Session 112 summary
In the village nestled within Simlipal National Park, located in Mayurbhanj, Odisha, Shakuntala Marndi spent her childhood. Amidst the lush greenery, she observed the dynamics of her community closely. Santali people formed the majority, while a few families, belonged to the Weaver community. However, within this tribal setting, caste distinctions persisted. Shakuntala witnessed instances where Santali children would bully their Weaver counterparts. Curiosity stirred within her young mind. She pondered over the disparity in numbers between the two communities and the distinctiveness of their occupations. While the majority engaged in farming, the Weaver families, practiced the art of weaving. They spun yarns and dyed them, while Santali women took charge of the dying process. The intricate craft of transforming threads into fabric fascinated Shakuntala. As Shakuntala grew older, she noticed a gradual decline in the traditional weaving business practiced by her community. Around the age of seven or eight, a significant event left a lasting impression on her young mind. Her aunt returned from Rourkela after several years of working at a steel plant, bearing gifts that sparked intrigue among the village women. Among the treasures her aunt brought were two lightweight nylon sarees adorned with floral prints, along with a packet of tea dust, an iron block, and an iron pipe. The arrival of these sarees caused a stir in the village, drawing curious crowds eager to behold their lustrous fabric. Shakuntala found herself puzzled by the fascination, wondering why these particular sarees garnered such attention when her own community was adept at weaving fabric themselves. That moment marked Shakuntala’s first realization of the diversity in fabrics. She discovered that beyond the traditional cotton sarees, there existed a world of lightweight, shiny fabrics with intricate floral prints. While her community continued to weave their signature check-patterned cotton sarees with white bases and maroon checks, Shakuntala became aware of the broader spectrum of textile varieties. As she progressed through high school, Shakuntala witnessed a significant shift in her village’s weaving industry. The dwindling number of weavers eventually led to their departure from the village altogether. This decline was exacerbated by the inability of the remaining weavers to meet the growing demand for fabric within the community. Consequently, the majority of Santali people resorted to purchasing power loom fabric from the market, signaling the end of an era for traditional weaving in Shakuntala’s village. While the weavers departed from the village, the blacksmiths remained a constant presence, their craft still in demand among the Santali people. Their ability to secure regular work ensured their continued presence in Shakuntala’s village. Unlike the weavers who traced their lineage back to their fore-grandfathers’ migration, the blacksmiths found stability within the community, sustaining their livelihood through their trade. As the weavers relocated to Chheligodhuli, a village near Jashipur, the landscape of Shakuntala’s village changed, reflecting the ebb and flow of occupations and communities within the tribal setting.
As a professional designer, Shakuntala specializes in creating apparel with minimal stitching, focusing on designs that promote sustainability and versatility. Her approach emphasizes garments that minimize material consumption and blur the lines of gender-specific fashion. By crafting designs that cater to both men and women, Shakuntala aims to offer inclusive and eco-conscious clothing options to her clientele.
Before her enrollment at the National Institute of Design (NID), Shakuntala pursued her post-graduation studies at the Institute of Textile Technology in Choudwar. It was here that she delved into the academic realm of textiles, gaining insights into the intricacies of traditional Santali saree weaving. Through her studies, she discovered the distinctive characteristics of Santali phuta kacha cloth, adorned with yarn-dyed extra wave patterns, as well as the intricate Santali jhal saree. Contrasting these traditional fabrics, Shakuntala learned about manmade materials like nylon sarees, featuring chemical floral prints, such as the ones her aunt had brought from Rourkela.
