The brief autobiography of Rettaimalai Srinivasan – Part 3

இந்த புத்தகத்தின் பதிப்புரை இங்கே, அரசாங்கத்தார் அபிப்பிராயம் என்னும் அத்தியாயம் இங்கே.

The publisher’s preface to the book is here, the chapter titled the ‘Government’s Opinion’ is here.

ஜீவிய சரித்திர சுருக்கம்

[மூல பிரதியில் ஒரு வரி சிதைந்துபோயுள்ளது]…காலத்தில் தஞ்சாவுரிலிருந்து வியாபார சார்பாக சென்னை பட்டணம் வந்ததாக என் பெரியோர்கள் சொல்வார்கள்.

[One line missing in the text received]…in this time, my elders say, our ancestors came to Chennai city from Thanjavur for purposes of trade.

நான் செங்கல்பட்டு கிராமங்களிலோன்றில் 1860-ம் வருஷம் பிறந்தேன். கோயம்புத்தூர் கலாசாலையில் நான் வாசித்தபோது சுமார் 400 பிள்ளைகளில் 10 பேர் தவிர மற்றவர்கள் பிராமணர். ஜாதி கோட்பாடுகள் மிக கடினமாய் கவனிக்கப்பட்டன. பிள்ளைகளிடம் சிநேகித்தால் ஜாதி, குடும்பம், இருப்பிட முதலானவைகளை தெரிந்துகொண்டால் அவர்கள் தாழ்வாக என்னை நடத்துவார்கள் என்று பயந்து பள்ளிக்கு வெளியே எங்கேனும் வாசித்துக்கொண்டிருந்து பள்ளி ஆரம்ப மணி அடித்தபிறகு வகுப்புக்குள் போவேன். வகுப்பு கலையும்போது என்னை மாணாக்கர்கள் எட்டாதபடி வீட்டுக்கு கடுகான நடந்து சேருவேன். பிள்ளைகளோடு கூடி விளையாடக் கூடாமையான கொடுமையை நினைத்து மனங்கலங்கி எண்ணி எண்ணி இந்த இடுக்கத்தை எப்படி மேற்கொள்ளுவதென்று யோசிப்பேன். கணக்கர் தொழிலில் தேர்ந்து நீலகிரி என்னும் மலைநாட்டில் ஐரோப்பிய வியாபாரசாலைகளில் கணக்கராக இருந்த பத்து வருடகாலமட்டும் தீண்டாமை என்பதை எப்படி ஒழிப்பதென்னும் கவலை எனக்குள் ஓயாமலிருந்தது.

I was born in one of the villages of Chengelpet in the year 1860. When I was reading in the Coimbatore School of Arts, out of about 400 children, except 10 of them, all of them were Brahmin. The rules of caste were maintained with great strictness. Afraid that the children should find out about my caste, family and the place I live in, if I became friendly with them, I would sit somewhere outside the school, reading, until after the first bell was rung. When classes were dismissed, I would walk as fast as I can home, so that the students wouldn’t be able to keep up with me. Thinking repeatedly about the cruelty of not being allowed to join other children in play, I would grow sad and think about how to overcome this obstacle. I joined the profession of accountancy and worked in European trading houses in the hill country of Nilgiris for ten years and the worry about how to destroy untouchability was constantly with me.

1890-ம் வருஷம் சென்னைக்கு வந்து “பறையர்” என்போரை இதர ஜாதியாரைப்போல் மேல் நிலைக்கு கொண்டுவந்து மதிக்கும்படி செய்வதெப்படி என்று மூன்று வருடமாய் பல ஆராய்ச்சிகள் செய்தேன். தெற்கு நோக்கி ரெயில் மார்க்கமாகவும் பெரும்பாலும் நடந்தும் கும்பகோணத்தில் பாழாக்கப்பட்ட நந்தன் கோட்டை மதில், தோல்காசு நந்தன், கலம்பகம் பாடிய நந்தன், கம்மாளர் கட்டியிருந்த காந்த கோட்டையானது சாம்பவ ராஜகுமாரியால் அழிக்கப்பட்டது, திருநாளைப்போவார் என்னும் நந்தனார் நின்று துதித்த ஊமைகுலக் கரை, அதையடுத்த மடம், திருச்சிராபள்ளி சாம்பவ சாம்பான், தஞ்சாவூர் பிரவியடை சாம்பான் பெரியநாயகி, மாரியம்மை, திருவாரூர் தியாக சாம்பான் முதலானவர்களைத் தகனம்செய்த இடங்களில் கட்டியிருக்கும் திருப்பணிகள், யானையேரும் பெரும்பறையன் சமாதி, அவர் சந்ததியாருக்கு திருவாரூர் தியாக சாம்பான் ஆலயத்திலுள்ள உரிமைகள், அவர்கள் வளவில் ஒரு இரவு தங்கி விசாரித்துக் கொண்டு பல தேவாலயங்களை அடுத்து ஆங்காங்குள்ள இவ்வினத்தவர்களைக் கண்டும் குளிக்கவும் குடிக்கவும் நீரற்று, வசிக்கும் குடிசை நிலையற்று, நடக்க பாதையற்று, பிழைக்க வழிவகையற்று, எங்கு சென்றாலும் தீண்டாமை என்னும் கொடுமைக்காளாகி, வாய்திறந்து பேசினால் அடி படுவதுமான குறை கோள்களைக் கேட்கும் அதிகாரிகளும், ஜாதி இந்துக்களுக்கு அஞ்சி வஞ்சகமாய் நடப்பதுமான ஆற்றொன்ன துன்பத்த்நின்று அவர்கள் படும் துயரத்தை யுனனர்ந்து பூர்வ சரித்திரத்தையும் விசாரித்தறிந்து திரும்பினேன்.

In 1890, I came to Chennai and undertook research for three years on how I could bring those called ‘Paraiyar’ to a higher state, like those of other castes, and make others respect them. I would walk great distances towards the South along the railway line and look at the destroyed walls of the Nandan fort in Kumbakonam, Tholkaasu Nandan, the Nandan who sang the Kalambagam, the Kandha Fort that was built by the Kammalar and wiped out by the Sambava princess, the Oomai Lake by the shores of which the Nandanar called Thirunaalaipovar had sung his praises, the Mutt next to it, the places where Tiruchirapalli Saambava Saambaan, the Thanjavur Saambaan Periyanaayagi, Maariammai, Thiruvarur Thiyaga Sambaan had offered sacrifices and the structures built in those places, the Samadhi of the Perumparaiyan who rode on elephants, the rights that his descendants have in the Thiruvarur Thiyaga Sambaan temple. Staying in these parts for a night, I would inquire about such things, see these people living next to several temples without water to bathe or drink, living in temporary huts, without paths to walk in and without ways to survive, subject to the cruelty of untouchability wherever they went, who were beaten if they should so much as open their mouths and talk, living in fear of officials and caste Hindus and practising deceit out of fear, living in sorrow that cannot be ameliorated, realising the pain they suffered, I would learn of our old history and return.

