What Price Cashless Economy?!!

Once it became clear that those who indulge in the generation of black money had found ways and means to circumvent the "strategic strike against black money" that demonetisation was initially supposed to be, the Government shifted the goal posts and said that the aim was to usher in a cashless economy. Suddenly remove cash from the economy and even without adequate preparation to make it possible for those who are not part of the banking system in any functional way to adjust to this, hey presto, the Indian economy would become a digital one it was claimed. So here is the story of one man, who is at the bottom of the pyramid, who believed wholeheartedly in the Government's exhortation to deal only through banks.
Raisingh Patel is a sixty year old Barela Adivasi man who has about 2 hectares of farm land in Pandutalav village in Dewas district of Madhya Pradesh. He lives on his farm in a wooden hut along with his family which includes apart from human beings, animals and birds also as is the custom among the Bhils.

He harvested 23 quintals of maize from his farm this year. The local traders were offering Rs 1150 per quintal and were prepared to come and lift the maize from his farm and pay him in cash. However, inspired by the Government's pitch to go cash less and also the prospect of getting a better price in the grain market in Indore city, he decided to take his produce there and get paid by cheque instead. He got Rs 1350 per quintal and was given a cheque of Rs 31250 by the trader who has an account with the Bank of India. Raisingh returned to Pandutalav and deposited this cheque in his account with the State Bank of India. This is a Jandhan account that is operated through an off branch kiosk run in Pandutalav by an agent of the State Bank of India which has a branch in the nearby market village of Udainagar some seven kilometers away. Many Government Banks have initiated the outsourced kiosk system to manage the Jandhan accounts so as to lessen their costs of operation. Raisingh had deposited the cheque on the 4th of December 2016 the day after he got it in Indore on 3rd of December 2016. When even after 15 days the amount wasn't credited to his account he asked the kiosk operator in Pandutalav what was happening. The kiosk operator said that the cheque was in the process of being cleared. More time passed and Raisingh became anxious as to what was happening with the cheque. Finally after a month had passed the kiosk operator told Raisingh that the State Bank of India staff had said that since this was a cheque from a different bank with a branch in Indore they would not deal with it in his Jandhan account and he would have to go to Indore and deposit the cheque in a branch of the State Bank there.
This is when Raisingh became desperate and gave me a call describing his impasse. Initially my reaction was to go to the State Bank branch in Udainagar and argue with the staff there. However, already one and a half months had elapsed and if the State Bank staff dilly dallied further then the validity of the cheque would expire. So I took Raisingh to the nearest Bank of India branch in Bagli town some 45 kilometers from his village to open an account there. The staff there said that to open a normal bank account Raisingh would need an Income Tax Department Permanent Account Number (PAN) and as he did not have one he would have to once again open a Jandhan account in a kiosk. These Jandhan accounts allow only withdrawal of Rupees Ten Thousand per month and so he would have to wait for three months to withdraw his maize sale payment in totality. Since getting a new PAN in a remote area like Pandutalav takes at least a month we decided to open a Jandhan account with the Bank of India kiosk operator in Bagli. It will take two days for the account to become operational and only then will Raisingh be able to deposit his cheque in the account by going to Bagli once again. And after that he will be able to withdraw only Rs 10,000. We also applied for a PAN for Raisingh as the bank staff said that once he got the PAN he could upgrade his account to a normal one which does not have the Rs 10000 per month limit on withdrawals.
Raisingh got about Rs 4600 more by selling in the grain market in Indore but he had to pay Rs 2000 of that to the transporter so his net gain over selling on his farm was Rs 2600. However, he has had to spend around Rs 1000 of that in running around to get a new bank account opened with Bank of India. So this is how the cashless economy is manifesting itself for marginal agriculturists like Raisingh. If I had not intervened in between, he would have been in deeper trouble. The Jandhan accounts are a burden for the Banks and they do not want to provide such services as sending the cheques of other banks deposited in them for clearing since that involves more costs which are not met by these accounts. So instead of making bombastic announcements of India going digital and cash less and beating its breasts that millions of poor people are now art of the banked population, the Government should instead subsidise the operation of the Jandhan accounts and make it mandatory for banks to provide the account holders with quality service.

A Bard is No More

Mahipal Bhuria passed away on 12th November, at the age of 65, bringing to an end a life dedicated to the documentation, preservation and propagation of the Bhili oral folklore. He also wrote original stories, plays and songs in the Bhili language. He was a catholic priest but gave all his free time to promoting the Bhili language. At a time when no one else in Madhya Pradesh was giving any importance to the Bhili language including the elected Bhil tribal lawmakers, Mahipal single handedly embarked on a mission to document the folklore of the Bhils and analyse their anthropological and cultural roots from the early 1970s onwards when he was in his twenties. He initially started by transcribing the Bhili songs and folklore and then translating them in the Hindi language. Later he wrote in the English language, the more important of his voluminous works being "Religious Songs of the Bhils" and "The Nature of Bhili Folk Songs".
He became an acknowledged expert on Bhili culture and was closely associated with the broadcast of Bhili songs, stories and plays on Akashvani Radio Service from Indore. Later he developed primers in the Bhili language for the education of children in their mother tongue in Jhabua district from where he hailed, being born in the village of Bhagor. A  photo of his is shown below.

He was an affable person and went out of his way to make friendships with people, especially those who were of a similar bent of mind. That is how we came to know him as he sought us out once he read of the struggles of the Khedut Mazdoor Chetna Sangath in the 1980s. He was especially thrilled that the KMCS used the format and tunes of the traditional songs of the Bhils and wrote new lyrics for them based on the struggles of the Bhils that were going on, to provide a new cultural front to the mass movement. What was begun by Mahipal as a solo mission, got a mass following from the 1980s onwards, as many other Bhil mass organisations also adapted the tradional Bhili folklore to produce new songs, plays and stories. Today, this trend has spread to the commercial sphere also with many popular Bhili bands having sprung up and there is a vigorous production of Bhili music and plays which has been boosted by the spread of mobiles. Thus, even though we do not have Mahipal among us any more, his legacy remains vibrantly alive and his pioneering work will always be remembered. These are our last respects to a great son of the Bhil tribe. 

