Who is afraid of the storm!

Kalyani Kandar, Jharkhand

The river ahead in spate, an ache in the heart and tears in the eyes. And no one was visible close by, neither farmer, nor guard. The fields were flooded with rainwater which had not stopped pouring in three days. Why would anyone venture out? But tomorrow, Tuesday, is the weekly market day. It is also the day when the general body meeting of LAMPS is to be held – not LAMPS but FSS. We have to form FSS to replace LAMPS.

We, members of the spearhead team, who are working in different parts of the country. There are five members in my team – Shweta, Amit, Badan, Ataavar and myself. Our mission was to reform the old LAMPS – Large Area Multipurpose Societies, and form FSS – Farmers Service Societies. The poorest people were to be involved in the FSS, the organisation strengthened and leadership developed, so that it could progress in the right direction and to ensure that the benefits of development reached the poorest.

Under the third five-year plan, the government had promoted LAMPS to promote agricultural development. It was envisaged as a multifaceted programme for rural development, incorporating farming loans, grain stores, cottage industries, and loans for small business activities, to ensure that small and marginal farmers and labourers were not trapped in the debt cycle of moneylenders and be free from bondage. Apart from a government official in the coordinating committee of LAMPS, all other members were elected by a general body of all poor people from the local area. It was expected that through this process the poorest people would be represented and would participate actively in LAMPS.

By the 80’s however, LAMPS was completely under the control of local landlords and moneylenders. The simmering discontent within the farmers and labourers ultimately gave birth to the naxalite movement. A blood bath was unleashed in which several youth lost their lives. In 1974, the student movements across the nation led by Jayprakash Narayan under the Sampoorna Kranti Andolan, gave a jolt to the latent complacency in the socio-political systems. Indira Gandhi also lost her seat. Political and economic instability were aggravated. In this setting, to improve the lot of poor people, the National Institute of Bank Management mooted the idea of the spearhead team, which would function separate from the political system, and which would be responsible for spreading awareness, organising people and reducing the
strength of exploitative moneylenders, and create an environment where the government and banking institutions would work proactively for the poor. This purpose was reiterated throughout the training of the spearhead team. Sociologists, economists, management experts, invested their time and energy to train this team, so that the exploited poor could be strengthened to fight for their rights without bloodshed.

I am a soldier of that army, standing at the banks of the river in spate, on judgement day. I have to cross the river somehow, and go the village on the other side to ask the people to attend the general body meeting tomorrow, so that Phulurai can be dethroned from the President’s position, which he has been holding on to for the past twenty years. We heard about Phulurai’s village, Bahalalpur in Bankura district, from the Mallabhum Grameen Bank, Bankura. We had to work in conjunction with this bank. This was the first posting of Satyaprakash, the field officer at this bank. We need his support, as he did ours. He organised a house for us in Bahalalpur village, and so we lived there. Bahalalpur is about 55-60km from the town of Bankura, and borders Bardhaman and Hooghly districts. There are two routes to reach Bankura from Bahalalpur. By neither route was it possible to reach there and return on the same day. To do any work in the town it is necessary to stay there for the night. A lone pucca road connects Bardhaman to Hooghly, on which two buses plied each day. The last bus passed Sukhdevpur in the evening, from where it was a walk of about 7km to Bahalalpur. The route taken by bullock carts was longer.

There is a river on the other route to Bankura. Villagers adopt a unique method to cross the river. Men and women descended slowly into the river, and lifted their clothes gradually as they crossed, till it finally rested on their heads. On crossing over to the other bank, the clothes dropped back on them, gradually. This seemingly simple procedure was very hard for us to emulate. So we always carried a spare set of clothes to change into when we crossed over. The wet clothes were laid out to dry or stuffed into our bags, depending on the convenience. The Post Office is about 1.5km from Bahalalpur village. The post man was a good looking man from an upper caste family. Shweta and I used to jokingly talk about him amongst ourselves. Even in pouring rain, he would not fail in his duty of delivering post. Possibly in an effort to bring prestige to his job, he worked sincerely, his clothes always ironed. The usual practice of the spearhead team was to select inaccessible and un-served areas, with little or no services, and make efforts to bring people forward so that they do not get left out always from the benefits of development.