சர்க்கார் ரிக்கார்டுகளை பரிசோதித்து பார்த்தபோது 1772-ம் வருஷ முதல் இவ்வினத்தவர் பொருட்டாய் அவர்கள் கவலை எடுத்துவந்ததாக காணப்பட்டது. 1818-ம் வருஷம் இவ்வின குடியானவர்கள் முன்னேற்றமடைய வழிவகைகளைத் தெரிவிக்கும்படி கலெக்டர்களை ரேவிநியுபோர்டார்  கேட்டிருந்தார்கள். அது எப்பிடியாயிற்றென்று தெரியவில்லை. 1893 – ம் வருஷம் கல்வி கற்பித்து கொடுக்க தலைபட்டார்கள். 120 வருஷம் தூண்டுவாரற்று இருந்தார்கள். 1893-ம் வருஷம் சர்க்கார் வெளியிட்ட உத்தரவை ஒரு சிலாசாசனமாய் இவ்வினத்தார்கள் எண்ணினாலும் பலிதபடாமல் போய்விட்டது. அதற்கடுத்த படியாகத்தான் 1893-ம் வருஷம் ‘பறையன்’ என்ற பத்திரிக்கையை தூண்டுகோலாக வெளியிட்டேன்.

Looking through the old records of the Sarkar, it could be seen that they have been concerned about these people from 1772. In 1818, the Revenue Board had asked Collectors  to find ways in which these people could be helped to progress. It is not known what became of that request. In 1893, they sought to impart education to these people. They had lain for 120 years with none to care for them. Though these people were enthused by the orders that were issued by the Sarkar in 1893, they did not receive the fruits of it. Next, in 1893, I published ‘Paraiyan’ as a provocation to action.

இந்த ராஜதானியில் பேதைகளாய் இடுக்கன்களுக்குள்ளாகிக் கிடக்கும் கோடிக்கணக்கான மக்கள் மத்தியிலேயே முதன்முதலாக தோன்றி உழைத்து வந்த என் உபகாரத்திர்காக அரசாங்கத்தார் எனக்கு ராவ்சாஹிப் என்னும் பட்டம் 1926-ம் வருஷம் ஜனவரி மாதம் 1-ந் தேதியிலும், ராவ்பஹதூர் பட்டம் 1930-ம் வருஷம் ஜூன் மாதம் மூன்றாம் தேதியிலும், திவான்பஹதூர் என்னும் பட்டம் 1936-ம் வருஷம் ஜனவரி மாதம் 1 -ந் தேதியிலும் மகிழ்ச்சியுடன் அளித்திருக்கின்றார்கள்.

From the many crores of innocents who have been made to stumble upon obstacles within our royal estate, for being the first one to rise and labour for them, the government delighted in giving me the Rao Sahib title on January 1, 1926, the Rao Bahadur title on June 3, 1930 and the Diwan Bahadur title on January 1, 1936.

Untouchable? A transcript – Part II

This transcript was made available by Lifeonline – a website initiative providing audiences around the world with information about the impact of globalization on poverty and social development. Excerpts from this transcript and links to a clip from the documentary are available here. Read the full transcript here. Read the first part here.

…

VEERASAMY (translation): It is our destiny to wash these things. That’s why we have to do this work. We wash linen by hand and return it. Even linen used in childbirth and during abortions.

COMM: At the washerman’s the pre-washing is now finished and the family can eat the leftovers which Dhasam has collected in a pot in the village and brought down to the river.

VEERASAMY (translation): My wife also comes from a washerman’s family. They do the same work as we do. So we don’t have family problems. If she was from another caste and if she disagreed with me she might regret that she ever married me. But she doesn’t belong to another caste so there is no problem.

COMM: The laundry has been steamed for one hour and the family is ready for the big washing programme of the afternoon.

ASSAM translation): I go to work because my family is poor. Other children are not poor and their parents aren’t sick but I have to work.

MANI (Mill owner) (Translation): If the boys fall ill their parents ask me to lend them 500 rupees. We also pay an advance of two to five thousand rupees before they start working. If they have problems we help them.

COMM: It is Assam’s personal responsibility to repay the family’s debt to the owner of the looms.

ASSAM (translation): We were paid 4000 rupees in advance and they take away 200 every month.

COMM: 200 rupees are five dollars (US).

QUESTION: Do you get any more than that?

ASSAM ( translation) No only 200. Yes 200 only.

Mr KUMAR (translation): We can’t ever pay back our debts because when we borrow 300 he writes down 400. Maybe we will have to be here for the rest of our lives.

QUESTION: So you’ll have to remain in slavery?

MR KUMAR (translation): Yes.

COMM: Their children are the stonemasons’ only hope of breaking their chains. With help from a local organization the children are able to attend school for a couple of hours every weekday. By learning to read, write and do arithmetic they will be able to take their first steps towards changing their destiny. It’s a long and difficult road ahead – one made harder by the repressive reaction of the authorities whenever the outcasts attempt to protest.

PRABAKARAN (translation): In former times the outcasts didn’t come here. But today 75% of those who do the cleaning here are outcasts. They also move the statues around.

QUESTION: But they work here?

PRABAKARAN (translation): In former times when we were on our way to the temple the outcasts would step aside for us and take off their scarves and shoes in order to pay their respect. But now they stick close to us. They have changed. We used to put things out for them outside which they would come and pick up. But now they simply stretch out their hands and want us to put things directly into their hands because they say they are cleaner than we are. They wash themselves twice a day.

QUESTION: What do you think of that?

PRABAKARAN (translation) I don’t want to comment on that. It’s very difficult. I don’t speak to them and I don’t give them anything.

QUESTION: Of that which you’ve been sacrificing?

PRABAKARAN (translation): When they enter I go out.

VEERASAMY (translation): I don’t want my children to grow up and have these kind of problems – this kind of work. They should learn as much as possible. If only somebody would help us give them an education then we would support them. But with this work it is impossible for us. We wish to give them a good education. We don’t want them to end up in this job. If only they could study they would do something other than this. This work ends with me. I don’t want them to do this.

COMM: Kumar and the other stonemason families have the afternoon off. They cannot work because of the nearby blastings in the quarry.

However not all Dalits are prepared to go on being treated as social and cultural outcasts in India. In the summer of 1999 thousands of Dalit labourers from tea plantations in the state of Tamil Nadu mounted a demonstration for higher wages. As in previous cases the authorities’ reaction was to clamp down. These pictures from the film “Death of the River” showing the labourers demonstration were screened 3 months later in a small cinema in Madras. The film was subsequently seized by the police and the owner of the cinema was arrested under Indian Censorship laws governing commercial feature films. Police brutality cost 18 lives.

MR KUMAR (translation): We are 19 families here and we stick together. We have no problems or disagreements. Some of us are related but we are like one big happy family. We listen to each other, we also respect what the children say. We live in harmony with one another and respect each other. We don’t argue. Our extended family doesn’t work like that.

ASSAM (translation): If I worked faster I could make one month’s pay in 25 days. If I did I could provide for my family. If I was paid 1500 rupees I could pay the bills and the hospital bill and still save money for my own weaving mill and find a house and make it fitted for weaving activities. There should be room for it. We could start out with one loom, later we could buy another one, then three, then four and so forth.

VEERASAMY (translation): In terms of rights a washerman stands alone. There is only one washerman in each village. If somebody supported me we could fight for our rights. But there is only me. I am left in the lurch. If you want to achieve something you have to be either rich or be in a group of many people. I am neither.