Following her graduation from the Institute of Textile Technology, Shakuntala embarked on a professional journey that led her to Bangalore. There, she immersed herself in the world of textile exports, gaining firsthand experience with automated machinery. The introduction of RFID technology and ERP systems revolutionized the production process, streamlining tasks such as pocket sewing and inventory management. Shakuntala’s exposure to these advancements in automation occurred during the mid-2000s, a period marked by significant progress in the textile industry. Having garnered experience with renowned brands like Walmart, American Eagle, and the specialized plus-size label Fubu, Shakuntala embarked on a new chapter by pursuing a master’s degree in apparel design at NID. During her second semester, she delved into craft documentation, a project that prompted her to explore the intricacies of traditional crafts within villages. Intrigued by the artistry behind Santali saree weaving, Shakuntala immersed herself in studying its materials, patterns, motifs, and the communities involved in its production and usage. Through this exploration, Shakuntala’s focus shifted towards indigenous processes and materials, igniting a passion for creating products that celebrate traditional craftsmanship. While her expertise lies in designing production-friendly garments using a range of materials like cotton, silk, rayon, viscose rayon, and linen, she finds herself increasingly drawn to natural materials. With plans to delve deeper into the study of these materials, Shakuntala’s journey as a designer continues to evolve, guided by her commitment to sustainability and cultural preservation. Shakuntala highlights the cultural diversity among the indigenous people of Similipal, emphasizing that while her observations pertain specifically to the Santali community, their practices are representative of indigenous cultures across India. She notes that Santhals are not confined to Odisha alone but are also found in Jharkhand, West Bengal, Bihar, Assam, as well as neighboring countries like Bangladesh, Nepal, and Bhutan. Despite their shared heritage, Shakuntala points out variations in clothing styles among Santali communities across different regions. For instance, she observes distinct dress and saree patterns among Santhals in Jharkhand compared to those in West Bengal. However, she acknowledges similarities in attire between Santhals in Mayurbhanj and certain communities in West Bengal.
As she shares images of her village, Shakuntala discusses the significance of the Jaher, a sacred space that holds cultural and spiritual importance for the Santali community. While it’s often referred to as a “sacred grove” in English, Shakuntala reflects on the nuances of this term. Contrary to the definition of a sacred grove, which typically includes valuable or precious plants native to the area, Shakuntala notes that the Jaher in Santali villages primarily features sal, arjun, and banyan trees, rather than exclusively housing endangered flora. For the Santali people, the Jaher serves as a place of worship for deities such as Marang Buru and Jaher Ayo. Shakuntala shares a cultural insight, mentioning that while some villages now permit women to enter the Jaher during special occasions, traditional practices in her village still restrict women from entering after reaching puberty.
She shares images capturing the setting where Jaher Ayo Stapna, a traditional Santali ritual, takes place. In one photograph, a plant known as Ramie in English and haris in their language stands behind a house, offering a glimpse into the cultural significance of indigenous flora. Shakuntala explains that she later discovered Ramie to be a textile fiber during her studies in textiles. Another picture depicts a location called Gosayne, with a bird crafted from Sauli grass displayed prominently. This specific type of grass, once commonly used for patching roofs of houses, now finds its primary purpose in roofing the Gosayne and crafting Sauli birds. Shakuntala notes the decline in its use for thatching houses, highlighting the evolving nature of traditional materials and their adaptation within contemporary contexts. Shakuntala mentions the natural occurrence of Sauli grass in certain areas of her village. These regions, known as Sauli Goda, are fields where the grass thrives. Shakuntala explains that the landowner of such fields is often referred to as the “Sauli Goda’s owner”. As she shares a series of captivating images depicting her village, Shakuntala proudly declares its pristine condition, untouched by the scourge of non-degradable materials like polythene and synthetic products that blight many other locales. In Shakuntala’s village, open defecation remains the predominant practice among villagers, as the government-provided toilets for BPL (Below Poverty Line) families unfortunately fail to meet their needs. Consequently, bathing in the river has become the customary hygiene routine. In her village, Shakuntala takes note of the diverse array of herbal plants, each possessing unique medicinal qualities. Despite the challenges her community faces, she draws comfort and inspiration from the innate beauty of these plants, often capturing their essence through her photography. One intriguing example is the koted plant, celebrated for its effectiveness in treating headaches, distinguished by its vibrant red fruits and delicate white flowers, which Shakuntala envisions incorporating into her textile designs.
Among the intriguing botanical discoveries, Shakuntala points out plants whose fruits resemble flowers and flowers that mimic leaves. She shares additional images, discussing the Soso plant, resembling cashew but harboring toxic properties yet still utilized in traditional medicine. Another plant, Murud, finds its leaves employed in pancake recipes. Additionally, she mentions Ranu Ran, a vital ingredient in fermenting rice to produce rice beer, an essential offering in Santali culture to deities like Marang Buru and Jaher Ayo, as well as to ancestors.
