For the Mahar and Mang communities in Maharashtra, meat was never easily available. When one came upon some, it would be made to last long enough, every bit of offal and fat put to use.
A landmark publication in Marathi, Shahu Patole’s book Anna He Apoorna Brahma was the first to document Dalit food history through the culinary practices of two Maharashtrian communities—Mahar and Mang. Now translated as Dalit Kitchens of Marathwada by Bhushan Korgaonkar, this book presents the poor man’s patchwork plate, one devoid of oil, ghee, and milk, and comprising foods not known to Savarna dictionaries.
In the following excerpt from the chapter What does vegetarian mean for us? Shahu Patole documents how meat was rarely available for Mahar and Mang families, much too expensive to buy from the market. During monsoons, when income and food stocks were low, meat from already dead animals meant both a chance at sustenance, and the likelihood of severe sickness.
Most people in Maharashtra would use the word ‘mutton’ to refer to the meat of any animal. Raw meat and curry both were known as mutton. The method of preparing mutton at home was different from the method of cooking it on a large scale for public meals.
Meat was not something that was available anytime you wished. If an animal died, its edible part would be reserved for the appointed balutedar Mahar (or occasionally Mang) families. Other Mahars and Mangs would get their share only after this.
The Muslim khatik, kasab or Mulani started to occupy the position of appointed butchers in southern India after the arrival of Alauddin Khilji and the demise of the Yadavs of Devagiri (before Independence, Maharashtra was considered part of south India). But khatiks were doing this task prior to this. Hindu khatiks worked as butchers for upper-caste Hindus. This fifth category of Mahars and Mangs always bore the traditional responsibility of disposing dead animals that were considered ‘sacred’ while alive and ‘impure’ after death. There were many economic and social reasons behind the consumption of meat of dead animals. Meat wasn’t available anytime you desired!
The khatiks’ shops in weekly markets were the only option for procuring meat regularly. But who had the money to buy meat on a weekly basis? During the monsoon when it rained heavily, just like humans, animals would also fall sick and die more often. This season was a hunger trap for poor and lower castes. They would lose their daily wages due to continuous rains and deplete their food stocks rapidly. In such situations, dependence on dead animals for food was high. Sometimes, when possible, they turned to fresh meat and sometimes (if they had any) ‘chaanya’ (dried/processed meat) that was made in the summer and stored.
Sometimes animals did not die naturally for long periods. In times of dire shortage of food grains, someone would dare to give shendur (lead II, IV oxide), bittya or roots of the kanheri shrub mixed into dough to one of the animals. These natural poisons would work their way into the animal and they would die in a day or two. If the animal died due to snake-bite, the experts decided whether it was edible or not and which part was edible. The amount of poisoning could be determined by the colour of the animal’s mesentery (Editor’s note: mesentery is an organ connecting the intestines to the abdomen), depending on how dark a blue-black colour it turned. Many people must have died of diarrhoea and vomiting after eating such contaminated, poisonous meat. But it is not recorded anywhere in history.
There are records of drought-caused deaths, but who would record the deaths of people with their stomachs full? Elders narrate the incidents of attacks on these castes or their eviction by the village on suspicion of poisoning their animals. Sometimes some animals died of indigestion. If they ate jowar in large quantities on the day of harvest, it would swell in their stomach and the animals would die.
There are records of drought-caused deaths, but who would record the deaths of people with their stomachs full? Elders narrate the incidents of attacks on these castes or their eviction by the village on suspicion of poisoning their animals.
Some people from these communities did not eat the meat of dead animals out of self-respect or under the influence of certain religious sects. Some people used to buy a weak animal at cheap rates before the rains and feed it with fodder to make it healthy. Its meat came in handy on a rainy day. Depending on how much and what kind of meat was received as a family’s share, experienced women would decide on its recipe.
Meat of the dead animals was distributed among the Dalit households of the village in shares determined by the senior most, or most influential, Dalit man. He would also determine which body parts to be given away and to whom. It is difficult to preserve meat in the rainy season. Entire villages would fall prey to the pandemics of cholera and other diseases. The survival of these castes up to today’s hygienic, sanitized world should be attributed to their unrelenting attitude and the strong will to survive in their genes. Perhaps this is why many artistes were born in these castes who lived happily, singing and performing in such dire poverty. The proverb ‘Ati zaala ani hasu aala [if it becomes too much, just laugh it off]’ is perfect for them. The people from these castes, who laughed at their own existence through life and death, and made others laugh, progressed later with changing perspectives. But the casteist attitude towards them still persists albeit in different forms.
I had heard a paalana (a song sung during the naming ceremony of babies to pacify them and to celebrate this occasion) which had twelve stanzas describing the [first] twelve days of a newborn child. I remember the first few lines. It will be my pleasure if an elderly lady could complete it for me. Although this song is humorous, it also states the hard facts of Dalit life.