***

Avva: A slab at the doorway

- Jupaka Subhadra

Original: maa avva dukkalni dunniposukunna tokkudubanda

From the Telugu Dalit Writing blog – A Shared Mirror blog featuring a selection of Telugu Dalit Writing in Translation

Avva, my mother

she is not a wick-lamp, that’s protected

she is the sun that went astray in sky’s rug

she is the famine in the stretched out sari-end^*

of the mother earth

Avva

she is a timeless full moon,

the embodiment of struggle sans dawn.

Her head placed in the mortar,

she is an empty grain bounced against the pestle.

The sun that rises at the cockcrow warms itself in her eyes

She sweeps the stars at the dawn,

smears dung-water on the front yard

wakes us, feeds us, and leaves for work.

Neither the cow in the forest

nor the calf at home would long for each other.

Avva

she is a slave unrecognized.

Quite often she falls in the furnace of ayya, father’s anger

because of over or under cooked rice

because of a sand grain or hair in the rice

or to grab her wages for drinking.

Avva

she is like served platters for us all.

A seed in the furrow,

she sprouts into green crops

planting and weeding in the knee-deep mud fields

even after the dusk,

that’s my avva!

It’s my avva

who blows the song into the village holding a spade.

Carves tunes shaping ridges in paddy fields.

When avva is at work,

her sweat turns into fountain in a desert-sink.

She becomes un-extinguishable fire in the mud stove.

I had no memories of clinging to the waist of my avva

I never heard lullabies or tales while being fed baby-food

with her soot-formed,  hardened hands.

I had no occasions of sleeping in her lap, yawning.

The memories of my screech for food

holding a dented bowl are not yet put out.

My avva

she is a drumbeat on the broken drum

she is a tune denied of crop.

Having taught the earth to bloom and to give fruit,

having become leather for the sandals,

hers is the agony of the top

to escape from the string in the hands of the landlords.

Though she fed the mother-earth by her breast,

they kept her at a distance from the plough.

My avva,

she is a slab at the doorway that gathered sorrow.

As an unfastened bundle of history,

having tightened the sari-end around her waist,

my avva is a question with a flaunting sickle in her hand.

The wretched alphabet!

It never accessed even the peripheries

where my avva had walked.

* * * * *

^*Dalit and sudra women stretch out their sari-ends forming like a bowl when offered grains, food etc

Translated by K. Purushotham

Read the poem on the Telugu Dalit Writing blog here

Marrying for love – II

Priya* works as domestic help. She washes vessels and clothes, sweeps and swabs floors, chops vegetables and performs other housekeeping chores daily in three houses in Madurai, Tamil Nadu. In conversation, she shares her experience of marrying outside caste. Translated excerpts from an interview dated 15.07.2011. Read the first part here

We moved to the area next to one my parents were in. They would look at me but they wouldn’t talk. After I became pregnant, a year later, my father would come and talk to me. My father-in-law wouldn’t accept us. ‘They filed a complaint in the police station,’ he said, about my parents, and refused to let us into the house. Then I said, ‘I had a reason to write and give that I don’t want my parents, if I hadn’t given in writing, they would have beaten you up. Now when my parents come of their own accord and talk to me, I can’t refuse them. When I said this, he asked ‘Don’t you want your husband?’ Both of them started fighting. I said, ‘I won’t visit them if you don’t want me to but I definitely will talk to my parents.’ After my oldest son was born, they started visiting and talking. My mother-in-law would also talk a little. After a year, these problems were solved.

People appreciated that I had taken a stand at this young age. ‘Others would have been afraid and given up their love,’ people told me and started encouraging me. Friends were good to me. Only my parents’ relatives refused to accept me. They would stand on the road and talk to me but they won’t come into the house, they won’t eat, they won’t even drink water because we were SC. When we went to their house, they would take care of us. But they would never eat in our house.

My mother’s friend’s daughter was also my friend. She fell in love and ran away with her lover. They came and asked me, ‘Where is Manjula? She was your friend. Did she tell you anything?’ I hadn’t even known that she was in love. She had loved within her Parayar  caste only but they didn’t accept it. They said, ‘Why should she choose that boy?’ She refused to come home and married that boy. Her in-laws looked after her well. She started going to work and she is happy now.
…

Please ask all parents to let their children marry whoever they want. Please write that very strongly. If they give their consent, there will be no problems. Most of the problems that happen in love marriages are because the parents don’t consent. Tell parents to stop clinging to caste.

…

Now my oldest son is studying for his degree by correspondence. He is also a photographer in a studio. He is of marriagable age and he is also in love. We know about it. We told him about all the difficulties we faced. We told him to marry the girl we find.

After we married, there was opposition on both sides. My father-in-law chased us away. ‘Let me see how you will survive, I cannot give you food,’ he said. They caused lot of difficulties. My son says, ‘What would you have known at 15? I am 22. I can take my decisions. That girl is also 19.’ I told him, they would face difficulties. The girl is Servar caste (a Thevar sub-caste), we are SC. We cannot face any problems if they should arise. I told the girl this also. She said, ‘I can face any problems that come. I know you are SC. Its not like I  didn’t know when we were in love.’

I have told my children these things, they should know the problems I faced. The other three are in school.

If people should fall in love, they should have parental consent. Running away is difficult. You will only have the clothes on your back. My younger mother-in-law and I were pregnant at the same time. They would not make food in the morning. I would have to starve till evening. I was struggling for a few years. They did not feel that I had come away from home, that they should look after me. They felt that they should give food only when we give money. My husband was plying a rickshaw then. I was 15, working in a school as an aayah.
…

Earlier work used to be divided by caste – people who wash clothes have to come only by the back door. They could not drink water in the same tumbler, employers would ask them to drink water from the tap. Now it’s not like that – people of all castes – Konar, Servar, Nadar, – all come for housework. Employers are also better now. In some places, work is still divided by caste. In the 15-20 years since I started doing housework, people have also started treating us as human beings.
…

The area I lived – Ponnaandi Veethi – was an SC street only. It was supposed to be for the people who burned corpses. There was also a ‘Nadar Compound’ on the same street – the really poor people lived there, mostly SC people like Sakkiliar, Parayar, Kuravar, also Nadar and Muslim were all there – but it was called Nadar Compound only.

When we look for houses for rent, they ask for caste. SC people could only ask SC houseowners. Things are changing now. In the house I am in now, the owner is Kallar. Recently when we went house hunting, I told the house-owner that I was Nadar. That house-owner is Konar. He said ok. He knew my husband, knew he was SC. AFTER we came and set up house there, he made it a caste issue. We had to vacate the house. The older people are like that, middle-aged people like us don’t bother much. The older people cling to caste. My relatives still won’t take food from us.

***

*Name changed on request

Marrying for love – I

Priya* works as domestic help. She washes vessels and clothes, sweeps and swabs floors, chops vegetables and performs other housekeeping chores daily in three houses in Madurai, Tamil Nadu. In conversation, she shares her experience of marrying outside caste. Translated excerpts from an interview dated 15.07.2011

I was born in Madurai. My parents are from the same place. I had a love marriage. So I married and settled in the same town. I am 40 years old. I have four children. My husband drives an auto.

I had a carefree childhood. I would ride my cycle and roam around like a boy. After I had my period, things changed. My father would not mind me much. My mother would say I should not cross the threshold of the house. I did not like school much either. So I would stay at home. But it was difficult being cooped up. I would go out with friends immediately after my mother left and get back just before she got back. If she came back before I did, she would grab me by my hair and thrash me. She would say, ‘Why did you go? I told you not to. Why do you keep company with those children? Don’t you have brains? You have become a big girl now.’ As she said this, I thought ‘Why are my parents are talking to me like this?’ Then the thought came to me that I should fall in love, choose my husband. There was my neighbour’s son. I knew they were SC, I chose to love him.