Reflecting on the belief system shared among Santali people and other tribes, Shakuntala recalls a childhood curiosity about the notion that the Earth rests upon the back of a tortoise. Initially, she pondered the literal existence of such a tortoise beneath the Earth’s surface. However, with maturity came the realization that this concept symbolizes the delicate balance of the ecosystem rather than a literal interpretation. Understanding the significance of ecological balance, Shakuntala recognizes the scientific validity of maintaining harmony with nature to prevent environmental imbalance and subsequent natural disasters. This belief system resonates deeply with her, reinforcing the importance of preserving and respecting nature’s resources. Furthermore, Shakuntala’s personal convictions resonate with the notion that different regions nurture medicinal plants suited to the health requirements of local residents. Guided by this belief, she actively endeavors to locate and nurture intriguing plant specimens wherever her travels take her, thus contributing to the enrichment of her surroundings while safeguarding the ancestral wisdom of herbal medicine. One such instance is a plant she acquired in Baripada known as champa. Remarkably, since its planting in 2016 or 2017, the champa plant has already grown to her height.
Whenever Shakuntala visits her village, she readily engages in various household tasks. The repetitive chores leave distinct imprints on her hands, erasing her fingerprints over time. Within a week, her fingertips become scarred, rendering her unable to unlock her phone using fingerprint recognition. Consequently, she relies solely on numeric PINs to secure her device, as fingerprint unlocking becomes futile. Shakuntala’s hands bear witness to her industrious efforts. In another photograph, Shakuntala is pictured alongside a friend from Sonipat. As they reminisce about stories from Shakuntala’s village, particularly those involving elephants, they notice a stark contrast in the appearance of their feet and palms. Shakuntala’s friend’s extremities exhibit a soft, pink hue, while Shakuntala’s own hands and feet bear the rough texture of someone accustomed to daily interaction with various materials in her village. This observation serves as a poignant reminder of the different lifestyles and environments shaping their respective experiences.
Discussing the traditional textile production in her village, Shakuntala recounts how the weavers, who have since departed for their original village, used to create Santali sarees. Nowadays, local residents primarily purchase these products from the market, where power loom fabrics are prevalent. When the weavers were active in her village, Santali women would dye the yarns and provide them to the weavers for fabric-making. The dyeing process involved utilizing a plant material known as Chaili in Santali, Aal (Morinda citrifolia) in Hindi and English. This process entailed steeping the yarn in a mixture of the plant’s roots and bark, along with ingredients like castor oil and black myrobalan, both abundantly found in her jungle. Additionally, the bark of the Dangua Paan plant contributed to a vibrant red hue in the dye. The resulting color was a deep maroon, which was often woven into a checkered pattern to ensure uniform distribution of the dye throughout the fabric. This strategic weaving technique prevented the fabric from appearing predominantly white, achieving a balanced aesthetic of white and maroon hues.
One type of saree, known as khanda lugli, features a white cotton base with ‘aal‘ dyed borders. These sarees typically measure 16 to 18 feet in length and are traditionally gifted to the bride’s mother during marriage ceremonies. Similarly, there are two other sarees known as Hele lugli and gagla lugli. Gagla lugli is presented to the bride’s aunt, while Hele lugli is reserved for the maternal grandmother. Though their lengths may vary slightly, the overall patterns of these sarees remain quite similar.
The Sindur Lugli saree is designed for both men and women. Woven with white yarn, it undergoes a meticulous dyeing process using turmeric. Care is taken to ensure that the dyeing process is executed flawlessly, as there is a belief among the people that tampering with the yarn from these sarees and dhotis could invite negative consequences such as witchcraft. Hence, the dyeing process is carried out with great caution. The Sindur Lugli saree and dhoti are worn by the bride and groom during the sindoor daan ritual in marriage ceremonies.
The traditional attire known as phuta saree or jhalah saree is commonly worn during pujas and festivals. Men typically wear phuta kacha, while women wear phuta saree. These garments feature thick borders on both ends and a checkered pattern throughout the body. Historically, they were dyed using Chaili, but modern versions are often dyed with chemical dyes. While these sarees were traditionally woven by members of the weaver’s community, they now procure fabric from power looms and sell it in local markets.
