Ten Years down the Road …… a
reflection and renewal (2005)
by Bharat Mansata
All around,
an emerald ocean;
the hills and ridges
crest its waves.
On a soaring perch*,
Eternity pauses
in silent enchantment,
then breaks
into birdsong.
And the sky
turns delirious
with colour.
(* the machaan: a high, rustic,
wood-pole and bamboo structure, looking over the surrounding tree-tops. Ours
has a wonderful view of the undulating
landscape all around, including the distant hills on
the east and west, the adivasi
table-land closer south, and several villages to our north and north-east.)
Ten monsoons ago, three of us – Ramanand, Sesha & I – walked
several hours on this land, drenched in the rain and ambience. It was our first
visit, and an unforgettable one. We were
lost. But winding our way through thick vegetation, hunched below spreading
branches and snaking creepers, we kept feeling – this was the place we had
waited four years and dozens of scouting trips to find!
While the trees we saw around were yet small, in most parts they were
dense. Just a few decades ago, this land had been a full-grown forest with many
giant trees whose girths took two pairs of outstretched arms to encircle. A few
of their weathered stumps are still around to remind us of their former glory,
savagely mowed down by deforestation. (After the first wave of logging – for
timber – the tenacious re-growth of the forest was periodically cut down in
diminishing cycles of 10 to 4 years, first for making charcoal, and later for
selling as firewood.)
We were initially looking to buy about 10-15 acres for organic farming,
mainly of fruit and vegetables. This was to be divided among 3-4 of us. But
with more ‘like-minded’ people joining, I began dreaming of an ‘alternative
community’ of sorts gradually evolving – a community that aspired to meet its
varied needs in harmony with nature and fellow humans.
We tentatively named our
venture ‘Vision Acres’. Five years later, we adopted a local name, ‘Van Vadi,’
which means forest settlement or forest-farm. The
broad agreed aim was to “live close to the land in an ethical and sustainable
manner – to benefit ourselves, the land, and perhaps the local people as well”.
Progressive self-reliance in basics, like food, was an important, explicit
goal.
The first guiding principle
of our common ‘charter’ was earth-care. We agreed that at least half the land
should remain under tree cover; agro-chemicals be prohibited; water usage
conservative; extensive mono-cultures shunned, and biodiversity aided through
integration of various edible and locally useful species, particularly
indigenous varieties, suited to existing conditions.
Our second guiding principle
was “fair dealings with people and respect for local culture”. Simple lifestyles
and social discretion were mentioned in this context.
The third guideline posited:
“quality of life, and local self-reliance should have priority over
considerations of monetary profit”.
Eventually, we bought 64
contiguous acres – mainly from two large, Maratha landowners – with the pooled
contributions of 24 of us. Ten percent of this was to be held in common, and
the balance 90% demarcated into individual plots. The common land was for
access paths, and for shared facilities like a well, common house, nursery,
etc; and for any common projects that may be taken up in the future. [But as of
now, the entire land is still un-demarcated and held in common, with the
understanding that demarcated plots may be handed over to individual members
when they so desire and are willing to take the responsibility.]
In the years that passed, there were more occasions to feel lost! Our
sporadic progress followed its own sweet, or sometimes tortuous, pace.
Gradually, we managed to complete our official boundary survey, do a botanical
survey of our main tree and shrub species, and a partial, internal survey of
the land’s topography and prominent features. We built our common house and
found five local adivasis to work and live full-time on the land.
Adivasis:
Farming, Forest & Biodiversity in Use
While we were mainly
thinking of planting fruits and vegetables, it was the adivasis who showed us
that we could also grow on our undulating land
– the gentler slopes – a variety of local millets like nacchni
(ragi), varie, kangu; oilseeds like sesame, … And rice too – in
low-lying, relatively flat, run-off beds at the mouth of minor streams, which
required only a little more levelling and careful bunding to retain the rainwater
needed by the rice plants.
We learnt from our adivasi
workers that we have a number of potential small clearances for farming,
presently under a predominance of shrubs like the uksi and the thorny karvanda.
These could be cut and pushed back to form a dry, protective hedge to keep
stray cattle out. Over the years, several such farming clearances, totalling
almost 4 acres, were thus carved out.