The Song of Creation

There have been many demands from friends for a translation of the creation myth of the Bhils. Unfortunately I have not done a translation myself though that is one of my pending tasks. Some anthropologists have made rough translations. These are area specific as the myths change slightly depending on the region. One of my friends Amita Baviskar did her Phd research on the Bhil tribals residing in the Narmada Valley in Alirajpur district and as part of that she made a rough translation of the creation myth sung by the Bhilala tribals of Anjanwara village on the banks of the Narmada. I am excerpting here that translation with slight changes. This will give readers a flavour of the unique world view of the Bhilalas of Anjanwara.

Gayana (Song of Creation) of the Bhilala tribals of Anjanwara Village on the Banks of the Narmada River in Alirajpur District of Madhya Pradesh, India.

The song has been transcribed into English prose by Amita Baviskar and is excerpted with some small changes from her book - In the Belly of the River: Tribal Conflicts over Development in the Narmada Valley, Oxford University Press, Delhi, 1995.

I am Malgu gayan ( the bard who sings the song). God give me wisdom. At my breast I have God's wisdom; on my lap I have a rangai (a stringed musical instrument). I will sing Neelsa's song.

I came to the mountains. Tigers and bears were roaring. Rani Kajal, the queen, was crying - "Now what do I do?" She called Ratukamai - " Devar, Devar (younger brother of husband) our mountain has changed. What should we do?" Ratukamai said "We should call our mother's priest". The priest came. He told them to go to the maal and get the singer Malgu.

So who went? Ratukamai did. Went and caught the king's horse. With silken reins and shoes of bronze. The horse started flying. Ratukamai hit him with a whip of gold. He took the path to Malapur. He reached and called "Dada, Dada (elder brother). Malgu gayan sleeps for twelve years and wakes for thirteen. He awoke with a start and said " Dada, what brings you here?" Ratukamai said " Our task is big. Our mountain is changing. Tigers and bears are roaring. So I have come to you." Malgu gayan replied " Go now and I will come after four or five days".

Where did Malgu gayan go? To the house of Halva the hutar (carpenter). But wood was hard to find. So Malgu made a letter with the dirt of his chest. Where did he send the letter? To the house of Relu kabadi ( woodcutter). The letter fell on Relu kabadi's chest. He picked it up and started reading - "There is a famine of wood. So I have given you this letter Relu kabadi. Go!"

"Yes, I shall go" said Relu kabadi and got ready. He took some bits of iron and went to the house of Lahiya luhar ( blacksmith). An axe of twelve maunds (one maund is roughly 40 kilos), a hammer of thirteen maunds, a chisel of six maunds - all these he got forged. One and a quarter rupees - the price of these - he gave to the luhar. Then he went home. He took a tumbda ( a dried out hollow gourd used as a water bottle) of twelve maunds and filled it with water. He tied food to his waste and took the stony path.

Relu kabadi had two daughters. Their names were Revlia and Devlia. They followed him. "Daughters, do not come! You must not come! I go into the big mountains" shouted Relu kabadi. They did not listen and kept going after him. Relu kabadi went to Vije mountain. He looked all over Vije mountain but didn't find any wood. Not even in Dulye mountain, Andaryo mountain, Neelyu mountain, Bhooryo mountain, Janjryo mountain, Hadyo mountain, Hadyo maal (plateau) and Dulye maal. " All the mountains have I searched but there is no teak wood" said Relu kabadi. Hungry and thirsty, he took the cloth off his head, spread it on the gournd, sat down and swore "I didn't find any wood" and started crying.

Then he thought for some time and picked up some leaves and started worshipping. He prayed and sat. Lo and behold, he looked up and saw a tall teak tree! Relu kabadi laughed and smiled. He brought down his axe and danced four times. One blow of the axe to the tree and a stream of blood gushed out. So he thought yet again. Again he picked up some leaves and started praying. Then he hit another blow with the axe and water flowed out. " The mountain does not listen" he swore. He took some more leaves and prayed. Then he hit the tree another blow with his axe. A stream of milk flowed out. "Even now the mountain does not listen". He picked up more leaves and started praying. Another blow with the axe and the tree turned black. " Now I have it " he roared and gave the tree five blows with the axe. He then raised his head to see where the tree would fall.

While Relu kabadi looked up at the tree, his daughters went and hid under the tumbda. The teak tree fell on the tumbda. The tumbda burst and the water flowed out. Flowing with the water Revlia and Devlia went to Amarkantak ( The source of the Narmada River). Relu kabadi looked towards the tumbda and exclaimed "My daughters who were here were washed away". He ran after them and looked everywhere but didn't find his daughters. Amarkantak was barren and so she started caring for the girls. She gave them names. The first one she named Reva (the name by which Narmada river is known in western Madhya Pradesh) and the other she named Tapti (another river south of the Narmada).

Relu kabadi said " I cant find my daughters so I should continue with my work". He started breaking branches off the teak tree. First he broke off ganjyo dhol ( a drum), after that a rangai, then other musical instruments heeramangli, raivajo, phoolvajo, dulki, tutdio and pipario. He broke the branches and began carving them into shape. "All my instruments are done; who shall I give them to? The first letter to come was from Malgu gayan and so I will give him the rangai. The ganjyo dhol shall be the bazaariya's (the non-tribal residents of the towns), the dulki drum I shall give to the kumbhi ( farmer), the dhed ( trader in cattle) will get the mandal drum, the pipariyo will go to the chamar ( hide tanner) and the rai vajo and phool vajo shall go to those who sweep in the markets. All the instruments he gave away and took his wage of one and a quarter rupees.

Malgu gayan took the rangai. "Five days are done; the time of my going has come." His wife was Mala rani. She made him sit. Heated some water, washed his head and bathed him. Folded him a dhoti of new cloth, dressed him in a bright shirt and tied him a grand turban. "Time for my departure has come. Rani Kajal has called me. I will go to her". Through deserted lands and peopled lands went Malgu gayan. When he reached Rani Kajal came forward with water to greet him. " You are really needed, dada. Now that you have arrived it is very good". She started unfolding the golden cot for Malgu. " O Queen, I wont sit there. My place is on the ground" said Malgu and he sat leaning against the wall.