The reason to select Bahalalpur was that it had one of the oldest LAMPS, which was considered functional in the government records. Phulurai has been its President ever since it was set up. Bahalalpur is a large habitation, and our work covered ten villages surrounding it. The Patwari here, Bishnubabu, is also a young man whose home is in the town of Bankura. As it was not possible to commute everyday, he stayed back 3-4 days each week. Unmarried, he cooked his food in corner of he room in which he stayed. As the first posting, he had no option but to accept it. But he was beginning to like it, since with Phulurai around there was not much chance of any complication. With a reasonable salary, Bishnubabu has settled in well. Bahalalpur is considered a village of farmers. This is its identity on government and bank records. But there is a hamlet of poor people in the north of the village. The chamars (leather flayers) lived on one side; one of the girls from here cleaned our house. Our cook was a Brahmin. Young and handsome, he did not like singing kirtans (devotional songs). That’s what his father still did for a living. Poor, but at least he was not an untouchable. There is not as much respect as in older days, or work, but still he is a Brahmin. How different it was in the time of Phulurai’s great grandfather. There was no dearth of wealth. The family of Phulurais’s great grandfather is now broken into several bits, about 60 families, and there is very little land they control now.

Dulu, our cook, is himself ashamed of his father. He has eight brothers and sisters. He himself is fifteen years old. Last year when the twins, a boy and a girl, were born, Dulu left home in anger. He came back for a month at his mother’s insistence. His face would become red with anger when he saw his father. The Santhal hamlet with about 30 families is at the end of the village, identified by the strong and nauseating smell of liquor as one enters it. Apart from these, there are two families making flattened rice, three families of iron-smiths, ten families of other artisans, and three barber families as well. Kamalbabu is the school master. There is a lot of respect for him. The villagers earn from selling curd and vegetables in Gaganpur. Most small farmers depend on cultivating and selling vegetables for their livelihood. The pal families keep cattle and sell milk and curd. The village is kept alive by a small river which flows by it, and which in the monsoons makes it impossible for anyone to leave the village. Neighbouring villages have borrowed from Bahalalpur at some time or the other. They mortgage their meagre belongings and land, and pay an interest of 120%. Dalit women work in the farmers houses in mixing cow dung and straw, young children grazed the cattle, while some men worked through the year, others worked as labourers in Bahalalpur or neighbouring villages. The dalit men also flayed the skin of dead animals and even ate its meat. They also made the leather bags to water the fields, while some dalit women worked as midwives as well. Adivasis worked on contracts, but never alone.

They did not trust Phulurai much and each kept the other at a safe distance. There was a bit of fear too among the landlords, as the Communist Party’s campaign for rights of sharecroppers had reached here as well. In Phulurai’s words, it was not necessary to associate with these ignorant people. Phulurai’s story is that people are untrustworthy. They do not repay after taking loans, but what could he do, so easily was he moved by the tears of the poor. The government gives no credit to the poor, so each year who would give them the seeds at the time of sowing? Those who borrow rice for consumption, repay one and a quarter times, while those who take seeds repay one and a half times. And these ungrateful people mix stones, etc in it as well. There is a LAMPS committee, which met till last year, but this year there has not been any meeting. We would like people from all communities and castes to participate, but on meeting day they are all drunk, what can be done, Phulurai asks helplessly.

After the efforts over last year, and long meetings in the nights, the situation is different today. Logan Hembrom from the Santhal hamlet is ready to become a member today, the hidden embers inside him have lit up again. Anticipating the challenge in the general body meeting this year, Phulurai has already started threatening the people. He did not give seeds at the time of sowing, but Logan and other Santhals did not back out. They stayed hungry and put the children to sleep after giving them some liquor to drink, but did not beg from Phulurai. Similarly, the villagers of Fatehpur have decided to make Kamalbabu the President. The members’ names and fees have been collected from here, only Ratanpur is left out still, that’s the village I am responsible for. What could I do? I helped others in their work, how was I to know that it would rain like this for three days and I would not be able to visit my area. And my friends have let me down in these rains. No one came with me. Moreover, in yesterday’s meeting Ataavar reprimanded me. He said “You ask for equal rights, so why don’t you work for it. Why don’t you go to the village alone? There is no member nominated from Ratanpur yet, no fees collected. Phulurai will hold the meeting tomorrow in the pouring rain, just so that the turnout is poor and he becomes the President again. It is imperative for members from all areas to come for tomorrow’s meeting.”