We listed – with local, tribal help – over 115 naturally occurring and
traditionally useful species, growing on our land. Of these, 80% figure in the
compendium, ‘The Useful Plants of India’, with more detailed information
available in ‘The Wealth of India’ – a multi-volume encylopaedia of natural
inheritance. [We have compiled a thick box-file ‘The Botanical Wealth of Van
Vadi’ – not half complete – which already has several hundred pages of printed
(and hand-written) information on the plant species growing on our land,
including their documented/ known uses.]
We discovered that we have over 35 ‘wild’ (uncultivated) food species
that – in tribal knowledge – yield some edible part or parts (leaf, fruit,
flower, stem, root), usually at a certain time of the year. Of these species,
we identified the botanical names of almost 30 plants, and verified their use as
food from ‘The Wealth of India’ and ‘Food from Forests’.
[If the above information is surprising, as it was to us, ‘The Gaia
Atlas of Planet Management’ informs: “Of the estimated 80,000 edible plants (on
this earth), only about 150 have been cultivated on a large scale, and less
than 20 provide (now) 90 percent of our food.” However, even among our own
tribals, more rooted to the land than most, the practice of consuming
uncultivated forest foods is significantly declining – for several reasons.]
Food apart, we learnt that the land has more than 45 plant species
documented to be of medicinal use; and at least 20 timber species, including
four rated as ‘first grade timbers’. And then there are plants that yield
natural dyes, soaps, oils (edible and non-edible), gums and resins, botanical
pesticides, leaf plates, etc. (A number of species have multiple uses.)
The above is in addition to the more commonly sourced fodder, fuel,
fibre, dry hedge (karavanda) cuttings, … not to mention rocks for building,
seeds and seedlings for propagation, and the profusion of rich fertility
resources like earthworm castings, arrested run-off topsoil (sedimented silt),
leaf litter mulch, green manure, etc. to enhance the productivity of cultivated
clearances. Moreover, the entire forested land functions like an enormous
sponge to soak and store huge quantities of increasingly precious fresh water,
while all the dense vegetative growth serves as a ‘sink’ for absorbing carbon
dioxide, recycling it back into lung invigorating, pure oxygen.
Presently, if one follows a flock of birds flying eastward from
Matheran to Bhimashankar, ours is perhaps the biggest and richest forest patch
between the two. In ‘hard numbers’, the land has – at a rough, conservative
estimate – more than forty thousand trees, excluding tall shrubs and
tree-climbing vines. Of these, at least
half are over twenty feet tall, including a quarter that are about twenty-five,
or even thirty feet in height.
In summer, most of the trees (largely deciduous) are bereft of their
green mantle. Several species, however, regain their leaves before the end of
May – well before the rains arrive! A month earlier, the fresh, tender leaves
on the Mahua trees are red, but soon metamorphose into a lush green.
New, bright leaves sparkle too on all the young, and not-so-young, Palash
trees. And then the land also has several evergreen species like jambul,
karavanda, mango – fruiting abundantly ere the monsoon sets in.
The rich natural inheritance
of the region sustained the adivasis for generations beyond count. Today, if
there are any people left on this earth who can teach our floundering
‘millennium generation’ the fine art and science of co-existing in harmony with
the forest, it is these tribals. Or rather, just a few among them now, who
still retain the knowledge, the skills, and the native cultural perspective.
Fauna
Barely six decades ago, our
land was known as the ‘Leopard’s Run’. Peacocks dwelt here, and so did deer.
Deforestation robbed the leopard of its habitat, and cut off the ‘corridors’
through which it roamed from one forest area to another. The peacocks and deer
disappeared more through hunting, but degraded habitat as well. The few wild
animals that can still be spotted occasionally are: the baool (wild
cat), the raan-dukkar (or wild boar), the bhekar (fox), the
mongoose, and the hare.
The land, however, is still
very rich in the smaller, soil and vegetation-dwelling creatures. There are
several kinds of earthworms, ants, snakes, crabs, etc. There is also a bewildering
variety of spiders, colourful butterflies, dragonflies, … and fireflies, bees,
and birds (of various hues) that heighten the enchanting ambience of the place.
Protection
On a part of our boundary, we constructed a 650 ft long,
2.5 ft high, stone and mud wall, and dug a parallel 1.5 ft deep trench along
its outer edge. Though a very effective and lasting protection barrier, this
was laborious and time-consuming. And so, on the remaining part of our long,
jagged boundary, we opted to put up a dry, kathi hedge, using mainly
cuttings of the thorny, semi-coppicible karavanda shrub (Carissa
carandas) that grows abundantly on the land.
