It starts, as they say, not with a bang. There’s no fanfare of opening a red velvet curtain, no house lights down and stage lights up as the orchestra pumps out a bouncy opener, no pre-show speech by a local VIP that nobody really knows. With the long morning-into-afternoon of getting dressed and re-dressed and building costume crowns and putting final touches on the props and décor, it’s easy to fall into a lull and forget that there is any upcoming dance event. So when the actual first moments of ghatu began, I was looking elsewhere (though I was seated a foot away from the action). Thank goodness for the cameraman who tapped me to say pay attention, it’s starting.
The four young ghatusari – or ghatu dancers – sit in a row facing away from the audience and toward the men who sing and play madal, a traditional three-toned Nepali drum with two heads. The men begin to sing a melancholy, haunting tune that stays with you much longer than the five-day ghatu event. This particular tune, one of several that happens in the course of ghatu, causes most ghatusari to fall into a light trance. This particular type of trance, as I understand it, causes their eyes to close, and they cannot open their eyes of their own free will; otherwise, they seem to be aware and in control of themselves.
Three of the four young ghatusari close their eyes within a few moments after the singing begins. The fourth girl, Ramila, has never had any response to the music, so even though she is a ghatusari and has been since she was chosen as a seven-year-old child, she doesn’t participate in certain later parts of the ghatu process. The other three – Omika, Amrita, and Binita – sit patiently as the men sing about purifying the space where ghatu will happen, in a language that everyone in Nalma assumes is Tharu. (The Tharu people are an ethnic group from certain parts of the terai, or the southern plains region of Nepal. They have very little overlap with the Gurung people of Nalma, and it remains a mystery as to why this Gurung practice of ghatu is apparently in the Tharu language.)
To purify the space, you have to smear the floor with cow dung, which is considered sacred in Hinduism. Each of the ghatusari holds a small lump of cow dung in her right hand until one of the men pours a bit of sacred water blessed with a gold ring, known as sunpaani, over it. Then they begin to move the cow dung in a circle on the grass mat, thus purifying the space where they will dance for the next five days.
The men begin to sing about placing crowns on the heads of the Raja (King) and Rani (Queen). Each ghatusari plays the role of either Raja or Rani, which is mainly indicated by the color of her crown – white for Raja, and blue for Rani. On cue, the sousare, or the young women who assist the ghatusari, start to assemble the crowns on the ghatusaris’ heads. They just spent the morning laboriously threading popped rice onto bamboo strands, and now they stick these decorative strands into the crowns. Making the crown strands is an act of sheer delicacy and gentleness. If the bamboo stick is too thick, it will break the popped rice and you will run out of available popped rice pieces. So they gently split the sticks and shave them down. But if they are too thin, they will break when you bend them and your work - and those supplies - will be wasted.
While the men continue to sing and the sousare continue to assemble the crowns, there is a small hubbub. A woman somewhere in her forties is being led into the space, like a blind person with no stick in an unfamiliar area. Her eyes are closed too, and she has a small, sheepish smile on her face. Birkashi Didi is a ghatusari from several generations back. She has just arrived in Nalma and heard the singing before she could even make it to the home where she will be staying. She fell into a trance on the way and had to be brought into the space with the current ghatusari. A few minutes later, another woman, Shantakashi Didi, is led into the space in the same condition. This music has a power I don’t understand.
Now the crowns are assembled and decorated with every kind of local flower, and it is time to bring the ghatusari out of their trance. The sousare come around to each individual ghatusari with a brass vase full of blessed sunpaani. They pour a bit of sunpaani into the ghatusari’s right hand, which she brings to her nose. She takes several snorts of the sunpaani until eventually her eyes pop open. The trance is over. Soon the dancing will begin.
Tune in next week for the dancing . . .