The sky fails to fall / I found a witch
Annie Zaidi
Author’s note: One of the most frightening – and dangerous – things we experience is the idea that we don’t matter, that we are redundant and that even our destruction will not move anyone, perhaps not even those whom we count on to protect, validate, and avenge us. It is even more dangerous when the idea is applied beyond the individual. What happens to societies where a person or a group can be destroyed with little or no consequence, and no recall of what was done?
I have been attempting to write a cycle of poems about justice, surveillance and the dangers of violence directed at individuals, or even groups and communities, by forces that are much bigger. In writing ‘The sky fails to fall’, I was concerned not with the singular moment in which something terrible happens but the larger destruction that is implied in the lack of consequence. What if the skies don’t fall when they should? There are events that should stop us in our tracks, freeze our blood. There are conditions under which we should become dysfunctional and refuse to conduct business as usual. If we don’t, those destructive conditions become stronger, and yet, that happens so rarely. The skies do not fall even as, metaphorically speaking, the sky is actually falling.
The other poem included here derives from my current research on representations of witches in South Asia. While mine is a literary project, I have been reading some anthropology too. In Witch Hunts: Culture, Patriarchy and Structural Transformation (Cambridge University Press, 2020), Govind Kelkar and Dev Nathan argue that a witch-hunt enforces or reinforces patriarchy. Violence changes form, but its essential purpose is to establish one group as dominant and the other as powerless. A witch-hunt is therefore a social, economic, and psychological assault that seeks to put a person in her (or his) place. In another paper, the authors mention the ‘historic defeat of women’. I began to reflect on the ways in which such ‘hunts’ are conducted, how they break the spirit of women as a body politic.
The danger is ever-present since any woman (therefore all women) can be accused, especially when property or spiritual and sexual independence are at stake. The examples cited in Kelkar and Nathan’s book were gutting, but also powerful in that they did the work of revelation and memory keeping, which is also the work of poets. ‘I found a witch’ is a ‘found’ poem series that draws directly from Kelkar and Nathan’s work. It foregrounds women who were ‘hunted’, weaving together key phrases that jumped out at me into compact micro-narratives, citing only the barest facts. Part of the reason I adopted this style was the need to emphasise the violence and the motivations behind witchcraft accusations, and partly because the psychological terror, the isolation, and the heartbreaking betrayals were already present. I have tried to write so that the women might confront readers more directly.
These stories are a fraction of what is embedded in our crime data. In India, between 2001 and 2016, at least 2,468 reported murders were related to witch accusations. The numbers of those attacked but not killed, or those made destitute, or cases that were not reported, are probably higher. My work is an attempt to recall the intimate and social betrayals that lead to the historic defeat of women, so they remain in a state of economic and spiritual dependence. It is also a reminder to myself that women proved their ability to survive crises and to thrive without men, even if they were punished for it.
The sky fails to fall
In the early days we thought
the world would stagger to a halt
if what we feared came to pass
All roofs would mysteriously start leaking
perfectly smooth roads cave in
meat in shops beginning to rot
air-conditioning breaking down
children late to school
fathers' motorbikes coughing
We would walk miles in search of mechanics
Toilets would clog with runny shit
Cows would develop a phobia of grass
Milk come tinted a poisonous lime green
How could it be, we thought,
that the sun would shine on tortured,
torturer and collaborator alike?
Heatstroke, headache, nausea
alike?
We thought rivers would shrink
their silver skins crawling
at the touch of bloodied hands
Knee-deep in disgust, we thought
things would shudder to a halt
The gods would finally acknowledge
their stone traps and let the sky fall
Justice would open her mouth
and throw up
We thought feet would bend thorns
each time they walked over the spot
where one of us was taken
We thought we knew something
in those early days.
I found a witch
1.
Samia of Khunti whose children were tied
To a tree outside her house
A fire was lit
Given a potion, asked to confess
The children. The fire
Samia confessed
Cold water thrown at her
Head shaved, made to remove her clothes
They took fifty thousand bucks
Beat her husband too
In debt, Samia had to sell
Land, animals, trees
2.
