Akin to the English proverb “it is better to wear out than to rust out”, the Maithili one is “Bais Nai Mari, Lari Mari”, which I often heard from my mother during my formative years, in the riverine village, Sijoul, where a Ram temple besides Lord Mahadev exists. The Geeta, the epic originating from the Hindu scriptures preaches the same with its famous quotation — Karmanye Vadhikareshu Maan Fleshu Kadachna — concentrate on your work rather than fruits of your efforts.
She is popularly known as Maunsi (Maan Jaisee), a motherly figure to one and all in the village, irrespective of their caste, creed or religion. On 25 September, 1938, she was born to Phul Devi and Sahdev Jha, in the village of Raiyam, falling in the Jhanjharpur constituency of the Mithila belt, where Goddess Sita was incarnated in the treta epoch, well mentioned in yet another Hindu epic, the Ramayana.
Being widowed in her thirties she had no option but to heroically inch up her veil and come out of the confines of the thatched dwelling. She worked on a farm, mowed grass, raised and grazed a calf to eke out a living, setting aside the social mores that women are meant for household chores.
In violation of the Child Marriage Restraint Act, 1929, she was wedded at the age of 7 when a kid is expected to be frisking and gambolling at the playground. She took charge of the kitchen, doing the dishes following the social dictates.
With her leonine courage, the strength of mind, self-respect and resolve, she set an example for other widows and womenfolk in the area to come forward and stand on their feet as work is worship. Known as an epitome of guts and social service, she commanded high respect and reverence from society, regardless of the social strata of the community men. Be it a social ritual or celebration of a varied nature, her benign presence was always marked with awe.
She is a masterpiece of culinary science, more particularly Mithila cuisines where varieties of dishes are the spices of life. A selection of 56 dishes is found all over the northern Gangetic region where the rivers like Kamla, Balan and Koshi flow, irrigate agrarian land and water flora and fauna in their vicinity.
Once I asked her how she cooked such delicious dishes without onions and garlic, and also without adding too many spices. Citing an eye-opening point, she said, “what matters most while cooking or doing something else is precise time, adequate flame and appropriate seasoning.” This has been a guiding force in my life.
With my father Dayanand Jha passing away in his early forties, her ordeal of life is inexplicable. She was all set to be a sati but for me, whereas I was hardly a year old infant. The cupboard was bare. Life was dark. The silver lining was invisible. Nonetheless, in the course of time, she set an example of how to live a life in the harsh conditions of monetary paucity and other resources required for the functioning of life.
Until I attained the age of 16, and left the house for Patna, in search of a job and pursuit of possible higher education, she continued to spin handloom to make balls of thread out of cotton, for which she had an account with the Khadigramodyog at Rajnagar, nearest railway station under single gauge. She always commuted on foot around 10 kilometres to deposit the handmade ready products to the concerned authority.
She was able to earn redeemable points for around ₹50 a month against which she used to buy the essentials of Khadi products available in those days. Cash was a rare provision to buy something of one’s choice in the open market. Hats off to Mahatma Gandhi, father of the nation for his idea of Khadigramodyog.
However, thanks to KGU she was able to get clothes, bedsheets and something like those for herself and me. One of the clothes I still treasure in my memory is the Khadi lungi I was provided with which I carried on to Patna in 1988.
She always gave me a few leaves of basil (Tulsi) to eat and a few of them to keep in my pocket whenever I ventured out of my shanty. However, I came to realize the importance of basil leaves much later, more particularly during the pandemic coronavirus as Tulsi Kadha has turned out to be a panacea. A friend of mine, Vishwanath Jha confirmed me of such curative effects on his recovery from Covid-19 a few months back.
The pieces of land were inadequate even to run a small family. However, with seasonal cultivation of food grains and vegetables, she managed to make both ends meet. Moreover, being scrupulous and sagacious she would dry a portion of vegetables like cauliflower or bathua for rainy days. What is more, squirrelling food gains and eatables at a time for a year or so was her outstanding house management for which she had manually made large containers of clay known as Kothi in local parlance. At times she would preserve paddy, rice and wheat for uncles selflessly and altruistically. Such was social and family bonding.
Suryanamaskar — offering water to the Sun God and basil plants was one of her daily rituals and cultural ethos she had set for herself throughout life. When it came to accompanying the musical band of village women in folklore at various occasions and rites, she never hesitated to do so. On the other hand, she was very conscientious and meticulous regarding her hygiene. Until she was subjected to bed, she would always keep her house and surroundings neat and clean.
She had to give a thumb impression as she never went to any formal schools and never held a pen or notebook in her hands. But she passed the school of hard knocks in her life with possibly the highest degree of marks. She valued education to the extent that I earned a degree of Doctorate from prestigious Patna University. It was her daily routine to shake me awake around 4 O’clock even in bone-chilling winter so that I was able to study my coursebook during my school days. Her biological clock was well-tuned and synchronized enough to not miss any day. While I studied books she did her household work in the wee hours.
Her medical skills vis-à-vis Ayurveda were excellent. Hardly ever was I administered any allopathic medication as long as I was in the village for 16 years on the trot. Instead, she would always give me certain herbs to keep any ailments at bay; following the adage — prevention is better than cure. She always maintained good health and remained fit and fine till she was overpowered by the carcinoma.
While travelling by Indigo from Delhi to Patna for the first time in 2009, she seemed to be a perfectly well-travelled person. She has been as adaptable to the situation as she is meant for it. She’s lived a life of ups and downs and remained rooted in the Indian values of villages. For the only thing, she’s always prayed to God for our well-being.
Her hardship began to peter out with my venturing out to town and with the establishment of my social enterprise British Lingua in 1993 in Patna. The time was up for her happiness but then the irony of fate was something different to tell. She is on the deathbed battling for her life, wishing all of us to be alive and kicking. She is survived by three children Madan Jha, Meena Jha and me, Birbal Jha and grandchildren Vandana, Mala, Khushboo, Mimansa and Shabdagya, and daughters-in-law Pawan Jha and Gauri Rani.