Geetanjali Krishna: The coming of Mata
Geetanjali KrishnaThe other day, I was at the Ayurvedic medicine shop when an agitated gent walked in. "I need medicine for my children who are recuperating from measles," he said. "The
Mata has come upon both my children. While my wife is doing all the required rituals to appease the Goddess, I thought maybe you could suggest remedies to reduce their discomfort." The conversation that ensued between the old chemist and the concerned father (I eavesdropped shamelessly) gave me some unexpected insights into the cultural interpretations of disease, often ignored by modern Western medicine.
"The
Mata goes wherever She pleases," said the old chemist. "You shouldn't blame yourself." He was referring to
Sitala Mata, the folk deity whose name means The Cool One, but causes hot skin eruptions when angered. "I know," said the father gloomily. "You never know when She'll come. I went home last weekend to find that both my children had fever. The next morning, the rash on their backs told us it was the
Mata!" His wife and mother immediately brought neem leaves and placed them on their door as well as under the children's bed. "Good thinking," commented the chemist. "Neem leaves have a lot of antibacterial properties. And since the tree is the
Mata's favourite abode, you'd have pleased her by consecrating the house with them." Also, I surmised, neem hanging on their door would immediately alert the neighbours that a contagious infection was afoot.
"Thank God, only
Chhoti Mata visits now, not
Bari Mata," said the chemist. Measles, chickenpox and other lesser skin maladies are believed to be caused by the
Chhoti Mata, junior Goddess, while the big daddy of them all, smallpox - now happily eradicated - was believed to be a visitation from the
Bari, senior Goddess. The father said that they offered prayers on the fifth day of the children's ailment at the local
Sitala temple. "We wrapped the children tightly in sheets, and carried them to the temple to ask for the Goddess's cool blessings. My wife especially prayed for the
Mata's regular accompanist
Jvarasura, the fever demon to stay away from our home," the father narrated. The tight wrapping of the patients, reassured the chemist, was a good thing. "The binding induces sweating which helps reduce the fever."
Eventually, I felt compelled to join this very interesting conversation. What did people in his village (it was somewhere near Agra, he had mentioned) think about getting vaccinated against measles and chickenpox? Small pox, I murmured, had been eradicated through similar methods. The father said, "When the patient is your own child, you won't want to risk the wrath of the
Mata by resorting to vaccinations and modern medicine. They're powerless against the wrath of the
Mata."
The chemist brought out cooling herbs such as chamomile, mint and vetiver, advising the father to administer the juice of bitter gourd with honey to his children. The father took his packet of desi medicines and said gloomily: "Anyway, I now have all the time in the world to tend to them. Last week, I had taken Saturday off from my job as a driver in Delhi to visit my family. Instead, I ended up staying for six days." He was fired upon his return. "Can you imagine, my ex-employer said I was making up the story, that there was no such thing as
Mata! He refused to understand that it is bad luck to just turn your back on the
Mata." Both the men were pronouncing doom and gloom upon Indian society for so easily forgetting its folk roots and traditional ways when I left wondering if the twain - cultural beliefs and modern medicine - could ever be induced to meet.
These are personal views of the writer. They do not necessarily reflect the opinion of