Over the years, we also
planted a live hedge (on the inner side of our dry hedge), with mainly 5 species:
(i) Kalak (thorny) bamboo, good for construction poles; (ii) Nirgudi
(Vitex negundo), a valuable medicinal plant, also known locally as Vanai;
(iii) Sabri, a thorny cactus;
(iv) Chandrajyoti (Jatropha curcas, or ‘physic nut’), also known
as ratanjyot; and (v) Sagargota (Caesalpinia crista, or ‘fever
nut’), a thorny creeper. Some Karvanda shrubs too have rooted – by
themselves, probably from the uncollected, edible berry droppings of hedge
reinforcements.
Of the above ‘live hedge’ species, we’ve had best results with Chandrajyoti,
that has established really well. A full-grown plant yields – for each metre of
live hedge – a kilo of seeds each year. These seeds are so rich in oil, that
they were traditionally threaded on a thin stick and lit as a ‘mobile torch’.
Before kerosene became widely available, chandrajyoti oil was commonly
used for lighting diyas or wick lamps, that provided good illumination,
burning without soot. The Jatropha oil is used too for manufacturing soaps,
candles, varnishes. The plant is reported to have several medicinal uses, while
the leaves yield a natural dye. Today, the large-scale planting of Jatropha is
mainly being promoted as a diesel substitute, “fuel of the future”, and is
threatening to take over even the fields where food crops have been
traditionally cultivated.
For long boundaries, this
combination of dry hedge, and multi-functional live hedge seems the most
affordable, replicable and therefore widely relevant strategy of land/forest
protection. Of course, two of our workers have been almost full time on the
job of patrolling the land, reinforcing the dry kathi hedge, and – in
the monsoon – planting the live hedge. But despite this, effective protection
of a sprawling area like ours is extremely difficult without good relations and
the goodwill of neighbouring villagers.
Rainwater
Harvesting and Water Security
In an average year, the rainfall on our land exceeds 200 cms, or 8 ft!
With such a generous supply, any water scarcity (for reasonable needs) is a
failing of people, not nature.
Our dense (and now tall) tree cover has contributed enormously
to ground water recharge. All the porous soil below such thick vegetation –
well buffered and root-bound against erosion – is like a massive sponge,
efficiently harvesting rainwater by soaking and percolating it to underlying
aquifers. Here, it is stored on sheet-rock
‘shelves’, enabling withdrawal through open wells or bore-wells. This is
significantly benefiting all the nearby villages and lands downstream of us,
whose water security has greatly improved.
When a bore-well on our land
was first contemplated almost 8 years ago, several in our group expressed their
reservations. However, we decided to go for one, while opting for a hand-pump
to avoid wastage. This, we felt, would ensure that the annual withdrawal of
ground water never exceeds annual recharge. (Our group was aware that high
wastage, through the proliferation of motorized bores, was a primary cause of
dropping water tables.)
The hand-pumped bore-well proved adequate for our domestic needs, but
not for irrigation. Manually pumping the water, filling a drum loaded on a
bullock-cart, and then transporting it to water distant plantings scattered
over a large area, was too laborious. Moreover, by mid-summer, the water level
would fall below the depth of our hand-pumped bore tube, leaving us bone dry.
(Being on higher ground, we were vulnerable to the high withdrawal of
groundwater by the many motorized bore-wells in the villages and farms
downstream of us.) Many of the saplings we planted, just withered and died.
This state of affairs continued for several years!
Around 2000-2001, two small, rock and earth check dams were built, one
just a little downstream of our hand-pump. The idea was to check rain run-off,
and thereby enhance percolation into the aquifer feeding our bore-well. This
helped, and the pump yielded a few weeks longer than in earlier years, despite
increased withdrawal for the protective irrigation of introduced saplings. But
before mid-May, the bore dried again.
Finally, in 2001-2002, embarrassed by the remonstration of the veteran
natural farmer, Bhaskar Save – who visited at our request – we dug a large,
open well near the edge of our main (seasonal) stream. This was excavated at
the site of an old, fully silted water-hole that the adivasis sometimes drew
from a decade ago, even in summer.