On his lap he had the rangai. Then Malgu gayan prayed. The tigers and bears turned their ears back in alarm. He started playing. The tigers and bears scattered. The rangai played and its music went to the nether world. The music reached the ears of Relu kabadi's daughters Revlia and Devlia who started singing and took on the new names given to them by Amarkantak - Reva and Tapti. Dudu Hamar, the king of the white sea, had asked for the hand of Reva in marriage and not Tapti's. Reva prepared to set off and meet the sea and the sisters separated. Tapti said to Reva " I shall go through Gujarat while you can go through Nimar ( the lower Narmada valley). Reva came to a place and called it Rajghat. From there she cascaded to another place which she called Khalghat. From there she reached another place she called Pipalghat. After that she came to the place where Omkar maharaj ( Lord Shiva) was standing with pooja offerings in his hand. He said " Mother, mother I want to come with you". Reva admonished him " No, my son, do not come with me, I am going to meet Dudu Hamad". When Omkar maharaj would not listen she said " There will be a temple built here for you and as Amarkantak is our mother your food and drink will be provided for".

From there Reva went to Badwani and then to Dharamrai. Stopping at so many places made Reva late and so Tapti reached the sea first and married Dudu Hamad. Then a fish started swimming up stream as Reva progressed. At Kakrana she met Chauriyo naik, a fisherman, who said "Mother, mother I am very hungry. Give me something to eat." He took his fishing rod and sat down in front of Reva. She said " My son, I have a lot of creatures in my belly. You can catch them, kill them, sell them and eat".

Then the fish met her at Chiloda, " Bhabhi (elder siser in law) what has taken you so long? Tapti has already reached the sea." Reva asked " How did she get ahead of me?" She had a bundle of chivle (a leafy vegetable) with her and in her rage she threw it away and turned in to the hills. She named the river fords as she passed them - Bhootvalai in Bhitara village, Helkaryo and Dudli in Sirkhiri village. From there she went on to Jalsindhi via Anjanwara village. She named the ford there Peeparghat. Then she flowed through Gujarat and reached the sea only to find that Dudu Hamad had already wed Tapti. "What can I do with them?" she cried in exasperation and dived to the bottom of the ocean. She went to Helke ocean, Jelke ocean and finally to Neelye ocean.

After naming all the oceans, she asked " This is sand and barren land. What should I grow here?" So she went to God's garden. What seed did she bring? A thorny white brinjal. She planted the seed and employed Vasda and Jasda Londia to take care of it. Day by day the palnt grew bigger. Grew nine branches and nine leaves. It was filled with life. And it bore flowers. Their scent went to Kavar land. A brown dog in Kavar smelt it and said " Where has this scent come from?" He then bathed himself in ash and became a black eagle. He put on wings of gold and flew away. He came to Kale jug and his nose found the scent and he took the path of the oceans.

The nine flowers were in bloom. The black eagle went and started peeling the flowers. After peeling them he came away. Then that thorny white brinjal started growing fruit. Nine months and nine days later nine flowers fruited. The first flower burst forth and from it was born Veelubai. Then it was Katubai. Again a fruit burst and from it was born Jatubai. Another fruit burst and Bhuribai was born. The next fruit burst and the diseases of the stomach came out. After that fever was born. Then epilepsy was born. Finally other illnesses, sores and boils were born.

When Veelubai was small, she crawled. Day by day, she grew and started walking on her feet. Day by day she grew and became very wise. "I didn't come from a mother's womb and so I shall make a name for myself. Not a small name but a big name." She rubbed some dirt off her chest and made a daughter Bhena kuthar (wasp). She dreamed of creating the world. Clay , the son of Bhuinraya who is the king of the nether world would be required. So she started teaching Bhena kuthar " Beti ( daughter) go to Bhuinraya's house because I have to make the world". Bhena kuthar went to Bhuinraya's house.

Bhuinraya sleeps for twelve years, stays awake for thirteen. Bhuinraya was asleep. Bhena kuthar went and stole a lump of clay and brought it to her mother. " Beti, this wont be enough you must go again." Later Bhuinraya woke up and shouted "Who stole my clay?" He took hair from his head, made a noose with it and laid a trap. Bhena kuthar went and stole some more clay. As she came away she fell into the trap. Bhuinraya went and caught her. "Beti, beti, why do you steal my clay?" Bhena pleaded " Dont take my life, I only labour for someone else." Bhuinraya said " Beti, henceforth dont come this way". Bhena said " This work of mine is very important. If you dont give me clay, how will I fulfil my task?" " Take it then, beti. ther is nothing to be done. Take half a lump."

Bhena kuthar brought the lump to her mother, " Take it, mother, but from today I wont go to get clay." "Why, beti, why wont you go?" asked Veelubai. "Bhuinraya has woken up" answered Bhena. Veelubai called her sister Bhuribai and said, " Let us start shaping the world." They prepared the clay and fetched the water. Then they started to turn the golden potter's wheel. Veelubai made the world and held it on the palm of her hand. " I have shaped the world but on what should I place it?" Veelubai started crying. From the nether world the cobra stood up and raised his hood, "Mother, put your world on my head." The world was kept on it and the cobra's hood started trembling. "I can't hold it up" said the cobra.

The cow then offered to help, " Mother, put the world on my head". Her horns also bent backwards. "Mother, you take care of your world, I can't do it." Veelubai cried even more, " Who will hold my world?" Then she made a platform on nine pillars and placed the world on it. But they also started shaking and said, " Mother, take back your world". Veelubai cried all the more, " Who will hold my world?". Then a fish, Ragal maccha, turned over on his back and said, " Mother, keep your world over here." He took Veelubai's world and said, "Mother, I will carry your world, but make any creature and place it on my tail." So Veelubai rubbed some dirt of her chest and made a crab. " Take this son, when the hair of your tail grows too long and starts coming into your eyes this crab will keep it trimmed. "

"Now I have a place for my world, but my world is barren. What creatures should I give shape to?" Veelubai started wondering. She made some trees and planted them. "Beautiful looks my world! I have made all the world, but from where do I make living creatures". She took some clay and began shaping creatures. She shaped some lizards. Then she made tigers and bears. Followed by snakes. Finally she made men and women. Thus, all creatures were shaped.

