Chhadkhai Mangsa And Longing!
People of Odisha welcome Chhadkhai, the first day of Margashira with meticulous planning. A community that loves its fish, mutton and poultry stays away from non-vegetarian food and follow strict dietary changes for Karthik, the previous month. Many don’t even use onion, garlic, specific vegetables and observe the month with a strict diet. Those who feel they don’t have the mental toughness to stretch it for a month observe the last five days. So, when the auspicious month of Karthik ends, they welcome Chhadkhai with much enthusiasm. It is like the initiation day.
I remember during my childhood, a relative who did fish farming would come with fresh catch early morning, before dawn. “Kaka, Ruhi, Bhakur duita anichi. (uncle, I have brought both Rohu and Bhakur). Both are extremely popular fish back home. My father not the one to disappoint anybody would ask him to handover the fish to his “khudi’, i.e. my mother. Sometimes later, another neighbour would come with the “khasi maunsa’ or male goat meat, with thin layers of fat on them, which is the real flavour of Chahdkhai.
Ma had to cook the Chhadkhai meal for Bapa by 9 am. Our help would make the masala paste ready, on a traditional stone slab. The paste would have dried coriander seeds, cumin, red chilies, cubes of ginger, garlic cloves, a few black pepper corns, a half tsp of poppy seeds. The meat will be roasted leisurely on woodfire and finally the maunsa jhola will be ready to devour. No garam masala powder. Only a bay leaf or two and occasionally, a small stick of cinnamon would go into that dish. No dahi or chopped tomatoes ever. The flavour would come from the extra pungent mustard oil, pressed in a machine in our village. To accompany the special meal, Ma would quickly make Dahi Palanga, where she uses chopped and boiled spinach, fresh coriander and pour it into a dahi mixture spiced with green chili, grated ginger and roasted cumin powder. This is a winter regular in our house. Another must make is to prepare a simple vegetable dish with green papaya, moringa sticks, flat beans with a tempering of garlic, chopped coriander and a seasonal juicy tomato. Bapa always clubbed meat with a hearty platter of vegetables. He would call me to enjoy some juicy mutton pieces from his plate. I was so short then that I would stand near the table and eat. The winter lunch table of my father would be shifted to the courtyard, surrounded by lines of marigold and chrysanthemum flowers, the fences loaded with flat bean vines. Ma’s kitchen garden with hot green chilies, black chilies, coriander, spinach, amaranth, onion, garlic patches, cauliflower, cabbage, kohlrabi, eggplants, tomatoes, beetroots, carrots, radish. In short, the entire winter basket. The vegetables looked fresh covered with dew drops. A Chhadkhai meal sets the mood for the winter.
On Chhadkhai day, another elderly relative Shukru Baba who looked after the household chores would eat his lunch at our place. While, Bapa would hurriedly finish his meal and leave for the court, Shukru baba would find time to enjoy this special day. He would come home after taking a bath in the river, clad in clean dhoti-sleeved banyan and a handloom towel hanging on his left shoulder. He would arrive a little earlier than lunch hour. He would happily cut a banana leaf from our backyard, wash it and give it to my mother. Sometimes, there would be a leaf plate made of fresh saal leaves. People preferred to eat on saal leaf plate and bowls. It makes everything feel special. Ma would serve steaming hot parboiled rice, soupy and sour vegetable dish called kanji, mutton curry, cabbage curry and a few slices of skillet fried plantain or yam with a coating of mustard-garlic paste. He would enjoy his meal, with a smile on his face. He would slurp and look extremely happy, enjoying a special meal.
After Bapa leave for work, I would sneak out of the house to check out the neighborhood. Chaddkhai is the last day of the three-day state holiday. I would enter houses of my relatives. If I don’t find anybody to play, I would go to the river side. To the lift irrigation point site where villagers grow patches of vegetables like cauliflower, potatoes, onion, garlic etc. The canal would be filled with water and flow in a certain rhythm. I loved running on the canal embankment. I would reach some other area of the village by then. I would spot some known faces there. A mini group would be busy making a chhadkhai meal. They would cook rice, chicken or egg curry, tomato khata on wood fire. The fire would be supplied oxygen by blowing an iron or bamboo pipe. Most youngsters go and do picnic on the riverside or they would just leave for Khandadhar, a popular picnic destination of Odisha, which is about 8 km from my village. Many families who could not afford fish, mutton or poultry would at least make an egg curry for Chhadkhai.
Staying away from your homeland make you miss days like this. Living on the other extreme side of the country, I miss festivals, friends that connected me to my roots. No matter how many video calls you make to stay connected, you miss the touch, hug and the warmth of a meal cooked by your own people!
