Wells of wellbeing

Manu Moudgil

Two women in veils are pulling out a pitcher from a shallow well adorned by a yellow stone. The water is poured into leather bags carried by two donkeys. After a few minutes, the women start walking back home, a short distance away, with pitchers on their heads and donkeys in tow. We are at Dablapar, a small village around 80 km from the tourist town of Jaisalmer in Rajasthan. Till sometime back, the women of this village used to walk 12 km to get water from a pond. During drought years, they were forced to migrate with their livestock.

This change in fortune that literally has a well walking up to their doorsteps did not come from a new enterprise, but is a  rediscovery of an ancient system that has been serving the Thar desert for centuries. 

Shifting sands

Western Rajasthan is punctuated by ponds, many of these are fine examples of architectural geniuses and managed with religious reverence. It’s not difficult to see why! Groundwater runs very deep and is often saline. This makes ponds holding sweet rainwater the most important enterprise here and wells the most neglected. In a few areas where geological conditions permit, however, sweet water trapped in layers of sand can be accessed through beris or small wells.

“An impervious layer of gypsum running underground arrests rainwater, stopping it from mixing with the saline groundwater. This unique geological feature is the lifeline of desert,” informs Chattar Singh, an experienced hand in natural and cultural landscape of this region. Even in years of scanty rainfall, this reserve gets replenished and remains safe from intense heat while pond water evaporates. Beris are also found in neighbouring Barmer district. There, the function of gypsum to arrest rainwater is done by an amalgam of sand and gravel. Usually this trapped water, called rejwani paani locally, can be found at 10-50 feet from the surface, but one needs a keen eye and skilled hands, both attributes not easily found in the modern age, to access it.

Not an easy job

Digging deep is the most dangerous job in the Thar. The loose desert soil can cave in easily. Traditionally, well-digging has invoked ingenuity of man to humour nature. A net or rope of shrubs, logs of wood from khejri tree (Prosopis Cineraria) and stones carved to fit into each other were some of the methods people used to strengthen the walls of a well. 

In his widely popular book Rajasthan Ki Rajat Boondein (Radiant Raindrops of Rajasthan) published in 1995, late environmentalist Anupam Mishra describes in detail the process of digging a beri. “Everyday, a little of the digging is done and soil removed. The walls have to be lined before digging further to prevent them from caving in... but at many places the walls have to be further arrested with ropes made of kheep, a local grass. Such would be the skill and patience invested with the grass that an onlooker may get confused if the main task is making rope or digging a well. At many places, where kheep is not available, wooden planks made from branches of local trees are used.”

For a beri that goes very deep, a plaster of gypsum was fortified with big stones carved to fit into each other. “Such beris are very durable as many of these are still running. However, many a times, sand would crawl in through the narrow gaps between the stones, thus affecting the water level. Every year, sand has to be removed from the bottom,” informs Rajaram Ghedu, a social worker who has been promoting ancient water harvesting methods in Barmer. 

From decline to revival

The promise of canal water supply made the new generation assume that beris would become redundant. Many of these structures went defunct and the skilled men became a rarity. Today, almost all the villages boast of big concrete tanks as a testimony to government plans to supply water from the Indira Gandhi canal. But ground realities contradict promises. “Either most of these tanks remain empty or the quality of supply is very poor. It is not safe to drink this water,” says Mohan Singh of Habur village.

In the last decade, people like Rajaram and Chattar Singh have refuelled the interest of locals in beris. Renovation of defunct structures and building of new ones with partial support from a philanthropic organisation has turned several villages self-sufficient in water supply. 

The locals have also started generating their own funds to meet the expenses of such work. “Our ancestors had been self-dependent in all respects but we fell into the trap of relying on government for our basic needs. Now self-reliance is again taking roots,” says Chattar Singh.

With revival of demand for beris, skilled men have also increased. Jamaluddin, the oldest well digger in Barmer’s Bhakasar region, has trained around 15 young men in this trade. A new technique using cement and moulds to secure the walls has also reduced the risk associated with this job. “Though the work still requires patience, the risks of getting buried have reduced. The demand is increasing and we also get requests from areas like Rann of Kutch, which no longer has trained people,” he says. 

The day a beri starts yielding water is not short of a festival. Gifts are bestowed on the skilled diggers, prayers made to the souls of ancestors and a feast organised in the evening. That water can be held with such reverence in the times of bore-wells and gigantic dams seems like an anomaly. Here’s hoping for more such anomalies to sprout.