than us, we live on a faith that there is someone watching over us and he has a plan for us. A believer or an atheist each to his, a little faith somewhere. Some look for a tangible reason others believe in stories and tales passed through generations.
I am trying to recall the stories which I never came across in course books. These stories had quaint sounding gods. These gods had small temples all over the hills. There were festivities in honor of these deities, but no official holidays. Incidentally these festivities coincided with the changing seasons. Incidentally the stories too talked of a time when civilization just started in the hills. These stories were about stoically facing natural calamities with the grace of god, about close encounters with wild beasts and miraculous escapes. In the darkest of night, in the thickest of forest when people lost their way, they found some generous help in the most unexpected ways. A diety, a faith was borne and upto this day generations living in the hills worship their local gods, their ,’Golijyun’,’Gangnath’,’Airy’, ‘Chaumu’,’Haru and Saim’,’Betaleswar’. Each has its ardent followers in certain pockets of the hills, and people believe that he is there to watch over their lives and livelihood.
After a very long gap, I am here at my home to celebrate one such festivity with the true hill-fervor. ‘Harela’, is a festival that heralds the rainy season in the hills. In every household the eldest member of the family owns this festival. A handful of five or more variety of grains are sown in a small container for almost 10 days. These grains sprout into small leafy stems, which are then cut and distributed in the entire family. These same grains are then sown in the fields; there is a special blessing that goes with the ‘Harela’ leaves. The exact verse I’ll paste in another few days, but the gist of the blessing is to welcome greenery in life, as in fresh enthusiasm, prosperity and well being.
Symbolism and celebrations have their own significance. Yet they may appear as mere charade if you don’t believe it in some way. You realize their true meaning when you internalize them. They become a part of your identity, a part of your belief, a part of your faith. These stories give you roots that will sustain you as they sustained the generations before you. These deities looked for your people when they made their tryst with a new place, they will look for you when you bravely embark on your pursuits.
And you know it accompanied him to the top of the world..
“Drive no faster than your guardian angels can fly!”
At the hour of our greatest happiness and in the hour of deepest despair, each of us finds our own personal anchor. We hope against all odds, we pray for miracles, we look up to a power stronger than us, we live on a faith that there is someone watching over us and he has a plan for us. A believer or an atheist each to his, a little faith somewhere. Some look for a tangible reason others believe in stories and tales passed through generations.
I am trying to recall the stories which I never came across in course books. These stories had quaint sounding gods. These gods had small temples all over the hills. There were festivities in honor of these deities, but no official holidays. Incidentally these festivities coincided with the changing seasons. Incidentally the stories too talked of a time when civilization just started in the hills. These stories were about stoically facing natural calamities with the grace of god, about close encounters with wild beasts and miraculous escapes. In the darkest of night, in the thickest of forest when people lost their way, they found some generous help in the most unexpected ways. A diety, a faith was borne and upto this day generations living in the hills worship their local gods, their ,’Golijyun’,’Gangnath’,’Airy’, ‘Chaumu’,’Haru and Saim’,’Betaleswar’. Each has its ardent followers in certain pockets of the hills, and people believe that he is there to watch over their lives and livelihood.
After a very long gap, I am here at my home to celebrate one such festivity with the true hill-fervor. ‘Harela’, is a festival that heralds the rainy season in the hills. In every household the eldest member of the family owns this festival. A handful of five or more variety of grains are sown in a small container for almost 10 days. These grains sprout into small leafy stems, which are then cut and distributed in the entire family. These same grains are then sown in the fields; there is a special blessing that goes with the ‘Harela’ leaves. The exact verse I’ll paste in another few days, but the gist of the blessing is to welcome greenery in life, as in fresh enthusiasm, prosperity and well being.
Symbolism and celebrations have their own significance. Yet they may appear as mere charade if you don’t believe it in some way. You realize their true meaning when you internalize them. They become a part of your identity, a part of your belief, a part of your faith. These stories give you roots that will sustain you as they sustained the generations before you. These deities looked for your people when they made their tryst with a new place, they will look for you when you bravely embark on your pursuits.