My friendship with Ataavar is special. I am fond of reading new books, so is Ataavar. We have exchanged several books. I am interested in poetry and literature, so is he. Just the other day we were reading Rabindranath’s poems on the monsoons. Silence all around, the sound of the frogs reverberated inside us. How happy we were. Perhaps I expected a bit more of understanding from him, but he shamed me in front of everybody. But taking on challenges was not new for me. Two years ago, accepting Deven’s challenge I went alone into the forest and reached Mangli’s village, and stayed in their house as it grew dark. If I had not stayed back that night now would I have known that there was not a drop of oil for lighting lamps in the Santhal mother-daughter household. Cooking and all activities happened in the light of burning wood. How would I have known that in the biting cold in the month of pusa mother-daughter had nothing other than the clothes that they were wearing to cover themselves. They would wake up three-four times at night to get some warmth from the fire, and sleep for a while. When they woke up, they would get busy with chores in the house, before leaving to work as labourers. It was an invaluable night for me, when for the first time I saw the daily struggle in the lives of tribal people. The pain of my own poverty seemed insignificant in front of this.

The pain in my heart today is more because of my own foolishness that I had not completed my work in time. Why did I expect others to help me? My thoughts were interrupted by a loud clap of thunder. I saw a man on the other bank of the river, tying his clothes on his head and jumping into the river and was on this bank in no time. Surprised, he asked me where I was going and how? He asked me to turn back and said I should not have ventured out on a day like this. I stood there, smiling at my own stupidity. The man went away, angry. Would I not be able to cross the river? A thought shyly passed through my mind like lightning. I was an experienced swimmer, and had many records, even of beating boys. I also had records of drowning. Thrice I would have drowned, and each time I was saved. The last time, I jumped into the pond to save my cousin. Srikant in his effort to be saved climbed over my shoulders. Someone saw us as both of us started drowning and shouted for help. Srikant could be seen, I was not. The water was deep, and in an effort to save us 4-5 people jumped into the pond. Ultimately, my mother pulled me by my hair. A human chain was formed in the pond in an effort to save us and perhaps each other. For two days I was pampered for my brave effort. Then my mother offered prayers to Ul devi, Ganga devi, etc. But today, I could not take off my clothes to cross the river. And I had a bag with me as well.

I was thinking about what I could do, when two men came, wanting to cross over to their village. Surprised, they looked at me. Gathering courage I asked them if they would carry my bag across, and they nodded in agreement. I made up my mind and gave them the bag. I knew that my feet could get stuck in the saree, or the petticoat cover my head. If this happened I would surely drown. Discarding my hesitation I tied the saree around my legs and jumped into the river. The current was strong, but so was my resolve. Eventually I reached the other side. Word had reached the village, before I crossed over, and a large crowd was waiting for me, with a lot of
respect. Food and clothes were arranged for me when I reached the village. Word of tomorrow’s meeting quickly went around the village and its importance as well.

By evening the rain stopped. One of the villagers accompanied me as I crossed back. By now I had forgotten the indifference of my colleagues. From far I could see Shweta with Dulu approaching the river carrying a stick and a lantern. On seeing me she burst into tears. Phulubabu had spread word in the village that I had been taken away by the river. Shweta requested several people to accompany her to find me. Surprisingly none of the men came forward to help. Ultimately, Shweta together with Dulu set out to search for me. The depth of our friendship struck me again. I also realised that there are struggles at each step – at home, outside, in the work area, with friends too.

The meeting started as scheduled the next day. The people of Ratanpur were the first to arrive. I was not hopeful of this turnout since the rains had not stopped completely, and then I had explained the significance of today’s meeting only in my visit yesterday, and I was inexperienced. But the people of Ratanpur encouraged me by their turnout. Kamalbabu was elected President in the meeting, and Phulurai was defeated after 20 years. Logan and several others became members for the first time. That day Phulurai, Patwari Bishnu Kumar and their friends in the shock of defeat, got drunk.