"I have shaped everything but my creatures dont have life", Veelubai said and started thinking. As she thought, she rubbed the dirt off her chest. With the dirt from her chest she made a letter. She sent it to God's house. God was sleeping. God sleeps for twelve years and stays awake for thirteen. The letter fell on his chest and he woke up. He read the letter and said " I am a great God and you are Veelubai. You have made such big creatures, tell me the names of your mother and father and I will give life to your creatures." He wrote this in a letter and sent it to Veelubai.

Veelubai read the letter and went into deep thought. " My mother has a name, but I don't know my father." Veelubai after all was born of the thorny white brinjal. She wrote another letter to God " I made the world's creatures but today I don't have a father; I did have a mother but I did not feed at her breast." Then God wrote a letter and sent it to her, " Give me your creatures. A mother is all that you have; you dont have a father. Since you have made the world you have made a name for yourself also." Veelubai sent a letter back, " I will send you my clay creatures. What will you do with them?" God said "They have to have life and blood put into them". So Veelubai gave God her creatures of clay.

Now God did not really know how to put life into creatures. God had an aunt Banglatrani who lived in the nether world. He sent her a letter and she picked it up and started reading. Her daughters Lekharia and Jukharia (deities who keep a record of every person's deeds and write her destiny) were studying. Their mother told them " Beti, God is the supreme king. He has sent us a letter asking how life and blood are to be put into these creatures that Veelubai has made." Banglatrani's daughters said, " Mother, we know how to put life into creatures. But God ought to give us something in exchange". They sent a letter to God's house and he said " Take anything you want in return for putting life into these creatures".

Lekharia and Jukharia said " We had written the letter jokingly but God has taken us seriously." They thought and wrote to God " We know about life but not all only half". God replied " Beti, even that is a lot. Somehow or other, we have to put life in the world". Lekharia and Jukharia went around looking for life. There is an ocean - Vanthar - where the wind blows and makes the ocean speak. Lekharia and Jukharia set about stealing life from the ocean. When the wind blew for the ocean to speak, they quickly shut it in a box. Then they went to God's house and asked, "Where are your creatures of clay?" Then they released the wind and the creatures made by Veelubai came to life. They told God " We have put life into them. Now it is up to you to put blood into them."

Now God had a garden with all kinds of plants in it. Part of his garden was for humans - the garden of juvar ( sorghum). Then God gave breasts to the juvar. The men fed from the breasts and blood flowed into their veins. That is why if we do not eat juvar our blood dries up. For livestock there was a garden of jinjvi grass and God gave it breasts. Livestock also fed from this grass and came to have blood. For lizards there was a garden of brown flowered bengaliphool. God gave it breasts and blood came into the lizards when they fed there. But the blood wasn't ted it was brown. For the snakes there was the ningal tree with posionous flowers of blue and yellow. God gave it breasts too and the snakes after feeding had blood in them. To put blood into the tiger, God made a garden of the ocean - half of milk and half of ghee. That is why the tiger has such a flexible body and can glide anywhere.

" All the world I have now made along with the creatures but it is still dark" said Veelubai and fell into deep thought. There was a Ravat ( cattle tender) and she sent him a letter, " How do I light up this world? You must go and take the form of Bhuria gosain ( mendicant)". Then Ravat broke off his own hand and made it into a coconut. With the skin of his palms he made his loincloth of animal hide. With his nails he made a horse; he broke his little finger and made pegs for his rantha (musical instrument). With the hair of his head he made the strings for the rantha. He took the rantha and started walking. Through deserted lands and peopled lands went Bhuria gosain to Rabubai and Panubai's house.

Ranubai and Panubai were barren from birth. They had no child. " O Maharaj, where have you come from?" " I have come from roaming the world. Whatever alms people gave me along the way, I have eaten and now I am here". " Maharaj, we are barren from birth. We dont have a son. You won't get any alms here." the sisters said. " Ranubai, Panubai, since you do not have a son I will do some magical healing.". "Maharaj, if you give us a son, we will even give you our house of Gold bricks." "No, Beti, I don't ask for anything else but you must give me your first child." The sisters replied " Yes, Maharaj, we are ready."

Then Bhuria gosain made a thread. With the thread he tied up Ranubai and Panubai. "I will come after nine months and nine days", he said and went away. After nine months and nine days Ranubai and Panubai bore children. Ranubai's first born was Surimal the sun and Panubai's first born was Chand the moon. After that were born the monring star, the pole star, Sirius and Venus. Then the maharaj had to go to them. Veelubai sent him saying, " Ravat, don't sit along the way. You must go straight to Ranubai and Panubai". Through deserted lands and peopled lands went the Ravat. In a garden was a banyan tree. He went and sat in its shade.

In that banyan lived a spirit. He stole Ravut's rantha and hid it in the tree. The maharaj woke up and started looking for the rantha. He looked in all the branches and all the leaves but the spirit lay hidden in the trunk. " Whoever it be, man or beast, return my rantha as I am going on Veelubai's work". The spirit said, " Look Maharaj, I will give it back to you but you must play me a tune." So Ravat took the rantha back and started playing a tune. The spirit began dancing and said " Maharaj, you are going but give me something as you go". Ravat said, " You are a spirit. From now on, you will be invisible to the human species. This I grant you." That is why we can't see spirits now.

Ravat reached Ranubai and Panubai's house. Seeing him coming they hid their children in seven hundred cells below the ground. They they told the Maharaj, " You lied to us. We didn't get any sons." Ravat said, "No, Ranubai and Panubai, don't lie. I know you have children". They quarrelled and fought. " Very well, if you won't give them to me, I shall look for your sons myself ". He started playing the rantha. Surimal's steps were turned. He came out of his hiding place. One by one all the children came out and said "Father, we will come with you." Said Ranubai and Panubai, " Maharaj, we will give you whatever you want. Sons, don't go away." They said "Mother, we were promised and we have to go". So they took their path.