I knew about my caste from when I was a little child. My parents would say ‘We are Nadar’. When they told us not to talk to people of lower castes, my parents will tell me this. They will say ‘Don’t talk to people who don’t have huts, they will go the wrong way.’ Whenever my mother said this, I would go and play and talk with those children only. My parents changed me. Then the thought came to me, my thought to love.

I fell in love with my neighbour’s son. He loved me too. I used to go to their house and talk. My elder brother used to visit them also. I used to talk to his parents very well, but not to him. We did not get to roam around or go to theatres or do things like that. We used to look at each other and smile, we didn’t even talk much. I was 15, I had been of age for 2 years. He was 19.

He was thick friends with my elder brother. He would not come to my house. Because he was of lower caste, they wouldn’t allow him into the house. My brother and I used to go to their house. I used to go without my mother’s knowledge, my brother went with my parent’s knowledge.

My family came to know that I was in love. My husband’s name is Duraipandi. I had scratched his name ‘Durai’ with a safety pin on my arm. Another neighbour saw this while I was filling water at the tap. It was the government tap only, where everyone came to take water. They told my father and he started beating me. He said ‘You know what caste they are. They are of lower caste. You have gone and loved him.’ He began torturing me and beating me. Even my other neighbours (of the same caste) started beating me after my mother told them to look after me when she went to out to work.

Then I thought, ‘See how they are humiliating me. I had only felt what anyone of that age would have felt, maybe a little earlier, that’s all. Why should they humiliate me like this?’ The entire street knew by now. We still saw each other but did not talk. In our street, they started to say that I was pregnant. Talk went in that direction. My father said, ‘They say this. Let your uncle come, I will make him beat you. If you haven’t done anything wrong, why will people say such things?’

Then I thought my uncle is also going to humiliate and beat me, and I went to see my mother-in-law. I told her ‘They are saying things like this. My family has come to know that I am in love. Please take me away, please marry the two of us.’ My husband said ‘No, this is not right. We are not old enough, go home.’ He came to beat me too. My mother-in-law had now begun to desire that I marry him. She said, ‘Let us not worry about age’ and she took me away to another village where they had relatives. They finished the wedding there. We were there for a day.

When my mother-in-law and father-in-law returned, my parents immediately filed a complaint saying they had taken me away under false pretences. ‘They are SC. Why will she go with them? We are nadar,’ they said. My in-laws brought us back. In the police station, the sub-inspector(SI) asked ‘You are not old enough. What do you say about this?’ I told him ‘Sir, it is true that I am not old enough. But they have disgraced me. Even if I go back, this disgrace will not leave me. Even if I should be married and bear children to another man, it won’t change. I will stay with this man’ ‘Don’t you want your parents?’ they asked. At that time, I said ‘I don’t want my parents. These people are my parents. My husband is everything to me.’ They asked me to give this in writing. The SI himself asked ‘Do you know what caste they are?’ I said ‘I know. I know they are SC. I knew when I was in love too.’ Then he said, ‘You know they are SC. If you have a child later, will you give your child in marriage to such a family?’ I said ‘I will give my child in marriage to an SC person only. I don’t look at differences like that, even if you scratch an SC person you will find the same red blood, even for a high caste person you will find the same red blood,’ like this, I told the SI. Then my father brought some people he knew. They took me to a separate room and said ‘You don’t need that boy. He is SC. It will become a problem later.’

My father-in-law had seven wives. So, they were worried at home. I told them, ‘That man might be like that. My husband is not.’ They said, ‘Let that boy go. We will marry you to someone else right away’. I said ‘I didn’t do this out of a desire to marry. I have been disgraced, I cannot continue to live on that street. That is why we married at this age’

We gave this in writing and came away and finished a registered marriage also.

We had to come back and live on that same street. We lived in another area for a while. It was an unknown place and it was scary at night. Both of us were very young. So we came back to the same area.
…

In the next part, Priya* talks about her married life, ponders the pros and cons of marrying for love vs. marrying for caste and shares her son’s blossoming love story.

*Name changed on request

Caste in children’s literature

Excerpts from the Himal Southasian Magazine May 2010 issue with a focus on children’s literature.

From Beyond the ‘national child’ by Deepa Srinivas and Deeptha Achar

Any intervention into the field of children’s reading in India must take into account the new investment in childhood that came following Independence. This included a major overhaul of the colonial education system, alongside initiatives such as the Children’s Book Trust, National Book Trust, Nehru Bal Pustakalayas and Bal Bhavans. Several key literary figures and artists were part of this endeavour, and a substantial number of remarkable children’s books were published. Popular initiatives such as the Amar Chitra Katha comics series also participated in this enterprise. Yet more than 50 years later, it comes as a shock to find, in book after book that came out of these projects, both protagonist and audience so obviously elite and upper caste.
…
In India, children’s reading materials were long (and continue to be) addressed to an urban, middle- and upper-caste child in ways that reflected his or her economic resources, family relationships, beliefs, school experiences, food habits and language. They recorded and endorsed the world, the sensibility and the authority of this child, resulting in a self-assured hold over the world that was later a key enabling factor in such children’s success. Other children, however, were not provided with such psychic support. In such books we hardly ever found a child who had come to school hungry and sits there dreaming about food, for instance, or one who had to scheme in order to acquire books for class. Children from different contexts sometimes did find a place in these stories, but were generally forced to establish their ‘smartness’. A tribal boy, for instance, needed to establish that his knowledge of the forest can be valuable for his urban, middle-class classmates; a disabled girl must excel as a craftsperson. Even in the case of middle-class children, only a restricted set of situations were generally admissible, thus glossing over the fact that children often lead complex lives. We rarely encountered a child whose mother was depressed or one who was coping with a death in the family – such children lived with the knowledge that they must anxiously guard such secrets.

Recently, the Andhra Pradesh-based Anveshi Research Centre for Women’s Studies did a study in a few government schools in and around Hyderabad, and found a disabling gap between children’s home life and the assumptions on which school culture was built. Most of the children who attended these schools shouldered responsibilities in their families, and contributed towards their economic survival; these children’s sense of worth was positively constituted through the role they played. Yet such lives had no legitimate space in the education system. In fact, set against this dominant culture, these childhoods could only appear as deficient, deprived of play, pleasure and parental guidance. Children often dropped out because the school remained a forbidding place, identified not only with abuse from upper-caste teachers but also with the absence of recognition and endorsement of themselves or their home lives.
…

Deeptha Achar teaches English at the Maharaja Sayajirao University of Baroda and Deepa Sreenivas is with Anveshi, the Research Centre for Women’s Studies in Hyderabad.

