The Karam Tree.
Passing on to trees which are considered specially sacred, we find a good example in the Karam (Neuclea parvifolia), which is revered by the Kharwârs, Mânjhis, and some of the other allied Drâvidian races of the Vindhyan and Kaimûr ranges.
In Shâhâbâd, their great festival is the worship of the sacred tree. “Commenced early in the bright portion of the month Bhâdon (August—September), it continues for fifteen days. It marks the gladness with which people wind up their agricultural operations all over the world. The festivities begin with a fast during the day. In the evening the young men of the village only proceed in a gay circle to the forest. A leafy branch of the Karam is selected, cut, and daubed with red lead and butter. Brought in due state, it is planted in the yard in front of the house, and is decorated with wreaths of wild flowers, such as autumn yields to the Hill men with a bountiful hand. The homely ritual of the Kharwâr then follows, and is finished with the offering of corn and molasses. The worship over, the head of the village community serves the men with a suitable feast. But the great rejoicing of the season is reserved for a later hour. After dinner the men and women appear in their gala dress, and range themselves in two opposite rows. The Mândar, or national drum of the aborigines, is then struck, and the dance commences with a movement forward, until the men and women draw close. Once face to face, a gradual movement towards the right is commenced, and the men and women advance in a slow but merry circle, which takes about an hour to describe.
“Under the influence of the example of the Hindus, the practice of a national dance in which women take a prominent part is already on the decline. When indulged in, it is done with an amount of privacy, closed to the public, but open to the members of the race only. It is difficult, however, to explain why the Karam tree should be so greatly adored by the Kharwârs. It is an insignificant tree, with small leaves, which hardly affords shelter or shade, and possesses no title to be considered superior to others in its native forest. Nor in the religious belief of the Kharwârs have we been able to trace any classic tale connected with the growth of the Karam grove, similar to that of the peaceful olive of old, or aromatic laurel. One important, though the last incident of the Karam worship is the appearance of the demon to the Kharwâr village men. Generally at the conclusion of the dance the demon takes possession of a Kharwâr, who commences to talk, tremble, and jump, and ultimately climbs up the branch of the Karam and begins to eat the leaves. Consultation about the fortunes of the year then takes place, and when the demon has foretold them the festivities are concluded.”[33]
This account omits two important points which enable us to explain the meaning of the rite. The first is that when the festivities are over the branch of the Karam tree is taken and thrown into a stream or tank. This can hardly, on the analogy of similar practices to which reference has been already made, be anything but a charm to produce seasonable rain. Another is that sprigs of barley grown in a special way, as at the Upper India festival of the Jayî, which will be discussed later on, are offered to the tree. This must be an invocation to the deity of the tree to prosper the growth of the autumn rice, which is just at this time being planted out.
I have seen the Karama danced by the Mânjhis, a Drâvidian tribe in Mirzapur, closely allied to the Kharwârs. The people there seem to affect no secrecy about it, and are quite ready to come and dance before Europeans for a small gratuity. The men expect to receive a little native liquor between the acts, but the ladies of the ballet will accept only a light supper of coarse sugar. The troupe consists of about a dozen men and the same number of women. The sexes stand in rows opposite to each other, the women clinging together, each with her arms clasped round her neighbour’s waist. One man carrying the sacred Mândar drum, beats it and leads the ballet, hopping about in a curious way on one leg alternately. The two lines advance and retreat, the women bowing low all the time, with their heads bending towards the ground, and joining occasionally in the refrain. Most of the songs are apparently modern, bearing on the adventures of Râma, Lakshmana, and Sîtâ; some are love songs, many of which are, as might have been expected, rude and indecent. The whole scene is a curious picture of genuine aboriginal life. At the regular autumn festival the ceremony degenerates into regular saturnalia, and is, if common rumour be trusted, accompanied by an absolute abandonment of decency and self-respect which culminates in the most unrestrained debauchery.
The modern explanation of the dance is embodied in a folk-tale which turns on the verbal confusion between Karam, the name of the tree, and the Sanskrit Karma, meaning “good works.” It is, of course, comparatively modern, and quite useless as a means for ascertaining the real basis of the custom, which is probably a means of propitiating the tree god to grant favourable weather.