Through deserted lands and peopled lands they went. "Father, go on. We go to bathe in the ocean. We will follow you later." That is why the sun, moon and stars rise in the ocean. First, the moon Chand came out during the day. That day it was so bright and hot that you could cook rotis (hand made bread) on the tiles. Then Veelubai said, "Surimal, you are the sun. You will come out during the day and Chand will come out during the night."

Didarganj Yakshi

Anarchists are dead against the accumulation of wealth as it leads to inequalities and inequities of all kinds and not least to the hubris that everything can be bought including mother nature. That is why the adivasis all over the world, the quintessential anarchists, have traditionally had norms in place to prevent the accumulation of wealth. However, the accumulation of wealth does have some benefits. One of them is the creation of works of art of a high quality which would not have been possible on a lower material base. There was a time about three centuries before the christian era when the first great empire in India was set up by the Mauryan dynasty which peaked under the rule of Asoka and it was headquartered at what is now Patna in Bihar. This period is also famous for its great works of art, the most visible and talked about examples being the Asokan pillars whose lion figure embellished capitals have been used in currency notes and the chakra or spoked wheel in the national flag. However, the piece of sculpture, that puts all other ancient Indian art in the shade is the Didarganj Yakshi shown below.

Wealth needs to be secured. Those who are poor will naturally try to get at the accumulated wealth and so it has to be guarded. There are numerous legends in India which talk about minor gods and goddesses being deployed to guard wealth. Such divine men were called yakshas and women yakshis. There was immense wealth accumulated in the city of Pataliputra as Patna was known in Mauryan times and so the legends of the yakshas and yakshis too must have proliferated. The Didarganj Yakshi is the result of a happy admixture of the art of sculpture and the fantasies of mythology in those ancient times.
The photo above does not do justice to the mesmerising quality of this piece of art as it stands majestically tall at 6 feet eight inches on its pedestal shining in the light focussed on it because of the exquisite polish on the sandstone from which it has been sculpted. Despite its nose being broken as well as one of its arms this beautifully carved figure of a voluptiously breasted semi-nude woman with a fly whisk is so captivating that one can spend hours standing and watching it.
I first came to hear about it in the late nineteen eighties as a youth when it was transported to exhibitions abroad and won international acclaim. Ever since then I had thought of getting a first hand look at it. However, I could not manage a trip to Patna, where it is kept in the museum. It was first discovered by a villager in the sand on the banks of the Ganges river in Didarganj near Patna in 1917. It was soon moved to the museum by the Archaeological Survey of India and over the years it has become an icon of Indian art nationalism. Indian art historians have contended that this sculpture is visible proof that ancient Indian art had its own moorings independent of west Asian or Hellenic influences.
Luckily for me it so happened that I got a consultancy assignment that required me to spend two months in Patna in May and June and I seized this opportunity to fulfil my youthful tryst with the famous Yakshi on the threshold of old age. The entrance to the Patna museum is dark but as soon as you take the left turn into the sculpture gallery the first thing you see is the wistfully smiling and big breasted Yakshi welcoming you in all its splendour. A poem in stone. I used to have my Sundays free initially before the pressure of work built up and I would walk down to the museum which was about a kilometre and a half from my hotel and spend an hour viewing the Yakshi from various angles always ending up gazing at the welcoming smile on its face.
Feminist art historians have raised the issue of why nude and semi nude figures of women have been the subject of great sculpture in India from the ancient times to the medieval ages. Obviously the artists were labouring under a patriarchal mindset. Similarly it is a fact that the Mauryan empire and Asoka's dominance were built on the decimation of tribals. A process that has continued to gain momentum over the centuries since. Nevertheless it is impossible to ignore the artistic excellence of this culture as symbolised by the Didarganj Yakshi just because it was exploitative of tribals and women. This contradiction between the forward march of civilisation and the decimation of tribals and subordination of women which is so poignantly symbolised in the figure of the Yakshi also made me ponder over the distance I have travelled from my days as a young penniless activist living a de-classed life among the tribals in Jhabua and my present status as a money earning development consultant. Life is always grey instead of being black and white and so it is best to enjoy the luminous beauty of the Didarganj Yakshi without delving too much into the darkness that is there beneath it.

The Fool On The Hill

Still on anniversaries, the year just gone by was the twentieth anniversary of the setting up of Dhas Gramin Vikas Kendra as a registered trust for the implementation of developmental activities among the Bhil adivasis in Alirjapur. Early on in our work as the mass organisation Khedut Mazdoor Chetna Sangath,  we all felt that just fighting for rights and justice would not get us much sustained purchase because mass movements invariably tend to wither away after some time regardless of whether they are successful or unsuccessful. In the first case people tend to relax once their immediate demands are met and do not want to struggle on for some impossible utopia being peddled by us activists. In the second case obviously after a few fruitless sojourns in jail or worse a few deaths in firings by the police, the masses consider prudence to be the better part of valour (in this case even activists follow the masses into inactivity as I have done!). Apart from this there is the question of garnering funds for activism. Very few people want to give funds for fighting cases and organising people. They are more likely to give funds for education or health or watershed development. So all the mass movements in recent years have had an NGO backup to get funds for various other activities and then sneak some of it out to secretly fund the legal and organising expenses of activism. Thus we too in Alirajpur set up this NGO with some non-adivasi activists and some adivasi activists as trustees.
Right from the beginning the process was a devilish one. The paper work that has to be done to set up and run an NGO was beyond the capacity of the adivasi activists like my good friends Khemla and Shankar and so all the work fell on my reluctant shoulders. Now I was totally against doing such paper work having ditched such work to come to Alirajpur to live a carefree life among the Bhils. The net result was that the Dhas Gramin Vikas Kendra never lived up to its name. Dhas in Bhili means communitarian labour that is traditionally practised by the Bhils, Gramin Vikas means rural development and Kendra means Centre. There was some sporadic water and soil conservation work, some sustainable agriculture and some construction of buildings but that was about all and it was far from being a communitarian effort or a rural development centre. After I left Alirajpur even that little work stopped and the organisation became somnolent. In the end we did not manage to get much funds either.
Then suddenly last year we were all shaken up from our comfortable slumber when suddenly the organisation that had given us the funds for carrying out the development work in the early 1990s sent us a legal notice demanding repayment of the funds with accumulated interest as we had not allegedly utilised them. This organisation was a government agency called CAPART that had come in for considerable criticism for having given funds to dubious NGOs which had defalcated them. They had consequently begun cracking down on such NGOs and had sent us a notice even though we had submitted proofs of the work having been done which they had misplaced. So we got cracking and searched our own moth-eaten records and found out all the audit reports and measurement books and sent copies of them to CAPART along with testimonials from the people who had done the work and photographs of the constructed structures to settle matters. All this effort rekindled the old fire in us and Shankar, Khemla and I decided to revive Dhas Gramin Vikas Kendra on the occasion of its twentieth anniversary and make it work again. So now it has started functioning with a modest grant for a participatory hydrological study of the Maan river sub-basin of the Narmada river basin. However, the great voluntary energy to change the world that used to drive the Khedut Mazdoor Chetna Sangath in its heydays in the early nineties is obviously not there to the same extent. Here is a picture of that earlier invigorating time with Khemla right in front in the foreground.