Read the full article here

 
From Between Literacy and Reading by V. Geetha

In post-Independence India…Books that featured ‘modern’ situations, however, remained rare; when works did so it was only in a generic way, without attempting to recreate a lifelike world that might delight a child. In their anxiety to avoid the indecencies of caste and the tensions of faith-related issues, those few ‘modern’ tales courted a decorous artifice, and created happy nuclear or extended households that abounded in moral stereotypes: the good father, the indulgent grandmother, the naughty younger brother and so on. Names of characters were self-consciously Tamil, as if this took care of caste and other identities. While poverty, labour and the natural world were part of these fictional universes, they were present as mere rhetorical tropes rather than as descriptions of existing situations.
…
Also during the era immediately following Independence, Tamil publishing gained from an unexpected quarter. As happened in other languages of the region, the publishing scene was enlivened by books from the Soviet Union. Though the translations were often literal and even tendentious, these works made available to young readers far and wide wonderfully visual worlds that were novel. Furthermore, the brilliantly sure plots, the magic of poetic-sounding places and names, and the diverse universes that came alive in these books sustained several generations of young readers. Through all of this, however, avid young readers were – and remain – a small group, often restricted to those from the middle and lower-middle classes, with only a smattering of children from peasant and working-class households. Family reading habits, the openness or otherwise of local librarians, and the interest that the occasional teacher might show in a child’s linguistic development were crucial factors in creating and sustaining a child’s love for books.

…

V Geetha is editorial director of the Chennai-based publisher Tara Books.
Read the full article here

Caste discrimination in access to health care: A study of Dalit children

Namit Arora mentions here that ‘Dalit children routinely die due to discriminatory practices by ‘merit’ doctors’ and adds a reference to this paper [pdf] on ‘Access to Health Care and Patterns of Discrimination: A Study of Dalit Children in Selected Villages of Gujarat and Rajasthan’ by Sanghmitra S. Acharya from the Working Paper Series, Indian Institute of Dalit Studies and UNICEF, 2010. Excerpts follow…

From the foreword

…Employing a blend of public health and social exclusion approaches, this field-based study measured the degree of discrimination in health care for Dalit children in various spheres. The paper argues that the consequences of discriminatory practices severely limit Dalit children from accessing health services, and are attributable to the poor health and high level of mortality of Dalit children in the studied areas. The paper also reflects on discrimination differential between public and private sector health care. Highlighting inabilities of the present policy frameworks to deal
with caste and untouchability based discrimination in health care services, the study calls for developing safeguards and codes to check  discriminatory practices at all stages of service delivery.

This is part of a knowledge partnership between UNICEF and Indian Institute of Dalit Studies to unpack policy concerns of relevance to all children from the perspective of socially excluded communities.
…
Surinder S. Jodhka
Director, IIDS

Access to Health Care and Patterns of Discrimination: A Study of Dalit Children in Selected Villages of Gujarat and Rajasthan
Sanghmitra S. Acharya*

…

Understanding the Universe of the Dalit Child

During childhood, Dalit children may not be exposed to the labels like caste or untouchability. However, parents and adults are anxious that the child should not be hurt by transgressing the existing caste boundaries in innocence, hence the child is fed with many instructions of ‘Do’s and Don’ts’- don’t go there, don’t enter such house, don’t enter the temple, don’t play with so and so, don’t play in a specific place, don’t touch something/someone, don’t sit around such a place, don’t argue with so and so, don’t back answer so and so, don’t fight with so and so – a whole lot of protective and preventive instructions more specifically to the girls, like don’t dress like this, don’t sit like this, don’t come in notice of dominant caste etc. There are certain do’s like – bow before so and so, say Namaste, stand when so and so comes, do services when demanded, do physical labour when demanded, do menial work, agree when in conflict, say good things about so and so, praise so and so. There are thus clear instructions of physical distance and geographic boundaries a Dalit child is taught to maintain.

…

Some Indicators for measurement of discrimination in various spheres

· Home visit- not entering the house, entering only the main entrance, not in the living quarters, not sitting in the house if entered, notconsuming any thing to eat when offered by the resident.
· Practice of Untouchability- giving the medicines in the hands without touching the hand or any other part of the body, keeping the medicine on floor or paper, on anything else but not directly on the hand.
· Information- no information, incomplete/incorrect information about health and immunization camps.
· Dispensing of medicine- in the hand, without delay; on the dispensing window sill, without delay; in the hand, after everyone else has been given; on the dispensing window sill, after everyone else has been given; not giving at all.
· Diagnosis- may be measured through the indicators such as time spend in asking about the problem; sympathetic tone of the providers; and use of derogatory words as identification markers, not touching the user while diagnosis.
· Laboratory test/x-ray- can be measured in terms of the time of the test/x-ray done, immediately as the turn comes or wait till everyone else’s tests/x-rays are done.
…

Discrimination in access to health care service can thus, be understood through three basic forms-
· Complete exclusion or complete denial of health care services
· Partial denial or selected exclusion of health care services
· Unfavorable inclusion or forced inclusion for certain services.
…

Two hundred dalit and 65 non-dalit children were interviewed from the 12 selected villages. In case of those aged below 12 years, their mothers were interviewed. About 6-10 In-depth interviews were held in each village. The respondents were mothers, children, Panchayat Raj Institution (PRI) members, non-government organization (NGO)/ government organization (GO)/ self help groups (SHG) workers; Anganwadi workers; auxiliary nurse midwife (ANM) and health worker (HW). At least 2 Group Discussions and 1-2 Consultative Meetings were also held in each of the village. Life course analysis and Case Study of selected individuals were also done.
…

Most children experienced caste-based discrimination in dispensing of medicine (91%) followed by the conduct of the pathological test (87%). Of 1298 times that the 200 dalit children were given any medicine, they experienced discrimination on 1181 occasions. Nearly 9 out of 10 times dalit children experienced discrimination while receiving or getting the medicine or a pathological test conducted. While seeking referral about 63% times dalit children were discriminated. Also, nearly 6 in every 10 times dalit children were discriminated during diagnosis and while seeking referral.
…

It was observed that most of the discrimination was experienced by dalit children in the form of ‘touch’ 94% times, when they accessed health care. Duration of time spent between the provider and dalit children was the next most discriminating form. About 81% times dalit children were not given as much time by the providers as other children. The use of derogatory words and waiting at the place of care provisioning were the forms where less discrimination was experienced as compared to duration of interaction and touch. About 7 out of 10 times children were discriminated by doctors, lab technicians and RMPs vis-à-vis touch. This form was more vigorously practiced by pharmacists, ANMs and AWWs. They did not touch the dalit children for almost every time they interacted with them
…

The Dalit children in both the states wished that the providers should speak to them gently without using derogatory and demeaning words. Time spent with the provider was ranked fifth in both the states as far as the desired behavior from the providers was concerned. Being touched gently, without being offended, appeared low in their ranking among the children in both the states largely because they may not be visualizing it as important element in care giving
…

It is evident from the consultative meeting with the Panchayat members, teachers and other members of the village community that when there were elected members, officials, teachers and care providers from Dalit caste; and voluntary organisations sensitive to the issue of caste based discrimination in the area; more assertion among Dalits and less evidence of discrimination were noted. Villages where such sensitivity lacked, hooliganism, often backed by local political outfits was conspicuous. For instance a Dalit Doctor (lady) was forced to ‘go on leave’ due to alleged misconduct of a Dominant caste youth with claims of ‘political connections’ (Undkha). There were apprehensions about dalit providers which often led to unpleasant encounters. A PHC doctor from Dalit caste (Ranigaon) ‘satisfied’ Dalits, though the non-Dalits felt he was there because ‘the Sarpanch was also from Dalit caste’. His medicines were considered ‘not effective’, medicines are unavailable because ‘they sell’ them in the market. Acceptance of Dalit provider was also evident when the key villagers reflected sensitivity towards caste-based discrimination. Information about health camps were given adequately to dalit households. There were expectations that these important villagers would work towards bridging the gap between the Dalits and the non-Dalits.
…

*Samghmitra S. Acharya is Associate Professor at Centre of Social Medicine & Community Health, JNU, New Delhi. She wishes to acknowledge and express gratitude to Prof. P.M. Kulkarni, Prof G. Shah and Prof S.K. Thorat for their valuable suggestions while conducting the study on which the paper is based.
The entire paper [pdf] is available for download.

