Why the Van Raji tribe of Uttarakhand won’t speak its language

Why the Van Raji tribe of Uttarakhand won’t speak its language
A language once spoken by a tribal community in Uttarakhand now teeters on the brink of survival

Madan Singh Rajwar is walking down a mountain with his carpentry tools on a warm morning. The India-Nepal border is a few kilometres away. The swollen Gori Ganga river is boisterous this summer. Two years ago, the river ate the road and everything else except Madan’s village. Chiphaltara, a hamlet of 11 families, is located deep inside a mountain forest of oak and pine in Uttarakhand’s Pithoragarh district.

And it is only here, at home, that he talks in Raji, his mother tongue, Madan tells me. “Aah, who talks in our language? No one!” he declares, grinning. “I don’t like to speak to outsiders in Raji.” I request him to speak a few sentences, and he indulges me but swiftly switches back to Kumaoni.

Madan is a member of a tribe called Van Rawat or Van Raji, meaning ‘kings’ or ‘royal people of the forest’. It has a population of 1,295 members sparsely spread over 11 villages of Pithoragarh, Champawat and Udham Singh Nagar districts of Uttarakhand. There are 2,241 Rajis in Uttar Pradesh as well. Because of their dwindling numbers, low literacy rate and unequal development, the Ministry of Tribal Affairs has classified them as a Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Group (PVTG). And their language, Raji, is considered by Unesco as ‘severely endangered’.

Dominant influences

The dominant Hindu and Kumaoni cultures have no doubt influenced the lives of Raji. “I feel ashamed to talk in my language,” says Madan. “We are at the bottom of the social strata. Although everyone knows me in the neighbourhood, I don’t like to announce that I am a Raji in front of strangers like you. I am more comfortable in Kumaoni or Hindi.”

In fact, everyone I meet in Chiphaltara speaks to me in Kumaoni or Hindi. Ram Singh Rajwar, another Raji, admits he scolds his wife if she speaks to their two daughters in Raji. “I want them to learn Hindi, and later, English. I want them to go to an English-medium school,” Ram Singh says in fluent Hindi.

photo-3- Vanaraji Village Koota Chaurani Block Didihat District Pithoragar
The Raji tongue belongs to the Himalayan group of the Tibeto-Burman family of languages, says Kavita Rastogi, head of the linguistics department of Lucknow University, who is trying to revive Raji. “When a community depends on another one for roti-kapda-makan, it can lose its own language because they must continuously communicate in the language of the dominant community for business.”

Rastogi has published a book of letters in Raji. Teachers in primary schools don’t motivate Raji children to speak in their mother tongue, she says. “They call it ‘junglee bhasha,’ so the younger generation feels inferior and less inclined to speak it.”

And it is isn’t just their language that is dying — much of the Van Rawats’ traditional knowledge of medicinal plants is also on the decline. Their close proximity to flora and fauna helped the community discover the medicinal properties of plants and herbs in forests around their village. However, this knowledge has mostly diminished with the coming of hospitals and medical stores in recent times.

Fading into oblivion

Gora Devi, an older member of the village, says their village does not have a dense forest cover any more. “Earlier, if someone fractured their hand, we would cut a piece of wood and tie it around the hand — like a plaster cast. Every ailment was treated with plants and herbs. Now the hospital is nearby. We get medicines over the counter,” says Gora Devi.

Younger members like Madan and Ram Singh can no longer identify medicinal plants. Nevertheless, researchers have attempted to document the unique ethno-medicinal practices of the Raji tribe before they fade into oblivion.

Today, for livelihood, much of the tribe collects wood. When Madan is able to sell wood, he is a happy man. But those days are rare. On most days, he works for Kumaoni landholders.

Rajis were also once widely known for their excellent carpentry skills. Two decades ago, at any Raji house, every household item would be made of wood — from bed to bowl. At one time, when the tribe lived outside the village, they would come at night and keep the carved pots and bowls outside Kumaoni houses. The next night, the Kumaonis would keep vegetables and grains for the Rajis to collect. As the government banned tree felling, the culture of woodcraft died and Rajis today use steel and plastic like everyone else.

Mohan Singh Rajwar, 55, says he doesn’t remember the last time he carved something out of wood. “I don’t have the tools any more. But I don’t think I have forgotten how to carve,” he says.

Attempts by the government and NGOs to ‘civilise’ them may have robbed the Rajis of their traditions, culture and language, but they are worried about more than just their vanishing language and culture.

The Rajis live in dire poverty and can barely afford two meals a day. I meet eight-year-old Kalavati, wearing a thread around her neck with her house key strung on it. She is eating rice and dal in her one-room mud house, where she, her parents and two younger siblings live.

She made the food herself, she tells me, while her mother was away collecting fodder. In a corner of the room, a cow moos. Her textbooks stick out through the broken zip of a ragged school bag. A few clothes hang from a rope that runs from one end of the room to the other.

For Kalavati and her family, I can’t help but think cultural conservation must be trumped by a more basic concern — survival.