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Little Natani from Chhatisgarh / Rajasthan / Tripolia-Exploring India-Arun Gaur’s Indian Landscape Images

Before the walls of the Jaislamer Fort this little girl perfomed the rope-walking

October, 2009.
A350, Primary Lenses—the Mirror Lens & the Beercan

Watching a Fort

I was not impressed by the fort of Jaisalmer. I had waited to see it for decades. And now when I looked at it, it appeared as if I were witnessing a triple storey building in my neighborhood.

The fort seemed to be so vulnerable. I know, I should be wrong somewhere. But nothing formidable anywhere. The rock on which it stood also appeared to be nothing more than an insignificant protuberance. It was nowhere near the strength and majesty that the fort of Chittaurgarh or Golconda or Gwalior had conveyed to me. So I thought that I did not need to visit it twice.

The day I was to board the train for my backward journey home (Panchkula), I just crossed once the main entrance of the fort to have a mere another look. This time I saw there this little natani (the acrobatic walker on the string). She was just a very fragile looking kid. Perhaps I should not say “fragile”. She appeared to be firm, resolute, solid: albeit with delicate features. Waiting patiently for the crowd—most of them were Europeans, Australians and Americans—to gather near the spot. Many of them congregated in small impervious clods, scarcely paying any attention to the girl and listening devoutly to the text-bookish speeches of the guides.

Those guides emphatically elongated the vowel sounds taking this to be a very crucial device to impress the foreigners while the latter, to their credit (I must admit) did not evince even a small hint that they were listening to a discordant music.

As these knots of foreigners moved from spot to spot around her perched stance, she waited patiently for her parents who would soon start playing the music at an opportune moment.This would be the signal to her to kick start her performance.

Her father and her mother were also quite young. I probed them a bit. They had come there to perform from Chattisgarh—i.e. almost another corner of India—and were on the move for months together. “From such a far away place,” I tried to deliver a harangue, “what about the education of this little girl?” The girl stated that she was studying in the third class. “Then won’t you miss your classes?” I tried to deliver a lecture on the importance of education. I tried to act like a wise old man positioned appropriately enough to inform the lesser beings how the kids should not be deprived of the right of proper education.

Suddenly I felt that I was not talking about the real life-like situation. I was talking in the air—in a portion of the empty air. The lass’s young father and mother started whispering and giggling—not exactly giggling but a subdued form of giggling. The little lass too was amused. I think that they were of the opinion that I was talking beside the point. Perhaps they were living in the real world and my talks were quite illusory, a kind of political speech that the mass-leaders often make to create impressions without a real substance to offer. After a while the drums were beaten, the music was heard. It was the signal. The performance began.

I ultimately felt that I had not come to visit the fort second time in vain. I watched the fort. Its fortifications were quite impressive.

Little Natani-1

She waits patiently. Looking and not looking. Knots of tourists throng the famous fort around her. She looks and chooses to play with the tufts of her pony-tail. She looks towards her left.

Little Natani-2

Then she looks towards her right. She bends herself a bit. Left palm supports the chin. Right palm holds the wrist of the right palm. Perhaps to support the weight over her head. This weight seems to grow instinctively on and over her head. A part of her head. Still she is unconsciously aware of it and needs an extra support. She is otherwise quite relaxed.

Little Natani-3

The signal has been received from her parents. It is the call of the duty. Of the debt that she has to pay for the filial affection. There is not a tinge of complaint or resistance or sense of being trapped. Only concentration. She must not falter. Now a little strain can be seen on her face as she walks and balances the weight over her head. She no more looks at the crowd but into her inner self.

Little Natani-4

It is a complex movement of wheel, the swing in the rope and the re-configuration of the feet that are twisted into the crammed space.

Little Natani-5

She has successfully completed one round. The red flag vibrates joyously.

Little Natani-6

She comes back for the second round. Edges of the platter cut into the skin of her legs. Flowers in the black fabric shine forth. We hope that the rope would not swing so much or produce friction-bruises into the tiny toes.

Little Natani-7

Then she has a smile too. It is not a forced smile—but the smile of a child in the process of successfully completing her mission assigned to her by her parents. Still I do not find any commercial vestige in that smile. Perhaps with the growing of the age that would become visible. The smile would become a little gross. At least for the time being, it is purely simple, pretty and organic. She smiles but knows that her concentration should not waver with the onset of that smile. It is a curious mixture of smile and concentration and a little worry.

Little Natani-8

Smile disappears. Now she must do the last act. Of saluting the gathering. However, she does not know whom she is saluting. The crowd of exotic travelers is anonymous, unknown. She does not lift her eyes. Utmost effort of this little one. Her crucially balanced stance should remain in-tact. She is doing her best to be an earning hand. Her left shoulder becomes bare. She does not care. The sinews of her mind and body are tightened. They are taut. She does not care. She maintains this crucial posture. Red flag is also posted on this end. There is redness in the flowers of her fabric. There is also redness in the flag of the post.

Little Natani-9

She has got the success. Not tasted the success. She is in the process of crossing the blaze of the red flag. She would post another victory soon. But she does not look up. She is a little girl with very pretty features. But rightly or wrongly, I do feel that she should have gone to the school instead of saluting the curious gatherers like me. She should not have kept her eyes bowed before the likes of me. Here she appears to be very tense. She turns darker. She turns obscure. Red becomes redder. A pretty girl of her age should not be that tense. Rather, I should salute her.