Interview with Kancha Ilaiah

Excerpts from an interview published on Ambedkar.org and Roundtable.co.in

…
Kancha Ilaiah is a prolific writer in both Telugu and English. His book Why I Am Not A Hindu, a critique of Hindutva from a Dalit-Bahujan perspective, turned out to be a best seller. Here he talks to Yoginder Sikand about how ‘Dalitisation’ alone can effectively challenge the threat of Brahminical fascism parading in the garb of Hindutva.

Q: Tell us something about your background. How did you come to be involved in the Dalit-Bahujan struggle?
A: I was born in a village in a forest area in the Warangal district of Andhra Pradesh. The entire area had been given by the Nizam of Hyderabad to Mahbub Reddy, a local landlord, as his fief. My family belongs to the sheep-grazing Kuruma Golla caste. They had earlier migrated from Warangal proper to the forest belt. My grandmother had settled the village. After her death my mother took over the leadership of the caste. I was born three years after the Police Action in 1948. The communists were then very active in our area. In the course of the Telengana armed struggle they killed two people in our village—both were village Patels.

Because of the struggle, Mahbub Reddy began selling his lands off, and our caste people, who, till then owned no land at all, began buying small plots. So this was a time when the feudal system had begun disintegrating. Later, at school I came into contact with Marxists, with Marxist literature, and became involved in the students’ movement, and that is how I got involved in the struggle for justice.

Q: What or who has been the major influence on your thinking and your politics?
A: The most important influence on my life was the village in which I was born. As a child in the village I learnt how to breed sheep, till the land and make ropes, but what was particularly instructive was the interactions and contradictions between the different castes within the village—Kurumas, Kapus, Gowdas and Madigas. And it is this personal knowledge of the dynamics of caste that is central to my thinking and all my writings.

My mother exercised a seminal influence on my thinking, too. She was a strong woman and the leader of our caste. You see, among the Dalit-Bahujans, women have an important role within the family and the caste. They set the moral norms themselves, through interaction with the productive process and in the process of struggle with nature, unlike among the Hindus [Brahmins, Kshatriyas and Banias], where women do not work in the fields, and whose norms are dictated by an external agency—the Brahminical texts. My mother was in the forefront of the struggle against the forest guards who would constantly harrass the Kurumas and not allow them to graze their animals in the forest. In fact, she died in one of these confrontations, being fatally beaten up by a policeman while protesting against their brutality. She was then only 46 years old.

I’ve written a Telugu piece about my mother. It’s called The Mother’s Efforts And Her Struggle. There I have tried to show that it is not simply the big ‘political’ struggles against the state which alone are important. Rather, one should look at everyday struggles as well—in this case, a mother’s constant struggle to educate her children, challenging patriarchy, struggling with nature in the productive process, sustaining the culture of the caste. Most Marxist texts look only at grand ‘political’ struggles, party mode of struggles, struggles led by men. In my writings I have sought to also focus on micro struggles, the stories of ordinary people, including women.

…

Q. How would you envisage this project of writing Indian history from the point of view of Dalit-Bahujans as subjects, as the central actors?

A: To be honest, I am seriously opposed to the writing of what is called the ‘history of sorrow’—simply narrating all the oppression and sufferings that the Dalit-Bahujans have had to suffer under Brahminism, although that, too, cannot be ignored. But I feel that the more you cry, the more the enemy beats you. If you want to defeat the enemy, you cannot remain contented with merely critiquing him, because even in that case he is the one who sets the terms of discourse and you are playing the game according to the rules that he devises, so naturally it is he and not you who wins in the end. Thus, rather than dwell simply on our historical oppression or the dangers of Hindu fascism, keep the focus on the process of Dalitisation, and thereby set the terms of discourse and debate yourself. For that you have to present a Dalit-Bahujan alternative as a workable and better solution. If you don’t do so, and restrict yourself to simply criticisng Brahminism by quoting slokas from one Brahminical text or the other, they will put forward yet another sloka to disprove you. But if you write from the Dalit point of view they have no way to rebut what you want to say.

Central to that task would be re-writing Dalit-Bahujan history to show, for instance, their knowledge systems, their role in the productive process, their great contributions to the development of technology or in the realm of spirituality or how their societies afford women a much higher status than the Brahminic. Sati and dowry have historically been specifically Hindu problems never ours. So history re-writing will have to be informed with Dalit pride. You have to show that Dalitisation, and not Hinduisation, is the answer to our ills, because unlike Brahminism, which is rooted in texts that do not spring from real-world experience in the productive process, Dalitisation reflects the interaction of human beings with nature in the labour process.

Unless you present Dalitisation as a superior alternative, you can’t win the battle. Take the Buddha, for instance. His greatest contribution was not his critique of Brahminism, important though that was, but his founding of the egalitarian community of the faithful—the sangha—as a superior alternative to Brahminical caste society. Or take Marx for that matter. To my mind, his greatness lies not so much in his critique of capitalism but in his presenting a superior alternative in the form of a communist society.

 

Q: Have you attempted anything of this sort yourself?

A: I think you can see this in most of my writings. To give but one example, I wrote this piece on the leather-working Madigas titled ‘The Subaltern Scientists’ and another piece on the Madiga Dalits called ‘The Productive Soldiers’. Presently, I am working on a book dealing with the discoveries and inventions of certain Dalit-Bahujan tribes and castes. There’s so much to be done to recover Dalit-Bahujan knowledge systems. I mean, for instance, you would have to trace industrialisation in India not to Lancashire but to the Madiga wadas [localities], where the Madigas first perfected the art of turning raw leather into shoes, or to our barbers who invented the knife.

 

Q: One last question. What made you give your book the title Why I Am Not A Hindu? How was the book received?

A: I thought it was important for Dalit-Bahujans to make a powerful statement against the Hindutva propaganda that we, too, are Hindus. As for how the book was received, well, Dalit-Bahujans, of course, were very excited about it. Predictably, orthodox Brahmins were angry, but so too were some ‘socialist’ Brahmins. Actually, that did not surprise me at all, because they read Marx’s Capital just as they read the Vedas—reciting it—not a critical reading. But I did get quite a few responses from Brahmins in Tamil Nadu. They wrote to say that they had read a lot of Periyar, but he had only criticised them but never told them where they had gone wrong. They said that it was after reading Why I Am Not A Hindu that they discovered what was wrong with their religion and culture and how they must change if they are to survive.

 
Read the full interview here.

 

 

Caste in the educational institution: In conversation with P.D. Sathyapal

P.D. Satyapal is an anthropologist, professor and BAMCEF speaker. In conversation, he has shared his experience of caste and gender. Here he shares his experiences of caste inside educational institutions and his first encounters with Ambedkarite thought…

Both my parents were teachers in high school. It was a church school. I didn’t have negative experiences in school, except for a few occasions when the Brahmin teachers would talk about reservation. We were not enjoying reservation at the time, except, as Christians, we have 1 per cent reservation in Andhra Pradesh. When discussing personalities, they would say, ‘You should have a lot of regard for Gandhi, because if he was not there, you will not have ended up in schools.’ I never really understood at the time. Later, I came to understand that they were sarcastic comments.