However, we are stuck with the old problem of paperwork again and as before it has fallen to my lot. Khemla is so allergic to paper that we took all of three months to open a bank account in Indore as he continually used to forget to bring one document or other. Now to get round this problem he is taking classes in computer applications so that he does not have to handle paper and can do everything electronically! The tragedy is that without the backing of an NGO there is no way in which a person like Khemla can survive, however much he may perch himself on high moral ground and rail against the inequities and intricacies of modern development. Khemla, ever since he was rusticated from school when he was in class five for beating up the hostel warden who was filching the food meant for the students, has consistently argued that education and paper have been the undoing of the human race and will surely send us to our consummate ruin very shortly! Since the music of the Beatles is uppermost in my mind these days I will conclude with an ode to Khemla filched from another top class number of theirs - The Fool on The Hill

Well on the way head in a cloud,
The man of a thousand voices is talking perfectly loud
But nobody ever hears him,
Or the sound he appears to make,
And he never seems to notice,
But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down,
And the eyes in his head,
See the world spinning 'round.

Get this widget | Track details | eSnips Social DNA

Hotel California

Speaking of anniversaries this year is also the twentieth anniversary of my first formal lesson in feminism and introduction to the concept of patriarchy. Bina Srinivasan, who was then an active member of the Inquilabi Communist Sangathan in Vadodara in Gujarat which is the Indian chapter of the Trotskyist Fourth International,tore me to shreds one day in 1988 when I visited their office in Vadodara alleging that I had no idea about the way in which patriarchal relations dominate human society and oppress women. She took me to task for having concentrated primarily on the organisation of the Bhil men and involved women only in the general struggles and not on issues of their own. However much I pleaded that as a man I could not possibly take up women's issues she lambasted me and accused me of not even having tried to understand these issues. The upshot of it all was that for the next few months I read some of the classic texts on feminism and patriarchy that Bina provided me with and then discussed them with her on my visits to Vadodara.
Bina herself was a die hard feminist and marxist at the time and tried to implement all that she understood of the theory of these two schools of thought in her personal life and in the organisational work she did with the women of the slums in Vadodara. She was also an author of short stories and a very good researcher. Over a period of five years till 1993 when I moved out of Jhabua, Bina and I met often and I must say our work among the Bhil women improved considerably because of her inputs. Indeed even later when my wife Subhadra and I worked exclusively for the reproductive health of Bhil women in Khargone and Dewas districts the lessons that I got from Bina stood us in good stead.
But what brought Bina and me really close was our love for the music of the rock group Eagles. Like the Beatles and Pink Floyd the Eagles too have combined philosophical lyrics with top class music. I had lost touch with music in the jungles of Jhabua and so it was very good to reconnect with the Eagles at Bina's home. In fact I found some new meaning when I listened again to my favourite Eagles number at Bina's home (which incidentally was an open house for run down activists of all kinds from all over the place) -

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy, and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
I was thinking to myself,
'This could be Heaven or this could be Hell'
Then she lit up a candle and she show me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say...

'Welcome to the Hotel California'
'Such a lovely place' (such a lovely place)
'Such a lovely face'
'There's plenty of room at the Hotel California'
'Any time of year' (any time of year)
'You can find it here'

Even though the Trotskyists were severely critical of the Soviet Union and had predicted that it would collapse some time or other because of its many internal contradictions the actual disintegration of the socialist block that began in 1989 hit them hard also. The Inquilabi Communist Sangathan saw a lot of internal upheaval and in the process Bina and a few others decided to part ways not only with the party but also with Marxism. Thereafter Bina concentrated on being a feminist and human rights activist trying to maintain secularism in the highly charged communal atmosphere of Gujarat and also campaigning vigorously against the Sardar Sarovar Dam on the Narmada river. Both activities were fraught with danger. Consequently the Gujarat riots of 2001 hit her very hard and she never fully recovered from the deep mental agony she felt at the pogroms that were conducted against the mulsims in which she lost many close friends of hers. She was also partly affected by the fact that though she was a prolific writer in magazines and journals she was not able to publish her written work as a full length book despite many efforts made in this regard. Last year finally she succeeded in this and her first book on feminism was published to good critical reviews - "Negotiating Complexities: A Collection of Feminist Essays". This seemed to lift her out of her depression considerably when she was suddenly taken ill with a severe bout of pneumonia. Inexplicably she never recovered and died in hospital after just two days leaving all her dear and near ones shocked and numbed. I can do no better than dedicate the last stanza of Hotel California to the memory of this brave and deeply human friend of mine who made me aware of many of my blind spots -


Mirrors on the ceiling, the pink champagne on ice
And she said 'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'
And in the master's chambers, they gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast
Last thing I remember, I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before
'Relax' said the night man, 'We are programed to receive'
'You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave'

The Eagles played a new and fabulous acoustic version of the song during their "Hell Freezes Over" live tour and to see them performing live click here