The open well served us well, filling to the brim within a week of the
monsoon, and yielding considerable water for 11 months. (Neighbouring adivasis
too drew from it – for their drinking and cooking needs – when their own open
well dried.) But by mid May, 2003, our open well also ran dry.
The following year, 2004, was much better, and the open well did not
dry. But forewarned by the previous year’s experience, we had already started
excavating a ‘rock pool’ reservoir and building a small check dam (with the
extracted material) on the rocky outcrop a little upstream of our well. This
was not only to store a large, additional amount of rain (stream flow) as a
surface water-body for our irrigation needs, but also to enhance the recharge
of our well, which we hoped would become perennial as a result.
In September 2004, Bhaskar Save visited us again to help us develop one
or two intensive orchard plots, and to guide us in our other farming efforts.
His advise was plain. If we aimed to evolve a self-reliant community, and feed
it sustainably, we needed to further increase our water harvesting efforts, and
also lay a pipeline for more efficient irrigation of distant plots and saplings.
For the former, he recommended that we should gradually increase the depth of
our rock pool reservoir every year, and undertake similar work on other parts
of the stream, or on other monsoon streams flowing through our land.
The pipeline for water delivery (up to a tank near our house) was laid
the same year (2004), but additional work on water harvesting was delayed
beyond Holi. In April 2005, we started deepening our stream-bed rock pool, and
used the excavated rocks to widen and strengthen the check dam downstream of
it.
Before the monsoon arrived this year, our open well again dried up.
This was likely due to high extraction from surrounding (or downstream)
motorised borewells that plumbed a depth
much below the bottom of our open well. These trials notwithstanding, we do
seem on a sound path of achieving water security for ourselves fairly soon. By
January 2006, we’ll resume deepening our rock pool, and perhaps undertake a
similar, low-cost project elsewhere on our land
We also have a number of smaller rock ’n earth structures – bunds
and gully plugs – dotting our land. These are dwarf ‘walls’, barely two feet
tall, and less than 10-15 feet long. Like the bigger walls of check dams, the bunds
and gully plugs too arrest rainwater runoff (and eroded soil), thereby
enhancing sub-soil percolation. But more efficient than all these earthworks in
recharging ground water is the porous, living soil under our increasingly dense
forest.
Our
Farming Experiences
Sunlight & Fertility: While inadequate exposure to sunlight is a
limiting factor in growing food crops on terrain that is overgrown with
vegetation, the proximity of forested area affords a number of advantages as
well. In particular, we have a generous abundance of biomass (leaf litter
mulch), rich silt (from the bottom of seasonal water bodies), and vermicastings
to serve as excellent organic fertiliser and soil conditioner – obtained free
from our own land, without the need of any other external inputs for growing
our field crops, vegetables and fruit trees. At most, we add some dung manure,
and occasionally sprinkle our indigenous ‘Panchgavya’ solution.
Vegetables: Over the years,
we have tried growing many different vegetables, particularly indigenous
varieties, whose seeds we save from our previous year’s crop. We have harvested
a good amount of bhendi (okra), bottle-gourd, cucumber, shirali
(ridged-gourd), ghosali (sponge gourd), kohla (ash gourd), karela
(bitter gourd), vangi (brinjal), pumpkin, tomato, musk melon, abai
(jackbean), gavar (cluster beans), chaoli (cowpea), radish and several leafy greens.
In the past, we grew
vegetables only (or mainly) in the monsoon. But in 2004, we inter-planted a
number of irrigated winter vegetables too -- in our new orchard plot near our
open well, where watering is easier.
Rice: Initially, we
experimented with planting seven different indigenous varieties of rice from
our Konkan region, obtained from Dr. Richharia’s ‘Seed Memorial’ at ADS,
Kashele. Subsequently, we stuck to mainly three kinds - one, the tall,
indigenous Nawabi Kolam (a delicious 5 month variety), whose seeds we
got from Bhaskarbhai Save. The second, Jheeni (also tall and
indigenous), and the third – Ratna, a dwarf variety released by the
Dept. of Agriculture, which became the most common choice of farmers in our
area, including our own adivasi workers, most of whom had started adding urea
in their paddy fields.
