PukhtunWomen

(this article first appeared in The News)

A unique, mustard-coloured shawl has become a symbol of identity for the people of a village in Hazara. Samar Yusuf Khan looks at the process involved in the making of the shawl and its increasingly remote chances of survival in the modern world.

In Sirikot, a village of Hazara , NWFP, one often sees a woman in a yellow shawl walking through the mustard fields, blending into her surroundings. The chhael hints of egalitarianism, as it is used by all, whatever their class.

Three yards long, the chhael is a fragment of culture which persists despite the invasion of radiant, synthetically dyed fabrics. An old-timer, Gul Bahadar, says, “it is a tradition which goes back centuries.

The processes, materials and institutions which produced the chhael are fast becoming rare. In the past, village women would make thread from cotton and sell it to the jolahgaan (weavers). The fabric, called khontaa, was hand woven on khaddis (handlooms). Today, there is only one khaddi left. It is located in Kundi, a small corner of Sirikot.

“In those days a chhael cost just Rs. 10. Now it costs Rs. 190. The weavers used to make warm shawls for men called sharaee,” says Gul Bahdar. She recalls, “There was no soap, so we used to wash these fabrics in the ashes of the leaves of spin bootay” (Caltropis, a tree found all over northern NWFP).

The cloth was woven in several stages, each done by a different member of professional weaver families, depending on the degree of expertise required. Then it was passed on to the dhobian, an extended family of washermen and dyers.

The professional weavers are gone, their wares driven from the shops of Sirikot by easily available machine-made cloth. But some of the dyers have continued their traditions.

Waheeda, clad in a traditional chhael, remarks, “My daughter's wedding preparations are complete except for the chhaels. I must make one for her dowry and one to cover her dolai” (palanquin).

At the dyers house, Waheeda purchases her chhaels by paying the master dyer some wrinkled notes extracted from a tightly tied corner of her own chhael.

Shirin, the master dyer, sitting on a small rug and resting his elbows on a low table, is busy printing a fresh batch of chhaels. Shirin is one of the few who are still practicing the profession of their ancestors. His son, who wants a government job, refuses to learn the art of dyeing with natural dyes.

Shirin's father, Baba Ji, famous for his intricately carved chhaaps (printing blocks), is gradually losing his eyesight, but his legacy lives on in the intricate block prints adorning the interiors of village houses or worn elegantly by the village women.

Baba Ji sits on a charpoy covered with a yellow block printed bed sheet he has made himself. Grumbling at his grandchildren for being careless with his much-trea-sured printing blocks, he retouches some of his oldest pieces with trembling hands.

For carving, he uses the sutree, the chonsa and the koonji, tools of different thicknes and size. Prints are carved onto blocks of shawa (Sissu wood).

First he soaks a piece of paper in mustard oil. When it turns translucent, he traces the design onto the paper, then transfers it onto the wooden block.

Baba Ji says he learned this art from a teacher at Shah Dehrai. “I loved this work so much that I begged him to teach me. He used to give me one meal a day for my apprenticeship.”

He began his own trade by making block prints for bedsheets, pillow covers, chhaels and dastarkwaan, long sheets on which food is served on the floor. The dastarkhwaan usually has a border with a Persian verse printed on it. It frequently says, “Our guests are always welcome and happily entertained.” This exemplifies the Pathan code of honour, in which melmastiya (hospitality) plays a significant role.

Other items have floral or geometric designs. Some bedsheets depict two swans facing one another, encircled by flowers. All these items are an essential part of a bride's dowry.

The fabric used for the chhael, no longer produced locally, is purchased from Kasur, but the process still remains faithful to the practices of the past.

First, the fabric is soaked overnight in a mixture of soap, bicarbonate of soda, mustard oil and goat droppings. The dyers ensure that each and every strand of fibre has absorbed the mixture so that the dyes applied later will remain fast. The goat droppings help to soften the fabric.

The next day, the cloth is rinsed in running water at a khwar (spring). Spring water is considered beneficial, because it cleans the fabric thoroughly and contains dissolved minerals which are believed to aid the dyeing and printing process.

After the rinsing, the cloth is laid down on a flat surface to dry. Shirin explains, “I wait for the months of April and May, whne the temperature of the earth is ideal. My elders always stressed that the sun should dry the cloth with its warmth, but the cool earth and grass should keep a balance. This is conducive for the dyes, which are applied later.”

From its original cream colour, the fabric now turns pure white. At this stage, another application is prepared. Ghaz tukham (tamarisk) is a shrub belonging to the Tamariscineae family which flowers in summer. Ghaz tukham is finely ground with a mortar and pestle and then mixed with mustard oil. It prevents the colours applied from a printing block from spreading, and makes the colours and prints brighter and faster.

Cakes are made of this thick mixture, and for each shawl a cake is dissolved in water. The fabric is immersed once again and left to stand overnight. The next morning, after being rinsed again in spring water, the material is left to dry on a dry surface rather than a grassy patch. According to the dyer, the chhael needs maximum heat at this stage.