Across The Universe

About twentyfive years ago I was sitting in our home in Duliajan in Assam with my head bowed down, ostensibly listening to my late father giving me a severe dressing down for rejecting a career in the corporate sector after graduating as a civil engineer and instead deciding to go and do voluntary work among the adivasis. Useless lotus eating he dubbed it. I was only half listening to him, however, and silently humming a song -

words are flying out like
endless rain into a paper cup
they slither while they pass
they slip away across the universe
pools of sorrow waves of joy
are drifting through my open mind
possessing and caressing me
jai guru deva om
nothing's gonna change my mind
nothing's gonna change my mind
nothing's gonna change my mind
nothing's gonna change my mind

This memory came back to me because the anniversaries of some epoch making events have coincided over the recent past which are all related to that day. First this beautiful song, "Across the Universe", by the Beatles, which has been described by John Lennon as philosophically the best lyrics he has written and acknowledged by connoisseurs as being musically one of their best, has been beamed out by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration in the USA  (NASA) in digital form towards the North Star Polaris as a signal to extra terrestrial beings of the existence of human beings on earth on the occasion of the fiftieth anniversary of the formation of NASA and the fortieth annivesary of the composition of the first version of the song. Secondly this year is the twentyfifth anniversary of my choosing to work among the adivasis which has been the best decision I have ever taken in my life. Finally this is also almost the twentieth anniversary of my first meeting in 1989 with my surrogate father Baba Amte who passed away today in Anandwan after a long illness at the age of ninetyfour. A sad occasion which brings back to me all the great things that this modern saint had done throughout his life and prompts me to sing the second stanza of the song as an affirmation of my continued determination to follow the path I have chosen and on which I received critical support from him -

images of broken light which
dance before me like a million eyes
that call me on and on across the universe
thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box
they tumble blindly as
they make their way across the universe
jai guru deva om
nothing's gonna change my mind
nothing's gonna change my mind
nothing's gonna change my mind
nothing's gonna change my mind

There are so many contradictions in this concatenation of anniversaries for me. The setting up of NASA in my opinion was an extremely retrograde materialistic step for humanity while the composition of this song marked the best of east west spiritual fusion as the Beatles at that time were impressed by the virtues of the eastern spiritual tradition of meditation on mantras which they learnt from Maharishi Mahesh Yogi who also has passed away just a few days ago. The first version of the song was released in 1968 for a charity show in support of preservation of wild life and that is why it has the sound of birds flying and chirping in the beginning and the end. Thus it sparked off in a sense the modern environmentalist movement and so in this way too it is contradictory to the crass materialism of NASA. The most poignant contradiction is that between my two fathers. While my biological father was dead against my decision to go into the wilds among the adivasis my sociological father Baba Amte not only lauded this decision, which as it happened duplicated his own but also provided me with support at critical times to continue on the path I had chosen. Then there is the contradiction of a non-adivasi middle class Beatles fan like me deciding to spend my life among the Bhils. Political theory, spiritualism and aesthetics combining together in an odd decoction that has finally produced an adivasi loving atheist and anarchist.

Baba Amte is a modern icon like the Beatles and Mahesh Yogi were in their own ways. The Beatles brought philosophy to the masses through music, Mahesh Yogi brought spiritualism to the masses through meditation and Baba brought self dignity to the masses through social work and rights activism. Even though Mahesh Yogi has never been much of an inspiration for me yoga and meditation certainly have and there is no end to what can be said on the virtues of the music of the Beatles and the selfless life and work of Baba Amte. Even though it is a sad occasion nevertheless it provides me with an opportunity to rededicate myself to the cause which I chose to serve twentyfive years ago. So I end with the final stanza of this gem of a song that I have hummed time and again since I first heard it as an adolescent -

sounds of laughter shades of life
are ringing through my open ears
exciting and inviting me
limitless undying love which
shines around me like a million suns
it calls me on and on across the universe
jai guru deva om
nothing's gonna change my mind
nothing's gonna change my mind
nothing's gonna change my mind
nothing's gonna change my mind

To listen to the song click here

A Revolutionary Bard

The most inspiring personality for me among the Bhil adivasis is that of Vaharu Sonowane. He hails from an obscure village called Shrikhed on the Maharashtra and Madhya Pradesh border but situated on the former side in Shahada tehsil of Nandurbar district. Since the schools on the Maharashtra side were too far away he studied in Madhya Pradesh in Hindi medium. Thus apart from his native Bhilori he became proficient in both Hindi and Marathi and from a young age began writing poetry. When he passed out of school in the early nineteen seventies the Shramik Sangathana movement of the Bhils of Shahada for their emancipation from the clutches of the landlords had begun. Ambar Singh Maharaj an educated Bhil troubador and social worker had begun singing about the injustice being perpetrated on the Bhil peasants by the landlords and encouraging them to rise in revolt and this struck a responsive chord in the Bhil masses. Vaharu too joined the movement, which was to become one of the landmark movements for adivasi emancipation in independent india, and became one of its leading activists. He has continued to fight for the rights of the adivasis ever since. When there was a split in the movement with a faction opting to join the Communist Party of India (Marxist), Vaharu stayed out and instead formed another faction that aligned with a socialist formation called Shramik Mukti Dal. Later still in the early 1990s he raised the issue of the marginalisation of adivasi activists in the people's movements by the non-adivasis and along with some other adivasi activists formed the Adivasi Ekta Parishad which has over the last decade and a half evolved into the foremost idependent organisation of the Bhil adivasis of western India spanning the states of Rajasthan, Gujarat, Madhya Pradesh and Maharashtra.

What is exemplary about Vaharu is that he is an excellent poet with original compositions in Bhili, Hindi and Marathi. He has been awarded for his poems in Marathi some of which are modern classics. Here is one example which is poignantly expressive of the dire condition of the Bhils -

My tattered quilt
soiled.
Inside the quilt I remain
suffocated
at its sour smell
nose twitching up and down
turning from one side to the other
nose buried in the quilt I kept
suffering its sour smell.
In this same quilt
ancestors had flickered out
tears had wetted the quilt
and
its sour smell
kept reminding
today's descendants
of ancestral pains.
My tattered quilt
soiled!

