SETTLEMENT STUDIES
KHIJADIYA, GUJARAT
COMPILATION OF ALL DRAWINGS
STORIES OF THE VILLAGE
THE GHANTI GHAR
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Every afternoon, the village would come to a standstill as cows took over its streets. The village square bustled with activity, with cows and buffaloes roaming in the morning and noon, while schoolchildren gathered during recess. As the day progressed, villagers congregated in the square to relax and socialize.
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The square was a raised rectangular platform, shaded by two massive trees that provided companionship to the villagers. Four paths radiated from the square, dividing the surrounding houses into four clusters. One of these clusters housed a row of general stores, where villagers gathered on benches to enjoy paan and masala soda while engaging in conversations.
In the same line of shops was an old, worn door that looked like the others. However, it wasn't a kirana store. The door opened to a room where an old man ran a ghar-ghanti, packed with sacks. The old man wore a mask and white clothes most days, as he was usually covered in dust from the grinding. He was seen in the village
only when running his ghar-ghanti, and thus was known as Ghantibhai Patel.
His ghanti ran to an almost 4/4 beat, and inside was another door. This door led to Ghantibhai’s world. The white walls reflected the bright sunlight, yet the concrete flooring kept things cool. The space housed two structures and a courtyard. One was an old house built with stone and mud, dating back 75 years. The other was a newer, simpler house, referred to as the "Navu Ghar," with smooth white concrete walls.
The family now had more income and requirements, leading to the construction of the “Navu Ghar.” The old structure, once home to Ghantibhai and his two brothers, was repurposed as a kitchen and storeroom. Beside the kitchen was parking space for their car, and a narrow pathway led to the back of the new house.
The family lived in the "Navu Ghar." One room was for Ghantibhai and his wife, and the other for his son, daughter-in-law, and their son. The house didn’t have a living room—upon entry, two beds were immediately visible. The beds were for his two daughters, who no longer lived with them after their marriages. Ghantibhai’s son took out the scooter every morning, and his daughter-in-law was often seen drying clothes or cleaning. While Ghantibhai worked at his ghanti, his wife cooked or washed dishes near the water tank by the old structure. Every part of the house was used except the storeroom.
The storeroom, with its rusted cupboards and stacks of old boxes, concealed a small door on the floor, known only to Ghantibhai. Every afternoon, after his family slept, he climbed down through the door. What was down there? They spoke of an older water tank they couldn’t access, but could it be that Ghantibhai built a room during the “Navu Ghar” construction? Or was the water tank a room all these years? He spent fifteen minutes there daily. What was he doing? Was he journaling, making something, or an avid collector? Was it a childhood hobby or something more? Did he lead another life? The larger question was whether anyone knew—his village, his friends, his family.
THE LEOPARD PAW
The landscape opened into salty, barren grasslands and wetlands. Bird footprints scattered across the ground, mingling with the imprints of beasts on the hard salt flats. A shallow pond stretched across the land, surrounded by algae, reflecting the expanse of the blue-grey sky. Small shrubs grew from the cracks of to the dry earth, with their tightly packed leaves bearing a bluish-green hue that contrasted with the brown soil. Strong sunlight cast shadows, emphasizing their endurance. In the distance, a solitary shrub stood apart, reinforcing the vast feel of the land.
Flamingos waded through the shallow water, while an egret remained motionless before suddenly taking flight. The air carried the scent of damp earth, mingled with the whisper of the wind. A mound of soil offered a view of the entire expanse, where the horizon blurred the boundary between sky and distant forest. Moving away from the water, the terrain grew drier, more rugged, tangled with thorny bushes. Buffalo footprints formed a natural walkway. Each step cracked the ground, sending faint echoes into the silence. A jungle rabbit darted from the undergrowth, vanishing before its movement could fully register. Moments later, a nilgai emerged, pausing briefly before disappearing into the wilderness.
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A rustling stirred from behind, followed by the sharp call of a bird hidden in the trees. Stillness followed, the land offering no further sign of movement. Ahead, half-buried in the dry earth, an animal skull lay with hollow sockets gazing into the unknown. Beyond it, large footprints embedded in the damp soil revealed a recent presence. A leopard had passed through. Local farmers and cattle herders, familiar with this land's secrets, had spoken of leopards in stories passed down through generations. Though no sightings had been confirmed for years, fresh footprints in the wetlands renewed whispers of fear.
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The wetlands, untouched and serene, held an eerie stillness. A hidden pool was nestled within the earth, its waters reflecting the sky like a portal between seen and unseen worlds. The land, a guardian of its secrets, seemed to watch, holding the weight of forgotten stories. Soft, cracked earth stretched toward silent pools, where flamingos drifted in graceful movement. Yet, an unsettling presence lingered--something unseen, just beyond perception.
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Further along, the land grew rugged once more, thorny bushes scattered across barren patches of soil. The air fell into a hush, thick with unspoken tension. Buffalo footprints, leading toward the forest, deepened in the damp earth. At the forest's edge, something unexpected tangled in the undergrowth--an old, torn cloth, dirt clinging to its fibres. Faint human footprints, partially washed away, marked the damp soil nearby.
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The forest loomed ahead, its interior cooler, darker. Leaves rustled softly, their movement breaking the silence. Villagers rarely entered alone. The elders reminded that leopards avoided humans unless provoked, yet their words did little to ease the tension growing among those who lived on the land's edge. Deep within the trees, something stirred. The faint sound of leaves pressed beneath cautious steps, then stillness again.
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Fresh prints were pressed into the soil, and claw marks traced their passage. A droplet of water fell from a leaf above. The canopy stood unmoving. A step back, then another. Something moved again, this time from a different direction. A shadow passed between the trees, vanishing before its form could be fully seen.
THE MAN ON THE KHATIYA
“Oh, Praveen bhai! What can I say, they call you crazy now. But they don’t know what you’ve been through for them. Only I know. I see him every night going to the temple, praying and praying to calm the spirit down. The spirit that absorbs the life out of him and leaves him lying on that khatiya, useless, swatting flies when he feels a little life.
When your family’s new temple—oh, how majestic it was!—but they didn’t listen to the spirit. They troubled the thing that had captured your land. It was furious at you and destroyed the main gopuram, and on the day of the stapanha, the temple was found dilapidated. You tried, you tried to make peace with the spirit by performing the pooja underneath the tree beside the temple. You burned so many offerings and continuously recited mantras, so much so that the spirit decided to latch onto him like a snake coiling around the neck of its prey. Since that night, he goes to the same place, begging to be free. And NOBODY DARES to disrespect him—or rather, the thing that is within him. The kids play quietly near his cot, the women lower their eyes when they pass. Even the flies, they circle but never bite. Poor thing, he’ll only stop once he is free of the spirit, or the spirit takes over him.”