I went to Loyola College – that’s in Vijayawada. I did my intermediate and degree there. I am from a Protestant background and there for the first time, I saw the difference between the Protestants and Catholics. I was there for a full five years. I used to be block leader for a hostel. The warden used to give me a list of students. He asked me to check if they regularly attend mass or not. I thought he was giving me a list of Christians. I told him, ‘Father, there are so many other Christian boys. Should I give their names?’ He said, ‘No, no, I know who all are there. But I am particular about these guys.’ It was only in the final year that I understood that they were all the so-called upper caste Christian boys. In the final year of my BSc, we could understand how the management was moving. My rector was a Brahmin convert. My principal was a Kamma convert and my warden was Reddy. They say that they are a Christian institution but they don’t go with the compassion and concern that they always boast of. In my final year, we had a problem with our warden, 71 of our students made some kind of an agitation for the first time in the history of that college. All our TCs were posted home…I stayed outside taking a private room. Since then, I can see how they could be antagonistic to students who were rebels,  at the same time, the inequal treatment that is meted out due to caste.

After graduation, I moved to TISS. My father had made a commitment that they would send me to the church as a missionary. Even after Plus Two, I was slowly coming out of the fold. My father was worried. ‘If not as a missionary, I will send you as a social worker,’ he said. So, though I’ve done graduation in sciences, he sent me to do a Masters in Social Work (MSW) at TISS. We belong to a church called the Salvation Army which has social work as a part of the missionary work they do. There in Mumbai, I came in touch with Ambedkarite organisations. I got friends who were well-versed in Ambedkarite ideology.  I attended their meetings on things like ‘what is caste,’ ‘what is its dynamics.’ That was my first brush with Ambedkarite surroundings.

After I graduated from TISS, my father wanted to send me to the church by force. There were heated discussions. My father was a disciplinarian, he used to beat me around. So, when I decided and told him I was not going to the church, he was angry with me, and threw out my suitcase. I came out of the house. One of my relatives was studying in Andhra University. He asked me to join a course. This anthropology struck me. I was just going through the syllabus and it was quite exotic for me. That’s how I strayed into anthropology and stayed there. Throughout my stint at Andhra University, in Vizag, there used to be caste associations, and different castes used to have them. Andhra University is an area where things are open, social identities are open, and people used to agitate. So then I took part, I started reading Ambedkar.

I met a professor called Pawan Murthy – he was a professor of political science. He was a good Ambedkarite. He had worked with Dr. Ambedkar. He knew him right from 1944, when he came to Andhra. Both things are there for him – he is in teaching as well as activism. When I was in hostel, he used to be our chief warden. Whoever approaches him, he would always conduct a small interview, he used to ask, who is Dr. Ambedkar, what is his birthday, have you read any of his work. When the answer is no, he would immediately come down on you. [laughs] He forced me to read many books and he used to be very strict.

Later on, he became my father-in-law. I married his daughter.

After my post-graduation here, we were in several agitations. I was involved in the agitations against the Karamchedu* incident. I participated in caste associations. I started identifying myself as an Ambedkarite. In 1986, I joined the Hyderabad Central University(HCU) for my MPhil. In 1985, they started the first UGC NET. I was the second batch. If I had not got that fellowship, I might not have got into research, I moved to HCU, there I found that it is an agraharam. There I’ve seen that, of course, they take students from SC/ST backgrounds. But they’ll see to it, that within the first semester itself, more than 60 to 70 people will discontinue. What happens is, you know, there is an SC guy or some person maybe from a Telugu medium background because Central Universities should take students from rural backgrounds. In the very first or second week, they’ll ask them to prepare for a talk on a certain topic and the whole department will be there, including the teachers. The teachers bombard the students with questions. First thing is, they could not converse very freely in English. Second, this kind of a thing is new for them. They get discouraged and they leave.

We had a HoD, she was a Bengali Brahmin, married to a Telugu guy. She has done good work on ethnicity, she had got a PhD from Philadelphia, she used to smoke a pipe, she used to be very, very vocal, and I was under her guidance. She had two – six research scholars were there – she had two pet research scholars who were girls, who also started smoking. I went to see her and I was told that she was busy. Then I went to the canteen. How they try to discourage you, you know -  she came to the canteen, she found me, and said ‘Hey you, you’re the one who came from Andhra University?’ and I said, ‘Yes, ma’am’, and she said, ‘Don’t you know that you should come and see the HoD. What kind of people are you? You don’t know …’  She was just shouting like that. Anyone would have been really shaken by this, I was just.. I told her, ‘Ma’am, I came to your room but I was told that you are busy, so I thought I would meet you later on. Anyway, nice meeting you.’ I just gave it back like that.

Then she thought, ‘Ok, this guy is giving back,’ and after three months, she changes me to another teacher who is from BC background. He is also from Andhra University, then he moved to Shillong, his name is professor Kothanda Rao. He is one who really taught me how to face these guys in educational institutions. He’s from the fishermen community. His own experience is quite exemplary – he came from a very poor background, he’s a self-made man, he’s got a lot of influence, he used to write to people like Fredrik Barth in 1963 when he was doing his M.A. (Barth was interested in ethnic communities. Barth took him to the Hague, Netherlands.) Later on, professor Kothanda Rao became an authority on kinship, specially in south India – he worked on the elder sister’s daughter alliance ties. People like Louis Dumont used to write to him. He is a fearless critic. He was in very bad health, when he was in bed also, he reviewed a book on Paramalai Kallar, written by Louis Dumont. He asked me to take notes – Louis Dumont missed the elder-sister’s daughter alliance in the kinship ties – so this fellow started of with ‘I cannot forgive you for your methodological sin’ and, like that, so many harsh words he used. Later on, after two years, after Kothanda Rao passed, Louis Dumont wrote an article, mentioning him. He said ‘What do a few harsh words matter, when people like Rao are extending my work and correcting its inadequacies.’ It was my good fortune that I was under this man. Here was the man who told me, ‘If  you are good at your subject and if you can shoot with your tongue, you can get away with these institutions, otherwise they will really crush you.’

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*The names of the Dalits murdered in Karamchedu have been recorded here. Scroll down this page to find excerpts from the article by D. Narasimha Reddy 1985. ‘Karamchedu: A dialectic without development’, Economic and Political Weekly 20 (37): 1546–49.

In the concluding set of excerpts from a conversation with P.D. Sathyapal, he will share his experiences as an anthropologist and of his work at the interface between activism and academia.

The story of Govind Majhi

- Pravin Patel

Pravin Patel is a human rights activist and president of the Tribal Welfare Society. Read the full essay on  jharkhand.org.in

I would like to share the story of Govind Majhi, a tribal youth of 29 years, living in a remote tribal village known as Patua, amidst forests of Latikata Block of Sundergarh district in Orissa. During my over 12 years of working with tribals in many tribal areas of our country, I have met several youths many of whom have developed as good dedicated volunteers who work for the welfare of their community in and around their area, but Govind Majhi is one youth who is totally different from others, who has proved that poverty can not come in the way if there is a strong determination and confidence to address the poverty.
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I invited him and others to discuss about our organizational matters. Govind also called in few of his villagers to have talks with me. I learnt that almost all of them are very poor, making living as daily wage earners. They stated that for the first time in his life, they have met people who work for poor as their friends. Govind was anxious to say so many things in that short time. I also noticed tears in his eyes. I advised him that if he can come with me and stay with us for that night, we can discuss at great length. He promptly agreed. It was little over 9 PM when we reached Pantha Niwas at Rourkela where we were staying. I and Govind talked till about 3 in the morning which I share with you all in shape of a real story.

