On the third of July there was no specific program Romadidi had planned, so we asked Shankar if we could see his village for a couple hours. We ended up doing much much more than that and had the best day of our trip so far. After going off the main road in a rickety rickshaw, we traveled along a path that basically connected various dispersed villages and khetis (fields) together. The air smelled like a fusion of cow, heat, and grass. After twenty minute of nonstop bumping, we got off. Literally, it seemed, in the middle of nowhere. Then, with Shankar, we walked (so begins the series of me using this word repetitively) along a dirt clearing. I had a Carolina hat on and my dad wasn’t wearing a dhoti (like cloth “pants”) so the police who had a tent nearby stopped us and told us to come near. Shankar joked that in all the years he had walked past it, they had never summoned him before today. After a couple of squinty eye looks and probing questions we commenced our walk. After getting past the sahara type environment into a village, or a collection of mud huts and kethi, we were surprised to see the long bearded baba! I told you we would see him again… He, his grandchildren, and other villagers were making a bed on this Sunday morning in a shaded sitting area near a well. It was a beautiful day! These people, who have so little, are so generous and give without a second thought. They made us chai and brought out chairs so we wouldn’t have to sit on the dirt floor, even though we insisted we were perfectly happy on the ground. We told the villagers right off the bat that we were not here to do research (I get that question a lot) nor are part of an NGO (NGO is like a bad word here). I told them I am simply inquisitive and am interested in learning about their lives and histories.
I talked and played with some of the kids and Shankar and my dad conversed about khetis and government dealings in Hindi. I'll be honest, its hard to approach these kids playing jacks with stones, because I can't really converse with them and I have absolutely no idea how to play jacks. I mean I can ask them their name, their age, I can joke a little with them and I do A LOT of smiling. But I myself feel so self conscious about my Hindi, though it gets better every day.
Then, Shankar brought out the Baba’s land certificates, which showed that he actually did own the land even during the evacuations in 1999. It was legal proof, something tangible and concrete that the government was looking for. The police (which is basically the only face of the government these people deal with) saw it in 1999, but because their excuse for pushing the tribals out was invalid, they told the Baba that there was no proof that his grandfather had owned the land as well! The certificate was, according to them, only valid if the land stayed in the same family for three generations! Shankar had also laminated the petition signed by the villagers to explain to the government their situation and pleas for restoring their farms. Finally, in 2009, there was also a letter by the government that finally recognized the Baba’s land, after ten years of the disputes that raged over a few acres. We were so fortunate to sit with the Baba, Shankar, and the other villagers in the cool wind under the shade of an orange tree with these documents that narrated decade long struggle in our hands.
In the afternoon, after eating a spicy lunch prepared by the Baba’s young granddaughter, we set off with Shankar, the indefatigable Baba, a few of the Baba’s fellow villagers, and a group of tribal women who had lost their land ten years ago and were debating on whether or not to reclaim it. Let me tell you. We did A LOT of walking today. A LOT. Total of 8 km uphill downhill... We walked past some small plots of land and Shankar told us that for this area, having 6-7 viga (some form of measurement of land) means the farmer is one of the better off of the community. However, according to national estimates, a farmer needs 40 v of unirrigated land to support his family simply for survival. The economics of this lifestyle revolve around a subsistence economy, where people cultivate enough simply to stay alive. Some sell a little excess in the city, others meet the gap by selling the only thing they have left –their labor. When the vast majority of people live like this, how can this issue continue to be swept under the rug? Treated with abuse by the police, trapped by outdated land laws without their consent, and cheated out of adequate compensation is a nationwide, and also an international phenomenon.
We kept on walking in a group of about fifteen people – it was like a delegation specifically for us. We asked many questions, and I hope they felt that our interest in their lives and problems reaffirmed their hope and showed them that people outside their village care about their present. Shankar took us to a mandir on a hill, a mountain of stones. I have never sweated so much! I saw the mountain in the distance and laughed in disbelief when my dad whispered we had gotten ourselves in a sticky mess. But, we said we wanted to see their world, so we did. And, if the 70+ Baba can climb this black diamond slope, thwn I better suck it up and do it as well, right? The whole way, everyone said Wow Baba!
Then, yes, we did more walking. We walked this time to a clearing a few km from the mandir to land a few of the villagers had abandoned at the force of the Forest Department a decade ago. Unlike the Baba, they hadn’t stood their ground and faced their conquerers, but had fled. Who can blame them, when jail, injury, even death is possible. They kept waiting for some official document that granted them their land, but who was going to give it to them? The government? No! An NGO? Why is it their problem? The Forest Department? You on something?
So they waited. In the meantime ten years go by, and the Forest Department has started planting “trees” and other projects on the spot the villagers were growing wheat or had their huts. I put trees in quotation because though the holes were dug, only like ten had been planted. And the neglect – the baby stalks were black, burned in the heat. Still, now the fight became harder because the FD had a claim to the land. With elections in a year, the villagers had to act soon. So we talked about that for some time…
Does that look like trees to you?
After more walking, we stopped by more villagers, talked, shared experiences, etc.
I hope they realized that talking about these issues, laughing with them over me trying to speak Hindi and getting an ant bite on my ass, seeing the way they live, and eating their home cooked food was refreshing and revitalizing for us! We walked with them to their fields so they feel to reinforce the confidence they need to act, because we cant act for them! We middle/upper class educated townspeople from Charlotte, Delhi, Ahmedabad, NY cant fight the government and corporations for them. We can translate petitions in Hindi, write in the media, publish research papers, but the movement organically rises from the pride and perseverance of the afflicted adivasis and home cultivated leaders.
After more walking, we finally got home and slept happily. The couple hour experience had turned into a full day trip!