In 2005, however, we planted
only Jheeni, but still had to remind our adivasi workers that the
inter-planting distance between 2 seedlings of this tall variety should be at
least 18 inches. Unfortunately, they have got too used to the dwarf Ratna,
which is about half the normal height of Jheeni, and transplanted at barely 8-9
inch gaps. With such a short gap in transplanting tall native varieties like
Nawabi Kolam or Jheeni, we found in the past that the rice plants overshot
their normal height, and consequently ‘lodged’ (or bent over) under their own
weight. This was particularly pronounced in our extremely fertile, low-lying
(stream-bed) rice fields, renewed each year with fresh run-off silt (topsoil)
from the floor of the surrounding (higher) forest areas.
Despite the high fertility of our rice fields, the shade cast on the
rice plants by the surrounding, proximate tall trees has been a limiting factor
affecting yield. (Bhaskarbhai recommended harvesting a whole line of trees
along the rice zone perimeter for our own use.) And then, the absence of the
scent of human presence during much of the wet (and busy) growing season has also
emboldened forest creatures -- wild
boar, hare, etc – to partake in our crop. (The rice fields are quite a distance
from our two houses.)
Native
Millets in Traditional Poly-culture: In our region, the local
millets, grown on well-drained uplands, are mainly cultivated by adivasis
living in hilly terrain, for their self-consumption.
The most popular is nagli (nacchni/ragi) or Finger Millet. It is highly nourishing, easily digestible,
and makes delicious bhakris! (thin, flat breads) At Van Vadi, we have two
kinds of nagli. One, the common red variety, and the other called ‘bhoori’ (or fair) nagli, which is rarer.
Vari (Common Millet or Proso Millet) is much favoured by the local elders,
who consume it on days of upvaas (a religious semi-fast on a controlled
diet.) Kangu, or Fox-tail Millet, is yet a third kind, which makes a
delectable kheer, cooked with milk
and jaggery. We grow all three of them.
Mixed cropping is the common practice for growing millets. On our land,
we usually inter-crop these with black (and/or white) sesame and various
vegetables, particularly gavar and chauli, both leguminous species that
‘fix’ atmospheric nitrogen in the soil and thus ‘stimulate’ the growth of the
other crops.
Zendu (or marigold),
planted on the plot edges, inhibits the reproduction of insect pests.
Nagli is apparently one crop that is least affected by the vagaries of the
monsoon, including deficient or excessive rain. After ‘transplanting’ the nagli
seedlings (by just laying them flat on a ploughed field!) even one good shower
is often enough for them to establish their roots. Within two weeks, the young nagli
plants stand erect on their own!
Sowing early, however, is critical. If this is delayed, and the monsoon
intensifies rapidly before the tender seedlings have set root, they are prone
to get washed away by heavy showers, or rot on site. We lost over half our
current 2005 crop of millets for this reason. Many adivasis too were similarly
affected.
Tree Plantings: A number of
trees have been planted by us in the vicinity of our old house, and in the
distant clearance near our newer bamboo house. These include Mango, Sitaphal,
Jambul, Drumstick, Cashew, Neembara (mainly gavti), Coconut, Banana,
Papaya, Guava and lesser numbers of Jackfruit, Chickoo, Pomegranate, Ramphal,
Awala, Lime, Bamboo, Tamarind, Karanj, … Also a few Peepal, Banyan, Champa,
etc. Recently, a new orchard plot was laid near our open well.
Earlier, our plantings were
more scattered. Their survival rate was poor, because of difficulty in watering
during peak summer, but also due to browsing by stray, intruding village
cattle. However, some saplings are fine, though growing slowly because of the
shade cast by surrounding forest trees.
The species that can survive with less (or zero) irrigation are jambul,
drumstick, bamboo, mango (planted from seed), sitaphal, cashew,… But these yet
need protection from cattle while tender. Some years ago, we had also planted a
few hundred forest species, many of which were medicinal. Forest zones that
were already very dense, were left undisturbed to grow as sacred groves of
wilderness and natural diversity.
It is relevant to add that while our adivasi workers are pretty good
with their traditional crops like millets and rice, they lack the experience of
nurturing fruit/nut trees to fruition. This is perhaps because in the past they
have usually had an abundance of fruit/food trees growing naturally in adjacent
areas and forests, without any assistance of man. In particular, a very common
error that even seasoned farmers often make is to water a young, growing fruit
tree near its trunk, instead of watering near the outer lateral reach of its
spreading root system (about as far as the overhead canopy). The latter
encourages the roots to spread and become self-reliant more quickly by
accessing a much greater volume of soil space for moisture and nutrient needs.