The white fabric is now ready for printing. A series of three block prints is applied. The first, called phatakree chhaap (alum print), is a series of crescents facing downwards. For this print, a mixture of phatakree (alum) and gonde (plum or apricot tree resin) is used.

The resin is ground and left to dissolve in some water overnight. Similarly, the alum is soaked separately. These clear solutions are combined and applied to the fabric with a printing block carved with crescents. Alum, which is a mordant, can combine with other dyes to give lasting colour.

After the white fabric is printed with invisible crescents of the alum print, it is boile in a mixture of water an manijeethee, the dried root of the madder plant, which contains a natual dye called alzirin. As the fabric boils in the mixture, the alzirin combines witht eh alum, magically turning the invisible crescents red, while the rest of the cloth remains white.

The shawl is boiled until the water turns clear and all the alzirin in the manjeethee is absorbed by the fabric. After this procedure, the material is once again washed in a stream and dried. At this stage, the chhael has red crescents at equal intervals, whereas the background is white.

The second print, called choonay chhaap (lime print), is in the form of dots. Using a mixture of limestone powder, resin and orbashay (barley flour), white spots are printed in the centre of the red crescents. The brighter the white spots on the final product, the happier the buyer. The fabric is now washed and dried.

At this point the sequence of printing is interrupted by dyeing the white background a vivid yellow. Pomegranate peels are boiled with ground turmeric, a well-known condiment obtained from the perennial herb Curcuma Longa. The rhizomes of this herb contain curcumin, a bright yellow colouring agent that readily dissolves in water. Curcumin is usually used in combination with other dyes. Mixed with pomegranate peel, it turns the white background mustard with a hint of red.

At this stage the cloth is washed again, then dried upside-down in order to prevent the colours from fading. The shawl now has a mustard background with a print of red crescents and white dots.

After dyeing, the printing is resumed. The toray chhaap (black print) is applied in the form of back flowers flanked by two leaves. For this print, a mixture of iron sulphate, orbashay, mustard oil and ground ghaz tukham is prepared. As an alternative, a mixture of iron sulphate, makhao (cornmeal), pomegranate peel, mustard oil and resin may also be used.

The mixture is left to stand for ten days. By then the mustard oil, assisted by the barley or cornmeal, extracts a black pigment from the iron sulfate. The black solution thus obtained is applied to the printing block to print black flowers and leaves onto the shawl.

This last block print gives a perfect finish to the chhael. The process of dyeing comes to an end, and buyers start knocking at the dyers' door.

The chhael has become a symbol of identity for the people of the area. As Dayday, a respected elderly lady, puts it, “It is good to have a chhael at home. A Chhael and an underai [floor mat] are considered buzurg [pious].”

When a child is born, the mother comes out of her room with the infant for the first time on the seventh day. At that moment, she is expected to wear a chhael. Shaista, after giving birth to her first son, stayed indoors in order to protect herself and the newborn from evil spirits. Her mother recalls, “I made her take a bath, wear new clothes and apply ranja [kohl]. Then, while an elderly woman burned some spailanai [herbs used as incense to drive away evil spirits], I covered by daughter with a clean chhael and brought her and the infant out into the courtyard.”

When a girl is being engaged, she covers herself in a chhael while other women sit and sing songs beside her. At weddings, too, a bride is made to sit in a corner of the room wearing a chhael while the village women apply nakrizay (henna).

While attending Shaheen's henna ceremony, I found her sitting in a corner ofher mud-plastered room completely covered in a chhael, except for her two hands sticking out to dry the henna on them. Women ritually combed her hair while she sat with her eyes tightly shut and her head bowed with modesty.

Later, the bride is carried to the bridegroom's house in a dolai covered with two chhaels. Sometimes one comes across a group of men walking down a mountain slope carrying a bride in a chhael-covered palanaquin. They are usually accompanied by the village musicians.

Upon the death of her husband, a widow is usually covered with a chhael by her father or brother as a sign of respect and affection. Hazrat Shah says, “The day my younger sister lost her husband. I asked my wife to get me a chhael so that I could cove my sister with it to console her. While doing so, I assured her that I had the ghairal [honour] to look after my sister and her children.

Another man, Usman, remembers how his old, sick mother had saved a chhael for herself so that no one would forget to cover her body with it on the day she died. Covering a woman's body with a chhael before burying her is an age-old ritual in Sirikot. As Dayday authoritatively say “A woman who does not have chhael at home is given a payghore [taunted] by society.”

Bu the future of the chhael seems dismal. Although the older generation still takes pride in wearing it, the younger generation, overwhelmed by the innumerable fabrics available with chic names like Jhilmill, Madonna and Marina, prefer to look forward rather than backward into the past.

The sons of the professional dyers in Sirikot mock the old-fashioned and unfulfilling profession of their forefathers and aspire for sarkari (government) jobs. It seems likely that the chhael, a fabric so close to nature, will soon be eclipsed by the glitter of modernity and change, putting an end to this artistic craft forever.