The story of the Trinjan

Corinne tells the story of the Trinjan from the Simorgh Collective in Lahore, Pakistan: She tells the story as we gather around the Marmara in Kollegal on May 29. One of the woman listening said: and their ashes, the embers were take by the wind to faraway lands, as we continue to tell these stories to our daughters and their daughters.

It is said that there was once a village, where, as is customary in most villages in the Punjab, the men met together at the chopal (public square) at nightfall to relax and discuss the days work. The women too had their chopal, the trinjan where they brought their unspun yarn to work and talk and spin the night away.

We are told that gradually, and over a period of time, the sharing of knowledge and resources that took place at the trinjan, wrought a wonderful and visible change in these women. They became more sure of themselves, more self-reliant, more confident.

It would have seemed that it was now a time for rejoicing. But strangely enough, or perhaps it is not so strange, it was at this time that the tranquility of the village was disrupted. Rumours began. It was whispered that these women were dangerous - that they had gained secret knowledge; that they were familiar with the black arts and were a danger to society.

The whisperings soon became news and then the news became fact. From every corner of the market place fearful voices clamoured that religion was in danger! society was in danger! civilisation was in danger!

Then the village council met and the men agreed that the source of danger lay in the trinjan and in the women who possessed this knowledge. With this belief came the recognition that these women whom they feared, were no strangers. They were the mothers and the wives, the daughters and the sisters on whose love and service depended the security and comfort, not only of the present gathering but that of the future generations as well. And then the decision to act was taken.

That night, when the trinjan met and the merriment was at it’s height, shadowy figures crept out of the surrounding darkness and set the thatched pindal (temporary roof/shelter) on fire. The pindal and its inmates were razed to the ground, and its ashes dispersed with the wind.

There is no record of this story in the best known tales and epics of this area. It belongs to the female tradition and has been passed on from mother to daughter for generations.
 

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