The jhalah saree, with its length typically around 15 feet, distinguishes itself from the standard market sarees. Initially, weavers crafted shorter garments called panchi and palhan before introducing the longer jhalah saree. Its name, “jhalah,” denotes its increased size compared to panchi and palhan. The pallu of the jhalah saree boasts additional woven yarns, forming thick patterns that contrast with the fabric’s regular weave. The saree’s checks usually measure half an inch thick or less, while contemporary versions often feature motifs like floral designs, birds, leaves, fish, and ikkat patterns. Though some weavers collaborate in areas like Kathpal of Mayurbhanj and Keonjhar to produce ikkat sarees using Santali saree fabric, the traditional design remains iconic.
Shakuntala’s involvement in the recent initiative to geographically indicate and register the phuta kacha and jhalah saree has been instrumental. Her contribution through sharing pertinent documentation signals progress towards obtaining Geographical Indication (GI) tagging for this unique pattern, solidifying its status as the official saree of Myurbhanj Santali Jhalah Saree.
Furthermore, various motifs adorn the saree, including stars, petals, leaves, diamonds, birds, fish, and temple designs. In the phuta kacha pattern, additional webbed patterns enhance its appeal. However, it’s worth noting that the vibrant colors like red, black, and green are achieved through chemical dyes, contrasting with the traditional maroon shade obtained from aal dyeing. Claims of natural dyeing producing such vivid hues should be met with skepticism, as natural dyes typically result in subtler tones lacking the intense brightness of chemical dyes.
In the document, a step-by-step process was illustrated detailing how the Santali saree is traditionally worn. Shakuntala mentions that while some may compare it to the Bengali saree drape, there are distinct differences. The Santali style involves a triangular front, and the Pallu is typically brought from the back and tucked on the wearer’s left side, showcasing the thick pattern on the side. This process has been shared on her blog, along with a demonstration of wearing the phuta kacha. She also shares pictures of a group of women seen wearing the Santali saree, each with their unique style of draping. This variability in draping style reflects the adaptability of the saree to different activities and work scenarios.
Another type of saree shared by Shakuntala is the ‘Sasang Jhal Saree’. The pattern is similar to other Santali sarees, but it is typically worn during marriages. In earlier days, these sarees, along with sindoor sarees and sindoor dhotis, were dyed with turmeric. However, nowadays, chemically dyed versions are also available in the market. Similarly, ‘Sasang Jhal Saree’ is accompanied by Sasang dhoti. Shakuntala also shares a step-by-step process detailing how to properly wear a dhoti. Firstly, it needs to be tucked in the front, ensuring both sides are of equal length. Then, one side is tucked in the front, while the other part of the fabric is turned back and tucked at the backside. She shares pictures illustrating how Santali men wear the dhoti, showcasing slight variations in draping style depending on the wearer’s waist width and the width of the dhoti itself.
Shakuntala shares pictures of dyed phuta kacha used in marriage ceremonies. Alongside images from the marriage ceremony, she discusses the rituals involving the groom and the bride’s brother, who both wear yellow phuta kacha and sindoor lugli. Additionally, Shakuntala shares photographs capturing a community group activity reminiscent of a rally held in her village in May to commemorate Pandit Raghunath Murmu’s birthday. These images, taken either in 2022 or possibly in 2020, reveal a striking transformation in the color palette of the sarees. Initially adorned with maroon hues and characterized by checkered patterns, contemporary renditions showcase a diverse array of colors including green, red, yellow, and white, all achieved through the use of chemical dyes. She notes that while the patterns have remained consistent, there has been a significant shift in color choices. Shakuntala observes that during religious ceremonies and festivals, women tend to favor white sarees adorned with maroon checks. However, for other events, they opt for sarees with green or pink bases complemented by red or white checks, showcasing a wide variety of patterns. In one of the images, a girl is seen wearing a saree with a yellowish hue, resembling tussar silk, although it is made of polyester. Shakuntala highlights the practice of some sellers misleading customers by marketing these polyester sarees at higher prices, despite their synthetic composition.