Similarly, mulching is more needed near the outer lateral reach of the ‘root
crown zone’, where irrigation is provided.
Relations
with Local Villagers
When we bought the land, we
continued to ‘let’ the adivasis and other villagers visit and collect ‘minor
forest produce’. (For several years, there was no choice, as there was no
visible boundary!) Our only request/rule was that they should not log entire
trees, or disturb the saplings planted by us. We also ‘prohibited’ hunting on
the land, and explained to villagers that such a practice is virtually wiping
out entire species, which they can also see. Thus, in years of serious famine,
when cultivated food crops are scarce to come by, they may have little left in
the forest as well.
On the whole, we have been
fortunate to have the co-operation of our neighbouring villagers, without which
not even half our trees would have remained standing. But with the putting up
of our protective boundary hedge, the free movement of the locals into or
through the land has been restricted. Though they can still enter through any
of 3 gates (without padlocks), their cattle can no longer wander and graze at
will.
While most of the adivasis
remain friendly and understanding, we have been contemplating how best to
strike a fair balance between forest protection and the access of local
villagers to reasonable needs. A possible solution to this classical dilemma
between narrow self-interest and a more inclusive vision is to allow controlled
access to the local villagers under a mutually beneficial arrangement. For in
the long run, without local support, our energies would fritter away in
policing the area, and we might as well forget any dreams of an alternative,
self-reliant, peaceful community evolving on the land.
A number of villagers are
beginning to see the critical relevance of our efforts at protecting the
forest, and supplementing with additional, useful tree species/crops. Most
other ‘forest areas’ are steadily disappearing. Traditional rice farming too is
now fraught with risks because of erratic rainfall – too much or too little
falling at the wrong time. Their ‘educated’ children are unable to find jobs,
and unwilling/unable to wield the plough. A litany of woes has begun to
surface.
Part of the answer to local economic problems perhaps lies in
integrating horticulture with forest protection, and supplementing with
decentralized village industries. Of course, this is the old ‘Gandhian
prescription’. But then, our basic human needs are also age-old.
As Bhaskarbhai pointed out during his last visit in 2004, “The land I
see here is excellent, and ideally suited for horticulture. If you protect the
planted areas (from cattle), and put in place a conservative irrigation
delivery system, there are lots of fruit species and other horticultural crops
you can successfully grow.
“By simultaneously inter-planting in the same area, short lifespan,
medium lifespan and long lifespan species, so as to rapidly cover the entire
land with vegetation, you can multiply the benefit of the irrigation provided,
minimize evaporation losses, and also start obtaining yield from the very first
year – from the short lifespan species like vegetables. Eleven months from
planting, the papayas and bananas should start fruiting, and continue to yield
for a few years. By then, other medium lifespan species (like custard apple)
would be fruiting well. A little later, your long lifespan trees like mango would
also begin to yield.”
‘Community Learning Alliance’ and Long-term Vision
In October this year, Van Vadi will be hosting a 6 day ‘skill-share’
Van Utsav (or Forest Festival) around the theme, ‘Sharing Creativity,
Celebrating Community’. This, we hope, will attract a number of ‘like-minded’
sensitive souls to give a fillip to our effort at building an alternative
community. As an immediate goal though, we plan to start an ongoing ‘Community
Learning Alliance’ that includes both adivasi youngsters, as well as city folk.
What actually unfolds, remains to be seen…
Post-script: About 60 people, including a number of kids and 3
grandparents participated in the Van-utsav. Most stayed the full 6 days –
without electricity or piped water, and had a great time! The ‘forest festival’
concept caught on, and was hosted in 2006 by Sadhana Forest, Auroville. In
2007, it will hopefully return to Van Vadi.
While Van Vadi still does not have any resident community on the land,
apart from our 5 adivasi workers, we are hopeful that it will happen when the
time is ripe. Meanwhile, the paving of the road going past our land has
improved vehicular accessibility. Electricity is expected to reach in a year or
two, though not all are happy about that!
[Note: Van Vadi is
about 1.5 km from village Vaara (Vare), Taluka Karjat (closer to Neral),
District Raigarh, Maharashtra.]
