A Craftsman’s Journey– Skill, Identity, and New Paths

This story depicts the struggles of the storyteller’s father from the Shilpkar caste, who dropped out of school and took up work to support himself and the family. From learning to become a mason to working as a blacksmith, he expanded his skills over the course of his life and gradually became proficient in various trades and crafts. During the lockdown, he challenged himself by learning a dying traditional craft that was new for him. Today, he is a skilled craftsman with a desire to teach others. This tale speaks of hard work, patience, a thirst for learning and the need to preserve ancestral crafts. It also raises deep questions related to caste and social identity.

Read this story in Hindi

It was a cold December evening. The clock had just struck six, the faint smell of coal hung in the chilly air and the “grrr-grrr” sound had brought the room to life. I was sipping my tea when I heard my father’s voice. Curious, I went closer and saw him sitting in the aafar (the room where blacksmithing is done).

There was no light in the aafar, so only a dim glow from outside illuminated the room. My father was placing a sariya (an iron rod) on the burning coal while working the pankh (a tool used for providing air). His focused movements made it clear that he was engrossed in something important. He sat on a wooden platform on the ground, with various iron tools scattered around him. He was making a jaati (a type of stove where wood is burnt for cooking food).

He looked at me with a smile. “Come, let me teach you something.”

He asked me to turn the pankh, and I eagerly agreed. As I turned the pankh onto the coal, it began to glow bright red, along with the iron. Watching this transformation fascinated me, as it always does. I gripped the handle of the pankh and started turning it from right to left. It took some effort, but gradually I started giving air to the coal. After some time, the coal burned intensely, and the iron turned a fiery red. My father picked up the glowing rod with the sanyaus (tongs used to hold hot iron) and looked at me intently.

“Hold this,” he said. As soon as I took it, he started hammering it into shape.

Suddenly, a small piece of hot iron fell on my toes. I winced in pain, but my father remained calm.

He looked at me seriously and said, “Now you understand how important focus is while working. And if you truly want to learn any craft in life, you must be ready for these small wounds.”

His words stayed etched in my brain.

When I was 16 years old, my father often made me join him in his work. Sometimes, I would pull the randa (a tool used to shave wood) and watch the fine wood shavings fall. Other times, I would help him make wooden beds and chairs. Occasionally, I would turn the pankh (air-blowing tool). I didn’t mind doing all this, but on days when I didn’t feel like it, his voice would rise through the blazing heat of the burning coal.

“Sau seep hai bar mais, ek seepel khach.”

(Learn a hundred crafts so you can earn from at least one.)

At that time, I didn’t fully understand the meaning of these words, but there was always an unspoken lesson hidden in the way he worked— one of embracing every craft and trying to learn it deeply.

A Skill Learned Through Struggle

In 1980, my father was born into the shilpkar (artisan) community in Devrukha village of Talla Johar, Munsiari. The shilpkar community  is traditionally engaged in various crafts, including kaashtkala (woodworking), dhaatukala (metalwork-making tools from metals like iron and copper), murtikala (sculpture), construction, and other traditional skills. My father’s great-grandfather was a lohar (blacksmith). But one night, during a village prayer ceremony, the drummers were unable to play the dhol (a traditional drum) correctly, and because of this, the deity did not appear. At that moment, a divine spirit entered someone’s body, and they took the dhol from the drummer’s shoulders and placed it around my great-grandfather’s neck. From that day on, my great-grandfather became a dholi (a traditional drummer). However, the generations that followed did not take much interest in this craft. However, my father has learned this skill too because it is part of an ancestral heritage, and he is not ready to let go of it.

My father is the eldest among his brothers, so from a young age he had to help my grandmother with household chores. Along with this, he also took on the responsibility of looking after the entire family. To support the family, my father started working alongside his studies. However, circumstances forced him to choose between education and work and he prioritized work because he was more interested in it than studying. At just 15 years old, he began earning. When he started, he would work with mistris (masons) to learn their craft. He aspired to become a master in this skill so that he would be ready for any challenge life could throw at him. But his real education came from his experiences.