Another image is shared, depicting men adorned in phuta kacha. Additional photographs showcase young children dressed in traditional sarees and dhotis. During such events, it’s common to see both men and women donning these attires. The sight often sparks the interest of children, prompting them to also wear phuta kacha and phuta dhoti. These traditional garments are readily available in various sizes in the market, catering to individuals of all ages, including elderly people, young adults, and children. Another photo is shared, depicting women adorned in a sasang jhal saree during a wedding ceremony. The preceding pictures focused on phuta kacha, phuta dhoti, and various sarees dyed using Chaili and, more recently, chemical colors.
Shakuntala introduces another plant indigenous to her region known as Sagwan, or teak wood. When the tender leaves of Sagwan are rubbed, they produce a vibrant red color. However, unlike aal, this color lacks permanence and is not widely utilized as a textile dye. Shakuntala suggests that further research could potentially enhance the color’s fastness, enabling its use as a textile dye.
Shakuntala shares several images depicting the traditional method of washing and drying clothes among the Santali people. These photos showcase a location known as Mutul, where clothes are typically hung to dry. Most commonly, wires are used to suspend the clothes during regular days, or they are hung on Jhanti for drying. Additionally, Shakuntala explains that old or rejected garments, such as sarees, are repurposed to create kantha, a type of quilt. Kantha is still stitched today and used as bedding material. Shakuntala shares several images of jewelry worn by the Santali tribal people. The first piece, called “sud pasi,” is worn at the center of the hair bun. Another item, known as “pan kanta,” resembles the shape of a heart or a betel leaf, hence its name. Additionally, she showcases “Pankanta” and “silha,” with “silha” being the clip positioned above the hair. The next piece, “Puisamala,” is a necklace made with silver coins and beads. Shakuntala also highlights “baju/baju bandh,” which are silver jewelry items secured with cotton strings. She further presents “balasakam” and “Mudam” as examples of traditional tribal jewelry. Shakuntala mentions that while elders recall wearing terracotta jewelry in the past, modern preference leans towards silver jewelry. Gold jewelry is less common, with many opting for imitations due to affordability.
Shakuntala presents images of another material known as Mayurbhanj Tassar. The color of this tassar is slightly yellowish and coarser compared to Bhagalpuri Tassar. She notes that nowadays, many Santali families are involved in rearing tassars as a means of livelihood. Mayurbhanj Tassar naturally grows in Simili Pal, with its size slightly smaller than Bhagalpuri. Traditionally, no fabric was woven from this tassar, but there is a growing demand for tassar sarees in the market. Shakuntala includes a picture illustrating the appearance of the cocoon, both before and after being boiled. The boiled cocoon takes on a slightly golden hue after drying. Additionally, she shares a picture of the moth inside the cocoon, emphasizing the ethical implications of silk production. Shakuntala discusses the impact of silk production on animal life and mentions the existence of Ahinsa textiles, which are coarser due to the bursting of cocoons by the moth before harvesting.
Shakuntala showcases a yarn after reeling, displaying the natural golden color of Tassar silk. She highlights ongoing efforts by the state government to enhance the weaving capacity of weavers and promote sericulture. However, she notes that further efforts are needed in this regard. Shakuntala introduces another material known as lar fiber, which is plentiful in the Similipal National Park and traditionally utilized by tribal communities. This fiber is naturally robust, initially appearing white when extracted from the plant but taking on an orangeish-brown hue as it dries. She shares images of the plant’s leaves and women gathering them from the forest, one of whom is depicted carrying a rope on her shoulder. Shakuntala explains that when people venture into the jungle, they typically collect various materials beyond just leaves, including datun (tooth-cleaning twigs) and fast fibers, to use for various purposes such as tying firewood or other items at home.
The fruit of the lar fiber plant, known as lama, is edible, with seeds resembling small coins. The fruit typically takes the form of a long pod containing 12-15 seeds. Despite the abundant fibrous nature of lar, exploration into its potential has been limited. One workshop was organized by the district magistrate of Mayurbhanj in collaboration with NID (National Institute of Design). Currently, Shakuntala is conducting research on lar fiber to explore its usability in weaving or for creating finer ropes, potentially for crafting various products. Typically, lar fiber is utilized as rope, while an ancient craft involving lar leaves called gungu, which is a leaf raincoat, has largely been replaced by plastic raincoats in modern times.
