By Mir Mohammad Ali Talpur
 The tradition of ‘sajji’ is closely interwoven in the texture of Baloch hospitality coupled with harsh economic reality and environment of Baloch life. It provides much-needed nutrition and an occasion for camaraderie in a nomadic lifestyle.
The word ‘sajji’ conjures up images of roasted meat for those who have enjoyed this essentially Baloch food item. It is the only method in which meat retains its natural taste. It titillates taste buds due to its freshness, natural moisture and fats. The healthier the animal the better it cooks because of the fats in its meat.
The meat of the animal that has grazed in the mountains is tastier and softer than the animal that has grazed in the plains. So there is a lot of truth in the statement ‘you are what you eat’.
When a person of some status or more than eight guests arrive at the nomadic household of a Marri tribesman they are offered the meat of goat or sheep. Providing sajji adds to the status of the guest as well as the host.
After the animal is sacrificed all get to work — the guests skin the animal while the hosts bring the wood. Most Marris are expert skinners as goat skins are used for making goat-skin bags (Mashks) and flour-carrying Anbaan from sheepskin.
The meat is put on a ‘chitir’ (chattai) of dwarf palm. It is then vigorously rubbed with salt and skewered on ‘seekhs’ of wood, preferably ‘kalair’, and then struck into the ground. The order in which this is done is important: first the front legs, then the hind legs, the back, ribs and last of all the neck. The liver, fats and other parts are not stuck into the ground but suspended from the last skewer and a stick placed at the very end.
Wood, preferably ‘kaeer’ or ‘kaur’ (types of acacia), is then placed on both sides of the skewered meat and lit simultaneously. Initially, the distance between the meat and fire is about a metre to avoid scorching. As the burning wood turns into embers it is gradually brought closer to provide constant heat. The changing colour of the meat indicates the stage of the roast. When the meat is fully cooked it becomes golden brown in colour.
Music is a part of Marri life and while the sajji roasts, the nari (the reed flute player) and suri (the singer) entertain with music. The suri sings poetry of love, folklore and history.
Round stones, the size of a shot-put, from the dry river bed are placed in the fire to make the ‘kak’. Dough with the consistency of a pizza is kneaded. Then depending on the size of stones the kneaded flour is split up and shaped into thick small bread. Now comes the most difficult part which is not only a test of skill but guts as well because the blazing hot stone is plucked from the fire with bare hands and placed on the dough. The dough is then carefully wrapped around it avoiding the steam emitted from it.
With the dough wrapped around it, it is placed on the embers and slowly rotated to ensure that it is baked on all sides. The inside is baked with the heat of the stone and by the time the sajji is roasted the kak too is ready. A blow on the stone breaks open the kak. The kak is usually made when people are on the move.
It takes about two hours to roast the sajji. It is then carved in a specific manner to make it easy for the guests to partake. There are certain etiquettes which are inviolable and scrupulously observed. The back of the animal is left entirely for the hosts. If a woman from the guests’ family is married into the family of the host then half the rib-cage is set aside for her. At some stage of their history the Bijrani chief and Gazaini chief of these two Marri tribes took a vow that the former would never eat a kidney and the latter would never eat meat left sticking to the ‘seekh’. They still adhere to that vow. The guests may eat as much as they like but they never take the leftovers with them.
The Marri will usually never bite off the meat but will cut it with a knife which most carry. One portion from which meat is never bitten off is the scapula because it is used to foretell the future. The two scapulas complement each other and are never handed over but thrown to the person who wants to read them. Droughts, rains, war, peace and pestilence have been foretold accurately by those who know how to read them.
So sajji is not just food but a way of life with the Marris. Eating hot sajji along with fresh kak on a winter night after a long walk is an unforgettable experience.
http://www.dawn.com/weekly/dmag/dmag7.htm
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