Patua is a small village with a population of about 3,000, almost all are poor tribals. No internal roads, no electricity, no high school, no college, no doctor in the primary Health Centre is the reality of development. Ganju Tola where Govind resides with his father, wife and 2 ½ year daughter is a part of the Patua, which is part of Bad Dalki Gram Panchayat in Latikata block of Sundergarh district of Orissa.

Govind Majhi, hero of our true story was born in the year 1981 to Kali Majhi (father) and late Raibara Majhi (Mother). He has a younger brother Laxman Majhi and two married and one unmarried sisters. They own, besides their small house, is one and half acre of non-irrigated land on which, except paddy, nothing is grown.

What is poverty was not known to Govind Majhi in his childhood days. The family used to take one meal a day which was considered as a routine as almost all the houses same was the practice. A private secondary school that had come up at Bad Dalki was also instrumental in bringing in change in the lives of the Majhi family, thanks to the efforts of Govind. At the age of 17, he studied up class IX and X in that secondary school. Here he came in contact with other students, some of whom became his friends. He used to visit them at their houses where for the first time in his life came to know that they not only take two meals a day but also enjoys breakfast and have other luxuries. He was in dilemma, not able to understand the realities of life.

He asked his father why they do not eat two meals a day as his friends do at Bad Dalki. Kali Majhi, his father tried to impress upon him that he is now grown up, it is time for him to understand hard realities, if he wants to survive, as they are poor, they can not afford the luxury of meals twice a day. Paddy grown in their one and half acre of land is not enough for one year, if they take meals twice a day. All the rice will be finished in five to six months. What they will eat for the rest of the year till new paddy arrives? What ever little money he earns working as a daily wage earner is not enough to meet other requirements. They will die of hunger, if they eat twice a day. Govind was upset by learning lessons of the realities of life. His father even advised him to keep away from visiting houses of his friends. Young brain of Govind was in puzzle as to why they are poor and his friends at Bada-dalki are rich. He decided to talk to his friends.

Next day he asked his friend at the school, how many acres of land they own? He was surprised to know that they had no land at all. He got confused as how without land they manage to have so much rice that feeds them twice a day throughout the year. Another friend informed that they have eight acres of land that gives them enough paddy that is much more than what they require, as such they sell those surplus paddy to buy other necessities.

After a week or so, on a Sunday morning Govind reached his friend’s house that had no land at all. Here he understood that besides land, jobs in the state and public sector also helps to earn salaries with which they can buy all the rice and other food stuff as well as fulfill other social and economical requirements. He wanted to know, how his father can also get a job that can earn him salary. He understood that jobs are not easy, since required educational qualification is a must for getting any job, which is neither with him nor with his father. He understood that the circumstances in which they are living do not permit him to go for higher education as there is no money to buy even books. He realized that even he can not they can start working Govind learnt one more lesson to put at rest the question that haunted his mind.

Instead of getting disheartened, he decided to accept it as a challenge that he will not accept it as their fate but will do every thing that can bring in the change. He decided to discontinue studies after class X and work with his father as a daily wage earner to earn money that can help his younger brother Laxman to go to college at Rourkela. He discussed with Laxman who ultimately agreed to do what ever is best in the interest of the family. This was the turning point for the better for Kali Majhi family.

Govind after finishing class X at Bada- Dalki left the studies; joined his father to work full time on his farm and also working as a labourer to earn wages. His brother Laxman studied hard as was greatly inspired by the sacrifice of his elder brother. He went to Vedvyas and Rourkela where he not only graduated but also cleared his Diploma in Electrical engineering with good results. One out of many of his applications for jobs; finally he got a call from the Indian Railways with whom he now works in their electrical department, presently posted at MALDA in West Bengal.

Majhi family not only now enjoys food twice a day but also afford to spend money on other needs and comforts they need. Govind has one mobile phone through which, he is in regular contact with his brother and married sisters. Kali Majhi is now 65 years of age. He has stopped working as a neither labour nor works at his farm any more. Govind sighs to say that his mother died of cancer seven years back, was unlucky to see the change in our lives. He regrets that if the change would come few years earlier, she would have died happily. He gets disturbed to say that his mother never enjoyed the luxury of eating two meals a day.

Govind also proudly says that Laxman has made two Fixed Deposit of Rs.10, 000/- each i.e. Rs. 20,000/- in the name of his younger unmarried sister Jasumati so that with that money with interest, they will spend in her marriage. He intends to make one more fixed deposit of Rs. 10,000/- later in this year. He has also paid all the money that was spent for the marriage of one of his sister few years back. Besides, the same Laxman also paid medical bills of about Rs. 8,000/- that was spent in the illness of one of his sister and also of his father. Laxman’s college friends are also employed elsewhere. Three of them are in BSF, five are police constables, one is with HAL at Sonabeda and five are at Rourkela Steel Plant.

Now Govind aspires to bring a change in his village. He states that in the name of development what they have got in last sixty years is one Anganwadi, a primary school that has classes up to class VIII, few tube wells that often goes dry in summer. Rivulet which flows round the year is at a short distance of ½ kilometer but only Kudar Tola residents are given the facility of lift irrigation that irrigates their 20-25 acres of land. No internal roads or lanes in the village. During rainy days, it is extremely difficult to ride bicycle or even walk on those muddy and marshy lanes full of pits. No electricity though power lines are not far off. The post office is a one man show with postman performing duty from postman to postmaster.

Primary Health Care centre is a cement concrete structure with no medical staff, forget about doctors. He says, nobody has seen any doctor from the day that health centre has been constructed. No ambulance has ever come to their village. When some one falls seriously ill, they used to take the patient, lifting with cot to take to Latikata, walking all the way. Now they take patients to the main road, from where they take them to Latikata or Rourkela by bus or Auto Rickshaws that ply regularly.

He adds saying that just as they suffered, there are many families in Patua who are as poor as they were one day. They also manage with one meal a day to survive. He adds to say that when guests arrive at some ones house and they have no rice in the house, they manage by taking from some ones house to be returned later on. Govind wants that all the villagers should come out of their tragedies at the earliest, as they have managed to do so. Rs. One or Two per KG rice scheme has no doubt helped few families but neither all the families have cards nor the quantity they get in a month is sufficient for them. He says instead of giving us rice at Rs. One or Two per kg, give us water from the rivulet that flows round the year near to their village to produce rice that they need. He also lists elephant menace as one more area of problem.

About NREGA, he says that till date no work has been done under NREGA at his village. The only work done is to construct a road from Deditola to Kendu Berli, which is five KM away from their village. They demanded work near to their village but no result. Even after the road work is over before one and half year, no payments has been made till now. Villagers have gone several times to Sarpanch and also to BDO but all in vain. Sarpanch says he has submitted all the required papers while BDO informs that the papers are incomplete and not sufficient.
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