In the year 1989, when my father was 16 years old, he settled in Nayabasti, the uppermost village in Munsiari. He enrolled his younger siblings  in the nearby government school and started searching for work. During that time, he worked as a laborer and simultaneously learned masonry.

In the year 2000, my father went to Dharchula located on the banks of the Mahakali River  on the border of Nepal and India.. This border town is 94 kilometers from Munsiari. There, a stone wall was being built. One of my father’s friends told him about the work.

My father had gone there as a laborer. At that time, a mason earned ₹130 per day, while a laborer earned ₹70. Since the age of 15, my father had been assisting the masons in his village with construction work. The head mason working with him recognized his skill and told him to build one side of the wall while he worked on the other side.

Half the wall was completed when the contractor came for an inspection. He saw that my father, who was supposed to be a laborer, was working like a mason. When the contractor examined the wall closely, he found no flaws.

Seeing this, he said to my father, “If you have such good craftsmanship, why don’t you work as a mason? I have a lot of work for you.”

Hearing this, my father gained confidence and started working as a mason. Gradually, people began calling him for building stone houses, carving stones, making roofs, and other construction work.

My father said, “Many people encouraged me and believed in me, and it was their trust that made me a mason.”

Labor Accepted, But not Respect!

In the year 2013, my father was sent to the village of Bona by Himal Prakriti, an organization working on environmental issues. Bona is located 60 kilometers from Munsiari. There was a big landslide in the village causing cracks and destroying many homes.. People had no shelter left, so my father was sent there to build tin houses. Villagers and other workers were also involved in this work. They all belonged to the general caste, while my father came from the Shilpkar community.

After the work was completed, everyone sat together to eat. The villagers assumed that my father also belonged to the general caste, so they had no hesitation in sitting with him. Then one of the villagers asked my father his name. My father replied, “Rajendra.” When the man wanted to know his full name, my father said, “Rajendra Ram.” The moment they heard his full name, they understood that my father belonged to the Shilpkar community. Realizing this, they asked him to sit in a separate room and eat, while they themselves went to another room to have their meal.

Speaking about this incident, my father said, “People will live in houses built by us, use utensils made by us, cook food on stoves crafted by us, but they will not eat food prepared by our hands or sit with us to share a meal.”

Perhaps this is why I do not want to fully adopt Shilpkala (traditional craftsmanship). I do want to learn the craft, but I do not wish to make it my livelihood. The same society for which my father built homes does not even allow him to sit with them. What kind of system is this, where a person’s labor is accepted, but they are not treated as equals? Where hard work is valued, but the hardworking are not?

When Iron Itself Became the Teacher

A few years later, in 2015, my father developed a serious stomach infection and had to undergo surgery. After the operation, the doctor strictly advised him not to work and to rest for at least six months. But since he was the only earning member of the family, it was necessary for him to work to support us. My father rested for only two months. The cost of the surgery  also put our family in a difficult financial situation. To cope with this, my father decided to take up blacksmithing in addition to his work as a mason. Blacksmithing is traditionally done by the  Lohar (blacksmith) artisans from the Shilpkar community. My father belonged to the Dholi community, but for many years he worked as a rajmistri (mason) and was now working as a lohar. He has never seen his work through the lens of caste. For him, it is always about skill and passion.

He was confident that he could do this work because he had been watching it since childhood. Blacksmiths make tools like sickles, hoes, and axes and sharpen their edges and also make stoves, tongs, and other household items. The process begins with burning wood to make charcoal. Then, air is blown using a pankh (bellows) to heat the charcoal further. The iron is placed in the red-hot coals and heated till completely hot and turns it red. It is held with sanyos (a tool for gripping iron) and hammered with a small mallet to shape it. During this process, special care is taken regarding the pressure applied by the hammer, as too much force can damage the edge or even break the iron. Once the desired shape is achieved, the iron is dipped in water to cool it down.

He first made a baryas for himself, which is similar to a sickle but larger in size, used for cutting wood and grass. When he used the baryas to cut a piece of wood, instead of cutting the wood, the baryas itself broke into pieces. Seeing this, my father felt disappointed, but he did not give up. He realized that everyone makes mistakes, but the real lesson is learning from them so that they are not repeated. At that time, he did not know how much heat the iron needed or when to dip it in water. But he did not stop working, and today, he has mastered the craft.

