Part II – Tribal instinct
Tomorrow promised to be more antiquated and I could not have been more exited to experience it. …
The most pleasant revelation, when I woke up next morning, was the difference in the air. It was much more clean and fresh. My asthmatic lungs were overjoyed. It was a welcome change from the carbon monoxide spewing city that challenged their very existence. I wonder what makes people leave this serenity to migrate to ugly, congested and brutal cities, more on this later.
If there is one thing that I am grateful for in the city, then it has to be sanitation and the toilet. My morning dilemma was complexed with the thought of ‘doing the dirty’ out in the open. Even though some may romanticize the whole ‘being one with nature, when nature calls’ thing, I for once was skeptical.
Armed with toilet paper (yes, couldn’t help it…) and water we scouted the area. We walked for what seemed like an eternity till an apt zone with enough foliage to camouflage our deed, was selected. After we scoped out the area for snake holes and other insects, it was time.
To avoid further onslaught on one’s senses, I won’t delve into the details. But yes, it is an interesting experience nonetheless. An act and an amenity that we almost take for granted. It is a must for those who feel secured in their claustrophobic walls, to sense this vulnerability. It is disconcerting yet intrinsically human, organic.
Who knew shitting could be so difficult!!!
The trek to Kelat from Varathi was brutal, a 3 hour long walk through a rocky terrain. The steep slopes and treacherous climb up a hill took a toll on all of us, but we persevered. Some of us harden by daily field work found it relatively easier. The view from the top was magnificent. As though nature’s blue prints were laid out in front of us.
The sun spewed its anger, smiting flesh that dared to challenge it. Saddled with a heavy bag breathing became a task in itself.
This is the exact route that the adivasis take to reach rationing shops to get their groceries, medical clinics and to seek other necessities. A river runs through the middle of the route, which becomes hostile in the monsoons. A fallen tree acts like a bridge to cross across the stream. They traverse this distance, carrying their sick and even pregnant women to the clinic in Roha.
We reached the outskirts of the village and were greeted by a small water reservoir, which was a sight for sore eyes. Also, there was a huge land mass covered in greenery, a vegetable patch, I was informed by Ganesh, which was a sharp contrast against the brown contorting terrain. Like an emerald set on a golden broche, it gleamed with pride.
There at last
We were greeted with eager eyes and shy, gingerly smiles. I was first taken aback by the warmth and friendliness of the people. I remembered the hostile, territorial faces back in the city, ready to snap at an inkling of perceived invasion of privacy. Here, there were open doors, open houses, open faces and open smiles.
We kept our bags in a room allotted to us and proceeded to explore the area, talk to the people.
The poverty was conspicuous but so was pride, in their way of life. I felt slapped in the face by reality. It was time to wake up.
We gathered under a huge Mango tree in the middle of on open field, to begin our session of discussion and sharing experiences. Laxman Sutak, a tribal youth and Sarvahara karyakarta for seven years now, joined us. He is a 3rd generation tribal, as far he can remember or knows. He narrated his experiences and of his community to us. We were later joined by the elders of the village.
The Khot (Zamindar/ Landlord), Kulkarni duped the villagers and acquired their land. He initially lived in Roha and established a coal mine around Kelat. He lived in Kelat for a while under the hospitality provided by the indigenous people.
When a survey was carried out to establish land ownership, he made the officials believe that he was the true owner thus confiscating tribal land. He made the adivasis labour in the fields for a majoori of 15-20 rupees.
Also, he initiated a ‘makta’ system, revenue (tax) earned on the crops, where he decided a particular percentage of quintals to be given to him. Even though the farmers were not sufficient grains for survival, they had to pay the tax.
He exploited the people and beat them up on a regular basis to a point, Laxman says, that getting beaten cruelly or being raped became a routine. The complex relationship that the tribals shared with zamindars made it difficult for them to rebel. They depended on him to bail them out if caught by the police, for their sustenance and survival. He had a strangle hold on their psyche and every aspect of their life. To go to a doctor, lawyer or police they required his consent.
Sarvahara worked on empowering the local people to fight for their rights. A police complaint was lodged against the landlord. It was decided that for 1 year ‘makta’ would not be paid. Also they demanded right to own their land.
He was booked under Prevention of Atrocities Act, 1989, but was immediately released on bail. Two trucks full of people from neighbouring villages and the landlords touts, tried to remove the villagers from their land. The fight got violent and they were hitting the villagers and beat up two women mercilessly. Ulkatai called up the police and demanded immediate action. Till they came, the violence continued.
Laxman tells us of a similar struggle when he was small, in which his father was mercilessly beaten by the Khot (landlord). He died a month later, due to the injuries incurred. His mother told him about the incident as he was just a little boy then.
At this point I began to wonder about the relevance of my own reality. We use words like “life”, “death” and “survival” as rhetoric, but these are questions intrinsic to their daily existence.
To be continued