In Nature Bazaar this November, I stopped by some Kashmiri shawl-sellers exhorting buyers to look at their wares. “Our state used to be paradise on earth,” said one looking agitated, “but now it has been ravaged by terrorism.” The message was clear: By buying their products one would support an economy crippled by war and strife. It was an effective, aggressive message, and did get them several buyers.
It struck me a while later, that there were other handicrafts that had become economic lifelines for people living in troubled areas. Tussar weaving, for example, is one of the few viable means of livelihood for poverty-stricken tribals of Jharkhand, where the Maoists have a stronghold in 18 of the 22 districts in the state. Why wasn’t Tussar then marketed, not just as a beautiful fabric but as a product of political turmoil, by its producers? Thinking of this, I sought out the people manning a stall selling Tussar from Jharkhand. The two men at the stall barely spoke in English, in sharp contrast to the Kashmiri shawl-sellers. Once weavers, they now had small workshops where Tussar silk was produced. As i seemed interested in their art, they gave me a succinct description of the fabric and how it was produced.
Tussar Silk is a type of wild silk, I learned, which means that it is obtained from silk worms that are not bred on mulberry trees but whose cocoons are collected from the local trees like Sal, Arjun and Saja. While Tussar is less expensive than cultivated silk, it is not as durable (cultivated silk has longer fibres). However, looking at the bales of textiles in front of me, I realised that its multi-layered texture and deep, rich lustre set it apart from all other fabrics.
“We are from Kharsawa district of Kuchai area of Jharkhand, which is considered as the epicentre of Tussar-silk rearing in India,” said the weavers. “Traditionally, people like us have gone into the forests and collected silkworms,” they added. They’d get back home and boil the cocoons to extract the fibre from them and weave the silk on small looms. Most weavers engaged in such home-based production manage to weave about 10 metres of fabric in about three days, which enables them to earn a minimum of about Rs 3500 a month. Today, while many of the smaller producers still work like that, others work in larger loom sheds, thus producing Tussar on a larger scale. “This makes weaving even more lucrative, as the bigger sheds work on regular orders,” said they. Clearly, the increase in Maoist activities has pretty much crippled other industries in the state. “The resultant breakdown of law and order in our district has made life really tough for us,” said they, “and if it weren’t for Tussar weaving, we’d have no way to earn a decent living…”
Yet, unlike their Kashmiri bretheren, the Tussar sellers didn’t even once mention the political situation of their state while selling their wares. Instead, they extolled the lustre and purity of Tussar. “I’ll show you how pure our silk is…” said one of them, deftly setting alight a few strands of silk, “this ash smells like burnt hair, which is what pure silk ash smells like. But ash from synthetic silk leaves a solid residue.”
I ended up being one of their best customers for the day. Not because I knew that I was probably making a positive contribution to the economy of the troubled state of Jharkhand — but because I genuinely loved Tussar’s unique weaves and texture. I walked away with a large shopping bag, as well as a vague instinctive notion that politics and craft made uneasy bedfellows….