The ojha said there’s a witch who lives
Under the shade of a tamarind tree
Baku lived near a tamarind tree
One night in 2015, she had to go out to pee
Washed her hands and feet near the tree
They stabbed in her sleep.
3.
Pabia of Lodam.
Married, childless, mid-sixties
Locked up for eight days in her own home
Fed the faeces of a dog and a pig
Made to drink turmeric and chilli water
On the brink of death, she fled
Into the jungle
Who else would shelter her?
4.
Dalia, Dalit, married at thirteen
Years pass, no child
They said, she eats children
(but what child was ever inside her belly?)
Dumped at twenty-two, she returned home
Her father had a bit of land
They called a panchayat
The same thing, again
Beatings, blood
Dragged to a farm, a grave dug
It was done.
5.
Sugya of Mayurbhanj
Widow, forties, lived alone
Nephews came for her
Choked her while she was at home
Eating her lonely dinner
They chopped her up
Left her for wild animals to eat.
6.
Samia of Mayurbhanj
Early fifties, single
Lived with her siblings
Enough.
7.
The ojha said there were three of them in the village
Kairo, Matita, Mariam
Made to swallow red chillies, hit with burning sticks
They confessed
Three women dragged into a field, tied up
Demands to bring the boy back from the dead
Or else
Kairo of Mayurbhanj. Married, mid-forties
Escaped, ran to (who she thought was)
A sympathetic man who brought her back to the field
Kairo was stripped, tied up again
When the cops came
The women went (for their own good)
Into a cell.
8.
Amareen of Bhilwara
Toddler’s mom, workhorse
Lulling her baby to sleep
Sister-in-law, mother-in-law, brother-in-law, husband
Said a witch’s spirit lived inside
Said, she would eat up her child
Hot iron rods
Dragged to the dargah
Her brother showed up just in time.
9.
Kaliavati of Bhilwara
When her husband died suddenly, she fended
For herself and her child.
Grew her grain, earned a wage
When the long day’s work was done, she went out for a bath
Brother-in-law, demanding to know why she was out so late
Then, instead of her losing her dignity outside
He suggested, things might be kept in the family
An ojha was found who pinned on her
Her sister-in-law’s lack of a child.
10.
Kalomani of Bhilwara. Two sons, two daughters
A cow died
Her sons and husband called her witch
Beat her until the neighbours came
She tried to return home
Was beaten again, again, until at last she understood
Went to work in a brick kiln, saved up, opened a bank account
Got herself insurance
Then went back home
At first they said nothing, then
Her insurance papers went missing
And then…
11.
Rama Bai of Bhilwara, Balai caste
Left the village but they hunted her down
Chopped off her hair
Tried to push her into a well
A daughter was thrown out of her marital home
Her sons’ wives upped and left
She lives on the roadside now.
12.
Churki of Mayurbhanj. Late forties
They said she would have to travel far to perform rituals
It would cost a lakh and a half
Her head was shaved by the ojha
Stripped naked, broom tied to her waist
Made to walk around a ritual place
Back in the village, once again
Stripped and paraded, broom tied to waist
Then the panchayat asked her family to pay
Another fifty thousand and after all that
They tried to kill her anyway.
13.
Jagia of Ranchi
Husband, sons, an acre and a half of land
Her husband was sickly, she worked the land
Like a woman and like a man
The panchayat met, named her
Witch.
14.
Sarna Devi of Janjgir-Champa
Told off a neighbour with a glad eye
He called her,
Witch
Now she knows
They don’t exist.
15.
Kalavati of Bokaro lost her husband
No-one talks to her
She works in a brick kiln and has learnt
To hate herself.
16.
Doria of Ranchi was blamed
Someone else’s daughter jumped into a well
They threw a bomb at her house
Fortunately, their aim was bad
Long after Doria and her husband lay dead
Their house is still known to be
Of the witch.
17.
Rosa of Ranchi was blamed
For everything
Clever Rosa went to see the chief ojha
With fair warning: should he name her a witch
A court case would follow
The ojha said, kids get sick
Because of eating the wrong foods
As any sensible man should.
18.