Even as early as the nineteen seventies Vaharu was alive to the issue of women's oppression as portrayed in the following gem -

When young a whore
when old a witch
so people say.
People -
people say anything.

A thing, such that
on the road, in the valley
stop her where you find her
embrace her if you wish
leave her if you've had your fill
No call for help, no outcry

The new sari, in it the new daughter-in-law,
falls at the feet of the father-in-law,
grows old and tattered
alongside her sari
and then -
patch on tattered patch
for a lifetime!

There are many more exquisite poems by Vaharu very feelingly transliterated into English by Suhas Paranjape and they can be accessed here  

Bhili Poetry

The Bhils too are great poets and songsters. Their epic songs are really beautiful in their praise of the magnificence of nature. There are some weak translations of these gayaanas as they are called by some anthropologists but they are not digitised. I dont know whether I myself will find the time to do so ever. But the Bhils also have small couplets that they sing all the time and especially during the festivals when boys and girls dance together. Here is a lovely couplet about a young boy courting his lover -

From atop the hill he mischievously reflects the sun
With his small mirror making dabbles on the kitchen door
She is hot and smoky cooking bread squatting on the floor
The light weaves magic and she feels her heart run

another more patriarchal one goes like this -

Like the water bucket in the well
So is rudely buffeted the new bride
When with her in laws she goes to dwell
No escape as she must swallow her pride

Some of the modern Bhili poets have used the traditional style and put in new revolutionary lyrics and this has been most effective in mobilising the Bhil masses to rebellion. The greatest of them all are the poems of Vaharu Sonowane. Vaharu Sonowane was one of the leading activists of the Shramik Sangathana movement of the Bhils of Shahada in Nandurbar district of Maharashtra against the practice of bonded labour. Here is one song by him -

Coming and going to and fro to the police station
Spending time in jails and eating government ration
Courts are our kindergartens we have nothing to fear
Dont bother us brother policeman dont bother us dear

and yet another -

The forest guard comes demanding chicken
The forest guard comes demanding chicken
Now brothers do not give it to them anymore
The sons of tigers we are brave Adivasi men
The sons of tigers we are brave Adivasi men

The Shramik Sangathana in fact was kicked off by another great Bhil singer Amber Singh Maharaj who began singing against the exploitation of the Bhils by the non-adivasi upper castes in the early 1970s. It soon attracted not only the Bhil peasants but also activists from the cities who were disillusioned with the mainstream left and became a beacon for adivasi liberation struggles. In our early days in Jhabua we took a lot of inspiration from this movement.

A few moments of Peace

Yesterday I managed to sneak out some time from my never ending deadlines to visit one of the villages where we have appointed an adivasi youth as a tutor to do a surprise check as to whether he was teaching or not. This is a new scheme of mine. One of the major factors for the backwardness of the Bhil adivasis is their lack of education. So right from the beginning we have done quite a lot in this regard. The main problem with educating adivasis is that just day schooling is not enough for them given the fact that they are mostly first generation learners. So we have set up some residential schools where the students are given extra coaching after school hours also. One such school, the Adharshila Learning Centre has been phenomenally successful. However, setting up and running residential schools is an expensive proposition. Even though we insist on collecting fees from the tribals these do not cover all the expenses of running these residential schools given their basic poverty. So we have to look around for funds and these are not always forthcoming. Consequently to increase our outreach from this year we have started a new scheme. Under this we fund a teacher near an established government school to hold tuition classes before and after school hours for the children. The children pay Rs 30 each for this while we pay the teacher Rs 1500 per month. I had gone to check on one of these teachers. Not only was the guy teaching but after news went round that i had arrived people from two adjoining villages came to meet me and asked me to appoint such teachers in their villages also. Being constrained for funds I had to say that this was not possible at the moment. Today while returning from the village after an overnight stay (the villagers insisted that I stay and witness the adults studying at night. They are paying the teacher we have appointed an additional 300 rupees a month to teach them at night for an hour)I was mulling over the success of this initiative and its cost effectiveness and on the sad fact of the resource constraint that we always face in implementing something on a large scale. But on my return to Indore I found that a friend of mine had sent a hefty cheque in response to an appeal that I had sent out. It gave me a sense of great peace for a few moments in the same way as Jibonanondo felt in the company of Banalata Sen. One of the first modern Bengali poets to come out from under Nobel Laureate Rabindranath Tagore's shadow in a big way was Jibonanondo Dash and one love poem of his has remained a timeless classic - Banalata Sen. Though it is primarily a love poem one can read many meanings into it. When I read this poem for the first time while I was a student in IIT Kharagpur I was far removed from love in the conventional sense and closer to high altitude spiritualism. So I interpreted it as a depiction of one's search for a mission in life and not just loving. And that is the meaning that has remained with me even though I later learned to love also. Thus the poem for me is all about the travails of living passionately for a cause and the few moments of peace that one gets when there is generous help provided by friends in the pursuit of this passion - in this case the uplift of my beloved Bhil adivasis. I am giving the poem as translated by me - 

The paths of this earth have I been treading for a thousand year 

To the seas of Malay in the dark of night from those of Ceylon 

I have travelled far; In the grey world of Ashoka and Bimbisar 

There was I; And even further in the darkness in Vidisha town 

A tired soul am I, amidst the foaming waves of the life ocean 

The few moments of peace I owe to a maid of Natore, Banalata Sen. 

Her hair was the dark night of Bidisha in ages gone by 

A Sravasti sculpture her face; Like the seaman 

Afar on the seas, whose navigation has gone awry

A land of green grass espies among isles of cinnamon 

So saw her I in the darkness; Her bird's nest eyes risen, 

Quoth she, "Where have you been so long?" the maid of Natore, Banalata Sen. 

At day's end like the sound of falling dew 

Evening comes; The hawk wipes the smell of sunlight 

From its wings; The manuscript prepares in a world bereft of hue 

For a tale bedecked in the colour of fireflies bright 

All birds wing homeward, all rivers; On the world's affairs fall a curtain 

Leaving only darkness and for sitting face to face, Banalata Sen.