An evening lamp flickers inside the mud hut. From above the mahua tree, the moonlight falls softly on the face of Dhaneshwar Netam. Beads of sweat glisten on her dust-covered forehead, shimmering like silver under the tender touch of the moonlight.
Before the oil in the evening lamp runs out, the tomato saplings must be planted. Because the village is now celebrating Gadi Pandum. Digging the soil is prohibited. These few days of Gadi Pandum are a time for land to rest during the day time.
If anyone breaks the rule by hiting the soil with a spade or weeder! Then? Belief of locals the wrath of the local deities- Ungavela, or the Bhomra and Bhimsen-may descent on the village.
I have spent nearly eight months in Binjam village. In this tribal-dominated settlement, I have mostly observed the Gond and Mariya communities. Their diverse traditional practices and festivals have made me reflect deeply on how one truly learns to love nature, like Gadi Pandum.
Gadi Pandum is an ancient festival of Bastar. Its essence lies in expressing gratitude to nature, the same nature that has given us flowers, fruits, vegetables, and paddy. A small portion of the produce is offered to the local deity, Bhimsen, as a gesture of thanks.
Offering a small share of the harvest back to that very soil is perhaps the most profound expression of love for nature. The spirit of this festival does not lie in grandeur or in the rhythms of drums, but in this quiet, simple belief.
This belief is not limited to Binjam alone- it is shared across villages in Dantewada. Throughout the year, whatever the Gond, Mariya, and other tribal communities receive from the forests and fields is seen as nature’s blessing. The people of Binjam believe that Bhimsen himself is nature. And so, offering a portion of their harvest to him becomes their duty.
Over the past few months, I have also witnessed other festivals like Amus, Hariyali, and Beej Pandum in Dantewada. Each of them carries simplicity, faith, strong reasoning, and an unwavering will to preserve tradition. Perhaps that is why, leaving aside all daily work, people across Binjam, Kutulnar, Siyanar, Ghotpal, and other villages of Geedam block begin their preparations four days before the first Wednesday of February.
On the first Wednesday of February, one of the biggest fairs of Dantewada district is held at Ghotpal, deeply connected to Gadi Pandum. Goddess Ungavela travels from her native village Binjam to Ghotpal, carried on the shoulders of the “Prema”, the traditional priests. These Prema keep watch from the last Sunday of January, ensuring that no one violates the rule by digging the soil during daylight.
A one-day fair, presence of deities, tribal dances, I had heard it all. But I had never heard that work in the fields would completely stop. On last saturday of January if Lalita didi not arrived on time, I might have become an offender myself. For digging the soil with a weeder, I would have had to pay a fine, perhaps even face the wrath of the deity.
Saturday afternoon, I went to Lalita didi’s field. Seeing the bean plants lacking nutrients, I picked up a khurpi to dig the soil and apply cow dung manure. Suddenly, Lalita didi came running with a green bucket in her hand and stopped me. Smiling, she said,
“Babu, no work can be done in the field during Gadi Pandum. If anyone works before evening, they must pay a fine, either a cow, a goat, or paddy. If someone sees you, maybe you won’t be fined. But if it happens in our field, we will have to pay.”
Putting down the tool, I asked, there’s no one here, how would anyone know? Then anyone could secretly work!
She replied, “Some people did. Later, some of the Prema had dreams. Those who broke the rule fell seriously ill. That is why now no one works while the sun is still up.”
Knowing the rituals I understood work could be done after sunset. I made a new plan. The plan to plant tomato saplings in Dhaneshwar dada’s field was rescheduled. ,
Along with the evening lamp, a white bulb lit up on a bamboo pole beside the field. With Trichoderma powder, cow dung manure, and the salty taste of sweat, Mother Earth opened her lap to receive the grafted tomato saplings.
Perhaps love returns only when it is given. The soil that feeds us, if we care for it, it will care for us. If we allow the land to heal naturally instead of burdening it with chemicals, it will keep us healthy in return.
We search for good food, but do we give that same goodness back to the soil that feeds us? This tribal society shares its good produce with the land. Yet we, who take pride in being “civilized,” often ignore this simple philosophy in our pursuit of higher yields and greater profits.
Perhaps the message of Gadi Pandum holds the path to a healthier future.
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