Brief sketch of a village that, among other things, plays Holi better than most of India!
On Holi, thousands of men, between Bhagwati Ghar and Babaji Kuti in Bangaon, dance amid colours and water and form pyramids. Pic/Twitter
In a strange quirk of history, in Bangaon, my ancestral village in Bihar, you come across many who say: My name is Khan. But he’s not a Muslim.
He’s brahmin! Since Bangaon itself is in Mithila—region of north Bihar; equidistant (100-odd kilometres) to both Bengal and Nepal—the huge population of Khans here are Maithil brahmins, therefore.
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There were two brahmin, marksmen brothers once. They could shoot anything at sight. They were asked to knock down a bird resting on a cow. One brother refused, fearing “gau hatya” (cow-murder), if he missed.
The other brother, surer of his skills, shot down the bird. Since he was still the guy who didn’t care as much for the gai/cow, locals changed his surname to Khan—therefore the generations after him.
This ridiculous legend has been so obviously debunked that even the Bangaon person, a Khan himself, rubbished it first, before telling me still.
A more accepted theory is the Khans of Bangaon (and nearby) were offered this title, during Mughal rule, for their display of bravery. It makes sense. Khan, anyway, is a title.
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That they’re are all brahmins is because, so is Bangaon, the village—with smaller populations of other castes, and, indeed, Muslims too.
All of them worship nature, foremost—for, that’s what brings them their daily bread, in the Gangetic/Kosi belt, growing gehu (wheat), dhaan (paddy), daal (moong), vegetables (aloo, baingan, parwal).
And awaiting mangoes, that kill it with a bountiful showing, every alternative summer. The calmness of a seasonal, agrarian work-life allows you to master the art of idleness, first—laying in bed (khaat), in dalaan (hallway), chilling, over multiple chais, all day.
What’s Bangaon’s hobby? Eating. It’s a championship. During feasts, you can weigh top performers’ intake of mutton, fish (rahu), badi, dahi, rasgulla, in kilograms/person! No kidding.
Sarcasm is their love language; a subtle way of pulling your leg. Many don’t get it—suitably taking credit for having caused the rain last night!
Much has changed, of course. I miss the local expletives. Nobody says, “Dhouri bhain” in Bangaon anymore. Don’t know what it means, so why place an asterisk over it! Also, the dressing sense is universally urbane.
The preferred poisons here have been taadi (edible toddy) and bhaang, Shiva’s personal prasad. Alcohol was traditionally never a thing in Bangaon. Over time, it would’ve become.
More than once I’ve heard the term ‘Udta Bihar’, lately—for the restless young taking to hard, chemical drugs, and the mental health emergency this will soon pose.
It’s all on the state’s chief minister, Nitish Kumar, who imposed 100 per cent prohibition in Bihar (2016)—without historically assessing its obviously negative consequences.
Otherwise, the young from Bangaon are bright. I’ve met them everywhere in the world, doing well, whether in news channels (can’t beat their Hindi), IT, or social sectors. Many, having graduated from the village school (Kalawati High; established, 1941).
They’re actively encouraged to move out. This won’t be so in the distant future. Technology will enable that change. Quality of life in Bangaon—internet access, electricity, open spaces, air-quality—is way superior to Bihar towns/cities, that are dusty dumps, anyway.
The drive from Bangaon to the district, Saharsa, and Darbhanga thereafter, depends on several railway phataks (crossings). If they’re all shut, it could take an hour or two of waiting, for trains to pass—so you miss your flight.
A mini-flyover to leap the traffic over the tracks hasn’t come up yet, because shops serving the two ends of the crossing will get affected. These local votes are essential. Else, you wait for India’s socialism to work its slow magic, eventually. Taxes get collected on time. Government is in the detail.
None of which gets in the way of Bangaon, that’s blessed with a sense of fun. What do they do for it? As with most of India, religion = culture = entertainment. Hence, temples serve as the primary parks/malls/halls for friends/family to gather, exchange views/news of the day; chill, basically.
There are two main centres: Bhagwati Ghar, and Babaji Kuti. The latter being a tourist destination for a travelling yogi and poet, Lakshminath Gosain—a secular, saintly figure, like Shirdi’s Sai Baba—whom Bangaon adopted in the 18th century, and whose word spread.
This cultural life crescendos on Holi, with thousands of men, between Bhagwati Ghar and Babaji Kuti, walking in groups, their shirts off, dancing in colours and water, pulling others in, forming pyramids. Women are in audience. The madness looks scary.
I see top Indian TV news stations cover it now, comparing it to ‘latth maar’ Holi of Vraj region. Bhajan Samrat Anup Jalota was here last year. Which makes you wonder, what’s a (remote) village anymore? Most associate it with ‘kutcha’ homes (shelters). Which is why the slum is deemed its metropolitan equivalent.
Bangaon has hardly any huts. Sadly, its roads between permanent makaans will remain narrow, forever. An estimated population of 50,000-plus redefines a gossipy hamlet, where everyone knows everybody.
In 2023, Bangaon got notified a ‘nagar panchayat’—somewhere between a village and city. While brahmins are in a majority, the electoral seat got reserved for a lower-caste woman. The village elected a lower-caste woman—because she had married a brahmin! That’s the fine quirk of history, isn’t it?
Mayank Shekhar attempts to make sense of mass culture. He tweets @mayankw14
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The views expressed in this column are the individual’s and don’t represent those of the paper.
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