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Snapshots
of change
Catching
the breeze in rural Bengal
"One
should be grateful,’’ wrote Mirza Ghalib in 1827, ‘‘that
such a city exists. Where else in the world is there a city so refreshing.
To sit in the dust of Calcutta is better than to grace the throne
of another dominion. By God, had I not been a family man, I would
have cut myself free and made my way there. How delightful are its
cool breezes, and how pleasant is its water! How excellent are its
pure wines and its ripe fruits!’’ With its vegetation
and huge expanses of water, rural Bengal is equally enchanting.
Let me give you a sense of my journey in an area where people speak
a different language, live differently, and relate to their world
differently.
We
travelled for approximately 70 km on the Kona Expressway, took a
left turn at Bagnan, reached the crossroads at Shyampur, before
heading for Gadiara in Howrah district. Unlike most parts of Uttar
Pradesh, the land of Aryavarta, and Bihar, where a prince became
a mendicant more than 2,500 years ago to find an answer to human
suffering, we saw clear signs of progress and prosperity. In sharp
contrast to eastern UP, there weren’t many mud and thatched
houses. Instead, the rural landscape is dotted with schools, health
centres, roadside shops, and STD/ISD telephone booths. Nuntia village,
for instance, has a Grameen bank, a primary school, a junior high
school, and a hospital at Mugkalyam, just two kilometres away. Part
of the Bagra Assembly constituency, it has 38 per cent Muslims,
mostly masons, agriculturists and artisans.
One
did not encounter, as one does driving to Aligarh, the children
— mostly naked, with hair matted and faces caked with dirt
— standing listlessly at the dhabas on the Grand Trunk Road.
I did not see emaciated peasants or thin women wearing tattered
clothes. Stubborn critics may say what they like, but Operation
Barga has truly transformed rural Bengal’s lifestyle. The CPI(M),
now in power for another five-year term, has faltered on many counts.
At the same time, it has been the chief catalyst for a major revolution
in rural areas. Given the party’s record, its electoral victory
in last week’s election was not surprising. Performance, based
on ideology, has ultimately paid off in this election.
Gadiara
is on the confluence of the Ganga and Rupnagar river. Its dilapidated
Shigargah (hunting house), the only surviving monument, is a reminder
of the days when the rajas of Mahishadal exercised sway over this
zamindari settlement. The crumbling structure of what was once a
rice mill, started in 1938, is symbolic of West Bengal’s industrial
decline precipitated by the rationing and cordoning that took place
in 1963-64, under the aegis of the then chief minister, Ajoy Mukherjee.
The combined strength of the rice mill-owners and the jotedars ultimately
led to his ministry’s downfall.
Today,
the staff of the tourist lodge occupies the building that housed
the mill office. The erstwhile rajas are, on the other hand, lost
in the mists of history, though their 19th century palace and temple
are intact across the river in Mahishadal. The 18th century palace
of Rani Janaki is in ruins. A popular myth is that she was a relentless
anti-British crusader. Another local legend is that the British
built a fort with an underground tunnel, and that these are still
to be seen, despite the level agricultural land, when the water
recedes during low tide.
Gadiara,
a place with 122 households (approximately 2,000 people), is inhabited
by a dozen Brahman families who live at the edge of the village,
the Majhis and Bagdis (scheduled castes), and the Mahishyas (earlier
known as Kaivarta), the principal agricultural caste in southwest
Bengal. At the turn of the 19th century, a great many local Mahishya
associations mushroomed in different districts to assert their identity.
By the 20s, they had been mobilised on the issue of social status.
Once this was achieved, it became easy for the Mahishyas to resist
unpopular government measures and stake their claim in power structures.
Their leader was a Mahishya lawyer from Contai, Birendranath Sasmal,
and a close lieutenant of C.R. Das.
Today,
the Mahishyas are economically well placed in Gadiara. They own
the boats that carry wood from the Sundarbans, a journey that can
take up to a week. They employ the scheduled caste Bagdis to perform
this arduous task. With improved river communication and the introduction
of launchers and steamers eight years ago, the wheel of fortune
has swung their way.
Being the principal landowners in the area, the Mahishyas benefit
from the rotation of two rice crops. For them the great breakthrough
has been the spring rice crops, with average yields of six or seven
quintals. No wonder, the price of agricultural land has increased
phenomenally over the last couple of decades — from Rs 6,000
to Rs 30,000. You may have to shell out as much as Rs 5 lakh for
a bigha anywhere between the bus stand and the tourist lodge. The
road link to Kolkata — it did not exist in the early-seventies
— has not only enhanced the value of land but also opened up
new markets for agricultural produce.
All this means greater social cohesion in village life. It also
means that every householder has enough rice to eat. Even the landless,
mostly Bagdis, can lease out land from the Mahishyas for a thousand
rupees, invest twice the amount on fertilisers, and expect a yield
of seven or eight quintals that would fetch a market price of Rs
5,000. This arrangement works out amicably. ‘‘Earlier,’’
Mahaim Majhi explained to us,‘‘caste taboos existed, but
now we break bread with the Mahishyas. We worship at the temple.
Fifteen years ago it was not possible.’’ A bearer at the
tourist lodge, he earns up to Rs 5,000 a month. His four daughters
and son go to school. No wonder, he sings paeans of praise for the
CPI(M) government. Incidentally, this tiny village has a primary
health centre, a primary school, a high school and a girl’s
school, just three kilometres from Gadiara.
As
the night descended on this village, the brightly-lit Falta in the
distant horizon offered a spectacular view from Gadiara. Now a free
port, the British had taken refuge at Falta in 1756, following Nawab
Sirajud-daulah’s seizure of Kolkata and renaming it as Alinagar.
It was time to return to the modern, noisy and dusty city of Alinagar.
Mahaim
Majhi joined us on a short ride. Noticing the khadi bag he carried,
I asked: ‘‘Have you heard of Subhas Bose?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ came the prompt reply. ‘‘And
Gandhiji?’’ ‘‘No,’’ he said before
stepping on the street clasping his khadi jhola. I was left speechless.
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