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PETALS IN A CRYSTAL BOWL

Say the word, "Witch" and inevitably Macbeth’s three materialize stirring a cauldron on a blasted heath. Pointy of chin, downturned of nose with black cats and broomsticks thrown in for good measure. A hissy slither of evil with newts bubbling in a hell broth to make things even nastier. For centuries witches have haunted fairy tales and history and judging by last summer’s Blair Witch Project, they still haunt the imagination as much as the vampires of Transylvania – though with witches there is always a chance that they might prove to be realler than you feared.

Of course, feminist sociology has revealed that there is no such thing as the cone hatted broomstick-flying purveyor of evil. Most witches were unfortunately, poor wise women, many of them healers, who were persecuted for their wisdom in a male dominated society. Pace James I of England and his witch trials. There were marks by which, the Elizabethans write, you could recognize a witch. By an extra teat on her body with which she suckled her paramour the Devil. By her familiar, a cat or any other animal, with whom she kept unnatural company and conjured up damnable spells. A witch they said, in a time when no one knew how to swim, could float and threw the witches they identified into the water to be damned if they accidentally floated, or to be drowned if no one was in a hurry to rescue the victim.

There is a little of all this in Ipshita Roy Chakerverti’s book. However, it isn’t really a history of the sociological or anthropological roots of witchcraft – though that in itself is fascinating. It’s the story of how a woman with the ‘right’ background, a beautiful, intelligent arrogant woman, became a Wiccan and studied witchcraft’s powers of healing and wisdom, as much as its power to avenge and destroy. The beauty and the background, she insists are vital for a woman wanting to be a witch in India, a place where witches or ‘dayans’ are otherwise victimized by the jealous men. Roy Chakraverti joined The Society for the Study of Ancient Cultures and Civilizations in Montreal. And became part of a group of women who would meet in a chalet in the Laurentian Mountains, poring over crumbling manuscripts that held secrets long forgotten and the answers to questions few dared ask.

She was formally initiated into Wicca by the Spanish head of the society, Carlota with the red gold hair and began her study of what was once considered a valuable branch of learning. A cult that included Ishtar in ancient Sumer, Isis in Egypt and Mother goddess Kali in India. She also began her study of the prophecies of Luciana, a famous noblewoman who was executed in the sixteenth century and found many of them to be relevant to modern times. Including one, which she feels, has a reference to the divorce of Prince Charles and Diana. Luciana she says was one of the bodies in which her soul resided over the centuries and it was probably Luciana who guided her to the chalet in the Laurentians and to her meeting with Carlota. She makes no distinctions between black magic and white magic – both are part of the Books of Knowledge however, she emphasizes that the true Wiccan is a white witch whose spells are cast to benefit others.

Interspersed with her study of her ancient art are pages from her dairies and chapters from her life. She talks about the death of her father, her uncle’s attempts to victimise her, her marriage and the birth of her daughter. However, she sees all these episodes as the natural part of her study of witchcraft, episodes from past lives flowing into the present and giving it new meaning. Though human relations, she insists are not necessary for witches because they are set apart by their wisdom and learning. However, ‘Life was the greatest school, the best laboratory for its interesting experiments with the human species.’

Time and again she encounters the mysterious X-factor that forms part of her life, something that transcends science and reason and affects her meeting with the rich and famous. She describes encounters with Elvis and Indira Gandhi. With corporates looking for quick answers and spells to solve their problems. But she also describes her work with the poor and neglected in the backward villages of India, saying, ‘if God forgets, the witch cannot.’ As proof of this she cites her clash with Jyoti Basu over the issue of the witches in Purulia. It is not, she maintains, her role to gaze into crystal balls to satisfy the vanity of those who believe the world revolves around them. Like the director who wanted her to predict stock market trends for him or the ex-Rani who wanted a spell to prevent her daughter marrying the family chauffeur.

Though she slips in a spell or two so as not to disappoint those of her readers looking for such. There is a spell, for example, to Daunt the Foe which consists of taking a fistful of clay or earth ‘from where no man or woman doth tread.’ The clay needs to be put into a copper bowl and moulded into the shape of the foe. She hastens to add that one should be careful when spinning spells because what is once done cannot be undone. ‘My motto always has been, trouble not another until he or she troubles you.’

There are moments of honest confession when Roy Chakraverti says that she gone sceptically through life looking at everything and everyone with the analytical eyes of a hawk. To her own disadvantage she admits, she has often turned away from the extraordinary because she wanted tangible explanations. There are a few case histories, accounts of her work in healing souls, though these are touched upon lightly, too lightly perhaps.

The book is not overtly mystical – it is written in an easy to read style which makes the story go down smoothly. She describes how she met a group of influential women – the powerful Carlota in her blue dress with the black fur trim at the neck and cuffs. There are rooms lined with crystals and a large crystal bowl for scrying in. Surprisingly, much of her witch’s tools consist of earth and roses and perfume. ‘Conjuring, sleight of hand, ritual, magical objects, flowing robes – these were all tools of the trade at one time.’ A great deal of the book seems written to entertain – at any rate, the knowledge rests lightly and there are perfumes and colours to distract the mind of the reader. Did you know witches floated rose petals in crystal bowls? I didn’t.

The problem is that not enough is said – much of it seems hurried, as if someone said, "Don’t make it too serious, people won’t understand.’ There are occasional notes, a glance at Konarak, enough for people to chatter about knowingly at a cocktail party, not too much to trouble the mind with.

Roy Chakraverti admits that it is unusual for well-bred Bengali girls to become witches acknowledges her gratitude to her mother for allowing her the right to choose. After all, she says, every strong woman can be a witch in her own right and that is perhaps the truest message that the book holds for the reader..

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