Dhurki Sarna and his wife knew their herbs
When it began, he offered a plea
He would pay money to compensate
If his wife turned out to be a witch
The ojha was called
Guess what happened next?
19.
When the panchayat elections were held
Samia of Deogarh was elected ward representative
Her mother-in-law Rameli was well-off too
They called both women:
Witches.
20.
Phooleshwari of Jamtara
Widowed, a son, three bhigas of land
They beat her, asked her to leave
She filed a police complaint, yet
For five years Phooleshwari and her son wandered
Village to village, homeless.
21.
Mariam. Fifty-five, no kids
Farmed her four acres of land
When her brother-in-law’s son fell sick
Mariam was held a witch.
22.
Samia and Sukra of Godda
In their sixties, sisters-in-law
Lived off a small piece of land
A mud house, a thatched roof
But then a brother-in-law said
His cattle was getting sick.
23.
Hari Bai of Bhilwara. Widow, no sons
Fifteen acres of land, two wells, an adopted daughter
She was at home when they came
Pulled off her nose ring, tore her nose
Tied her up all night, demanding she sign over the deed to her land
Tried to throw her into a well
The Gujjar panchayat named her, witch
Cut her hair, stripped her, had her ride a donkey
Anyone who wanted to help was warned:
A fine of a hundred thousand
They sent her into exile.
24.
Sarita of Bhilwara had a close call
Other women said, they were possessed
By a witch called ‘Sarita’
When people came with hot iron rods to burn the thing out
Quickly they said, oh!
The witch just left.
25.
Malti Devi of Bokaro
Two acres of land. One paralysed brother-in-law
The ojha examined rice in the house
Said, the man is under the influence of a witch
Beaten so bad, she could not move
Hidden in a corner, starved
The brothers-in-law and the village took the land
Tied her to a tree, asked her to pay a penalty
Her animals were taken too
She lives in the woods
In a house made of leaves.
26.
Chunki Devi of Bokaro. Twenty-three years a widow
Worked the fields, looked after the house
Her sister-in-law couldn’t understand
Her strength, her manly acumen
After it was done, she lived off other people
House poorly kept, going about dishevelled
At last, her brother-in-law said,
The evil influence is leaving.
27.
Sabina Manjhi of Bokaro
Seventy, widow, two sons
Her brother-in-law consulted an ojha.
28.
Kalomani Devi of Khunti had seven miscarriages
Before two children survived
Her brother-in-law came to live with them for a while
She must have cooked and cleaned for him, yet
After her husband's death, he beat her and called her
Witch.
29.
Sukri of Ranchi lost her husband
Raised five kids alone
Nobody helped and it turned out
She didn’t need them
Then a neighbour thrice gave birth
Stillborns.
30.
Rameliya of Ranchi was well-off
Married to a man of her choice
She had been happy.
31.
Dhoorni Devi of Bokaro
Happily married, three boys, two girls
The children went to school
They said, she was too proud
When her husband died
They took the land and the house
When she went out looking to work, they said
She has affairs with men
She lives nowhere now.
32.
Birki Bhil wanted her children educated
Her son was a teacher, rode a motorbike
Sported a nice moustache
In a Rajput village
The mob came at night while they slept.
33.
Ramaliya of Ranchi was out with her husband
When a three-wheeler mini-truck flipped
The ojha blamed it on a witch
Whose house faced south.
34.
Mariyam Santhal of Deoghar
Widow, son, three acres of land
The neighbours said,
Witch.
35.
Mariam. Christian, married, in her forties, educated
She asked her husband about a piece of land
Fraudulently acquired by a fellow called John
Who had once asked her to leave her husband and...
Mariam was elected ward member
Mariam filled out forms for a government scheme for digging wells
Mariam rescued an orphan who was being treated as a slave
None of that went down too well.
36.
Sarita of Raipur. Twenty-three. Parents dead
No help from the extended clan
Worked the fields. Sold vegetables. Got a tractor
Sent her two younger brothers to school
They called her,
Witch
After the gang-rape and torture
She went to the police and found no help
They say, Sarita was a suicide.
37.