The process of steeping begins with the bast (lar) fiber extracted from the plant, soaking it in water for a week, followed by beating it with a stick to remove the starchy material before drying it. The Bir Hol community, dedicated to extracting fiber from the plant, relies entirely on this practice for their livelihood. However, with limited exploration into this fiber and the prevalence of stronger plastic alternatives, their traditional ropes are gradually being replaced, threatening their means of living. In Shakuntala’s panchayat, where only 32 households exist, many women have married into Santali or Munda tribal communities, adopting their husbands’ culture and language, thereby losing their native tongue of Bir Hol and starting to use Santali.
Shakuntala experimented with treating the lar fiber with alkali to explore the possibility of separating it for spinning and weaving. She envisions the potential for creating fibers, yarns, and fabric from it but acknowledges the need for extensive research. After a joint workshop, the Bir Hol community crafted some products from the lar fiber, although achieving a clean finish remains a challenge due to the fiber’s heaviness. The artisans acquire black-colored strips of lar fiber using mud, leveraging its natural iron-rich properties to create a durable, fast color. Traditional lar fiber containers, known as topa, originally used for oil extraction due to their strength, have now been repurposed as bags. Additionally, contemporary lar fiber products such as bottle holders and wall hangings have been created, showcasing the versatility of the material. Shakuntala highlights the presence of another fiber called shasha, white in color and equally robust, yet largely unexplored. Darbar Birhol, an artist specializing in lar fiber products, along with a few other artisans, still make lar fiber products. While their products are in demand, the younger generation shows little interest in the craft due to the fiber’s weight and the perceived lack of appeal in the finished products.
Shakuntala shares some images of the flora of her community, including pictures of the ‘saal‘ flower, ‘Icha.h baha’ used in textile dying, ‘mahua’ from which traditional local liquor is made, and ‘murud baha’ or palash flower. Additionally, she shares pictures of one of the festivals that occur in the beginning of March, known as the ‘Baha Festival,’ during which saal flower, icha.h baha, and mahua flower are offered to Marang Buru and Jaher Ayo. People engage in pouring water, singing, and dancing during this celebration. One of the rituals in this Baha Festival involves leaving a pot of water in Naike’s house at night, and the next day, they use it to predict the coming year.
Shakuntala also shares pictures of painted walls using mud colors, although the green color depicted is chemical, while traditionally, the red and white colors were made from mud. Additionally, she shares pictures of traditional houses made entirely from mud and wood, as well as contemporary ones which incorporate bricks. She also shares pictures of the engraved doors of her village adorned with motifs such as birds, elephants, and chakras. Additionally, she provides images illustrating the process of preparing houses before painting and decorating with mud or chemical colors, which involves coating them with a mixture of wet mud, cow dung, and tinder (ash). To store the mud colors, people create round balls (gola) of red mud and white mud and store them for a year or two.
About the Speaker
Shakuntala Marndi
Shakuntala Marndi, hailing from the village of Madan Mohan Pur (Chakli) in Similipal, Odisha, has been deeply influenced by her upbringing amidst the diverse landscapes of Mayurbhanj district. Surrounded by the rhythms of village life, Shakuntala’s childhood memories are woven with experiences from her community, where she was exposed to the rich traditions of weaving and craftsmanship. Introduced to the world of textiles at a young age, Shakuntala’s passion for design was sparked by the allure of handloom and mill-made fabrics, setting her on a journey of exploration and creativity. From her early encounters with Santali sarees to her professional tenure in the apparel export industry, Shakuntala’s path has been defined by a deep appreciation for artisanal techniques and sustainable practices. Her time at the National Institute of Design (NID) further fueled her passion for design principles and craft documentation, shaping her into a seasoned textile engineer and apparel designer. With a focus on experimentation and innovation, Shakuntala continuously pushes the boundaries of design, crafting garments that seamlessly blend tradition with modernity. Her creations resonate with authenticity and timeless elegance, reflecting her unwavering dedication to her cultural heritage.