Now, he says, “The iron itself tells us when it needs water and how much it needs.”

After learning this craft, my father would wake up at 6 in the morning. After having breakfast, he would leave by 7 to work on building houses in Sarmoli. He worked there all day and returned home by 5:30 in the evening. Then, from 6 o’clock, he would start his blacksmith work, sometimes continuing late into the night.

A New World Hidden in Intricacies

In the year 2020-21, during the nationwide lockdown was imposed because of the COVID-19 pandemic  all sources of income came to a halt, creating a severe financial crisis for people. During this time, Himal Prakriti, a trust based in Sarmoli, organized a workshop to teach woodcarving. A mason from Bihar who could not make his way home during the lockdown, was invited to teach as he was a skilled .. This workshop became an important opportunity for the members of Himal Prakriti and my father to learn this art.

Around 50 years ago, windows and doors of houses in this region were adorned with inscriptions and various designs. This tradition is slowly fading, and these artworks can only be seen in a few homes. The Shilpkars were skilled in this craft, but today very few even remember the craft.

To carve wood, the tools used are  a cheni (a chisel used for fine carving), pateshi (used for detailed shaping), ori (saw- ), and basula (used for shaving thick layers of wood). In the workshop, pieces of walnut wood (Juglans regia) was used because its dense texture and fine grains make it ideal for carving. After carving, colors blend beautifully into the wood, bringing out every intricate design and making the artwork even more captivating.

In the process of engraving designs, the wood is first smoothed using a randa (plane- a tool for leveling the wood). Once the surface is even, a design is drawn on it with a pencil. After that, the same design is carved into the wood using a chisel and hammer.

My father, who was a mason, already knew how to work with wood quickly learned the art of wood carving. However, he shared that learning this craft required deep thought and great precision,as even a small mistake could ruin the entire piece.

The members of Himal Prakriti encouraged my father, and today he has become skilled in carving. Whenever my father worked on a carving at home, facinated, I would watch him carefully. When I asked him to teach me, he gave me a piece of wood with a design drawn on it, along with a pateshi (a carving tool he had made from a nail) and a hammer. I placed the pateshi on the wood, and as soon as I struck it with the hammer, the entire surface was scraped off. That’s when I realized how much pressure needed to be applied. After that, whenever I had time, I continued to learn.

My father carved wooden mor peeth (used container for colours of the tika), mirror frames, wooden boxes, and other beautiful objects. From learning the craft, he became an instructor, training others in woodcraft. This change was deeply fulfilling for him.

“This is not just my personal achievement,” he says, “but I consider it an important contribution to society.”

The Need for Skills in Changing Times

“Sau seep haibar mais, ek seepel khaach.”

If a person possesses many skills, they can rely on at least one to earn a living, as it is difficult to predict which skill might be useful at any given time. Today, unemployment has risen significantly, and finding work has become extremely difficult. . It is equally important that no ancestral craft disappears with time. My father has proven through his life that learning different skills is the only way to survive in today’s rapidly changing and competitive world.

Since childhood, I have watched my father work, felt his hard work and dedication, but I never took the time to learn this craft. I got caught up in studies and modern life, and because of that, I drifted away from this ancestral skill. But today, when I see how my father has learned various forms of art through his perseverance, a desire awakens within me— to learn this craft as well so that this tradition can stay alive.

But my true passion is being in nature. That is why I want to work as a nature guide. Perhaps I do not want to pursue craftsmanship as a livelihood because I have seen my father go through caste discrimination. I have seen him work tirelessly, day and night, without receiving equal respect from society. Maybe I want to protect myself from that experience. At the same time, I grew up in the forests, surrounded by nature, and I want to build my future in this field.

One thought always haunts me. Will I ever be able to learn all the skills that my father mastered in his life? He had no choice— every new phase of life brought the need to learn a new craft. But for me, it is not a necessity; it is just a desire. Is desire alone enough? Do I have the passion that will push me forward on this path? Or is this just a passing thought— the wish to preserve my ancestral craft? When there is no compulsion, how deep can the drive to learn truly be?