Chunki of Ranchi lost her husband, Baseel
Alone, hard worker in the fields
Cooking, cleaning, a small son
Her son cleared high school
They called her a witch.
38.
Jhalo Bai, married, forties, childless
Decided to devote herself to social work
Formed a self-help group
Her husband stopped drinking
They called her a witch
Shut out of the group she had helped found
She got no loans, she found no work
Her brother-in-law said she tried to attract
All the men in the house
That feeling, she said, of wanting to help
Is now dead.
39.
Balhi of Ranchi. Widow, two girls, two boys
One died, then another died
The daughters-in-law also died
The ojhas said,
Witch
She paid for a new temple, cooked for the whole village
Sold her land and animals but
They made her leave anyway
She starved to death.
40.
Sabita of Bhilwada was a new bride
When her father-in-law propositioned her
Her husband took his father’s side
Hands and legs burnt with hot iron rods
Heavy stones tied to her waist
Force-fed ash, beaten by that father-in-law
When her mother came to take her away
The in-laws let her go on the condition
She wouldn’t tell the cops.
41.
Revati of Bokaro was without child
Five years into her marriage
They called her a witch
They paid her husband to get drunk and raped her
She wants nothing now, she said,
But death.
42.
Sukri of Ranchi lived with a man
Made friends with Rosa
Sukri and Rosa chanted hymns
Let the village headman know
They weren’t afraid of him
The ojha started the rumours.
43.
Gumti Bai of Komaram Bheem
Widow, mother of six
Religious in her own way
Used lemon and turmeric to worship a tree
She called it Jangu Bai
The villagers were unhappy.
44.
Kabita of the Kumbhar caste
Was asked to cure a woman
When she said she did not know how
They beat her, called her,
Witch.
45.
Meena of the Natt caste. Dancers, singers, rope-walkers
She performed at a wedding and went to collect her dues
They refused her money or grain
Forced her to lick their feet
Asked her to confess
She was a witch.
46.
Radha Munda had land and bumper crops
They all said,
Witch.
47.
Phibi Devi and her late husband, Vijay Oraon
Performed priestly functions
They had a lot of land.
Phibi Devi was called,
Daayan.
48.
Daakan, this one
Daayan, Toni, all those
They must have called out for help
Their kin grew deaf
Blind mute amnesiac
Who cursed who?
What devil from what hell?
Notes:
Daayan, Daakan, Toni are words that refer to a witch or sorceress.
Ojha refers to a figure, typically a man, who serves medicinal, spiritual, and social functions; similar to a witchdoctor but also a witch-finder.
Panchayat is the traditional village council. It could be caste- or sub-caste-based leadership, but also refers now to an elected body of representatives in each village.
Bigha is a unit of land measurement. People use the word variably and it could refer to one acre or one-third of an acre.
Annie Zaidi is the author of City of Incident; Prelude to a Riot; and Bread, Cement, Cactus: A Memoir of Belonging and Dislocation. She is also the editor of Unbound: 2000 Years of Indian Women's Writing. Other published works include Gulab; Love Stories #1 to #14; Known Turf: Bantering with Bandits and Other True Tales; The Good Indian Girl; and Crush.
She received the Tata Literature Live Award for Fiction (2020), the Nine Dots Prize (2019), and The Hindu Playwright Award (2018) for Untitled 1. Her radio script ‘Jam’ was named regional (South Asia) winner for the BBC’s International Playwriting Competition (2011). Her work has appeared in several anthologies and literary journals including Griffith Review, The Aleph Review, Massachusetts Review, The Charles River Journal, The Missing Slate and Out of Print. She has also written and directed several short films and the documentary film, In Her Words: The Journey of Indian Women.
Favourite sea creature
I have a very limited exposure to sea creatures but I like the idea of the seahorse. As a schoolgirl, I came upon the species in my science textbooks and was immediately fascinated because of the gender role reversal – the male gets pregnant. The male carries the eggs around in a pouch and undergoes the labour of birth. Just having this information was liberating for it belies the notion that nature has ordained that birth is mainly a female problem. It may be true of most species but not all. Of course, neither male nor female seahorse are responsible for child 'rearing' as such, so that's another story.