Aaribandar Boribandar boricha faata
Kaapili mhais taakila waata
Tona thokatana futala paata
Jo bala, jo jo re jo …
Aaribandar, Boribandar, what a fun fair
Cut the buffalo, give me my share.
The stone broke while crushing the bone
Sleep, O baby, sleep in your zone.
Pahilya diwashi khandili nhaani
Mandi bolati khaatakaachi raani
Chanya bhaajataana tondala paani
Jo bala, jo jo re jo …
On the first day, they sharpened the knife
Business is slow, said the butcher’s wife.
Mouths water when the meat is fried
Sleep, O baby, sleep on this side.
Dusarya diwashi dusaricha raada
Kaalij-bokyani bharalya daadha
Ganya dada tumhi fardul wadha
Jo bala …
On the second day, rises the choler
Liver and kidneys, stuck in the molar.
Hey you mister, mind the ladle
Sleep, O baby, sleep in the cradle.
Tisarya diwashi tisaricha raada
Kutrya–manjarani bharala waada
Ambalgathicha sutala tidaa
Jo bala …
On the third day, got a lot of meat
Cats ’n’ dogs gather in the street.
The chunks are a bounty, have a look
Sleep, O baby, sleep in your nook …
This lullaby must have been composed by women who had been to Mumbai, one guesses from the mention of Boribandar. The present-day Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus, or the erstwhile Victoria Terminus, was known as Boribandar before that.
The housewives used to come up with many tricks to preserve the extra meat when the animal died. Perishable organs like intestines, liver, kidneys, etc., would be cooked immediately. They would keep a burning cow-dung-cake beneath the pan so that it stayed hot for a longer time and did not get spoiled. The same method was used for bone marrow and other meat. This way they stretched the edibility to three to four days. If there were only a few pieces of extra mutton, they would be cut thin and hung around the cooking area for drying. When the meat dried, it was called sukekhand (dry pieces). If a large quantity of good-quality mutton was left, then longer, thicker strips were hung out for drying. This process looked similar to how the fisherfolk dry Bombay duck (bombil fish). These dried thin strips were called chaanya.
Chaani
In Konkan, the squirrel is known as chaani. But this is a different chaani. Its plural is chaanya. Chaanya would dry up in two to four days in the summer. But during monsoons and in humid weather, the house would be filled with a peculiar smell of wet meat. Crows, cats and dogs constantly circled the area because of the smell. Dried chaanya would be stored carefully in large clay pots. They were taken out and sunned from time to time. Otherwise, worms would form in it. In the monsoons or in any season when there was scarcity of mutton or food, chaanya came in handy.
But during monsoons and in humid weather, the house would be filled with a peculiar smell of wet meat. Crows, cats and dogs constantly circled the area because of the smell.
Before making curry or any other recipe, cut the chaanya to the length of one-third of a finger and roast the pieces on a hot tava. Because of the fat content in chaanya, it releases oil. The aroma while roasting is heady and intoxicating.
Cooking tips
- Roasted chaanya by itself tastes outstanding.
- Make a curry just like a regular mutton curry.
- Sick people should be served roasted chaanya with a sprinkling of some yesur (Editor’s note: yesur is a type of Maharashtrian spice blend) over it to activate their taste buds.
- Chaanya can be cooked according to the kheema recipe as a quick-fix for unannounced guests.
- Chaanya can be added in dals or vegetable curries.
- Roasted chaanya is popular as an accompaniment to alcohol.
A vital piece of information is that chaanya is a traditionally and naturally dried form of mutton without any chemical or sped-up processes, and that is why it cooks very quickly.
Shahu Patole, a Marathi-language writer and retired government officer, has a master’s in economics and journalism. He was selected for the Indian Information Service by the UPSC in 1991 and has held positions in the Press Information Bureau, Defence PRO, Directorate of Field Publicity, All India Radio, and Mumbai Doordarshan (news sections). Shahu passionately addresses caste, religion, food, politics, sex, and social issues in his books, articles, and on social media. He divides his time between Osmanabad and Aurangabad in Maharashtra.
Bhushan Korgaonkar is a multilingual writer, director, theatre producer, and translator. Celebrated for his engaging stories on Storytel and popular songs on YouTube, Bhushan is also a featured contributor to Loksatta and Mint Lounge, sharing tales of his culinary adventures. He has engaged with traditional Lavani artistes and written the book Sangeet Bari on their lives. As the founder of B Spot Productions, Bhushan directs award-winning theatre productions and aims to foster community storytelling, sensory exploration and dialogue on taboo topics, while also offering dance and writing workshops as well as food and culture trails.
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