We Lost Our Land and Soul
Until a few days ago Raghunathpur was an unknown, God-forsaken village. But today it was swarming with news vans, and news reporters scuttled to ferret out heart-wrenching tales from the desolate villagers. Some villagers were indeed relishing the attention bestowed on them; hence they themselves went ahead to deluge the news reporters with their tragic stories. It seemed as if they were competing against each other to give the most excruciatingly painful account of their lives. However, Suryakant sat brooding on the bank of the brook, a little away from the hub-bub of the village. He was disgusted by the limelight shone unsolicited on their sorrows and the obnoxious way in which the news reporters as well as the politicians were capitalising on their grief. He wondered, “Why do we, the poor, voiceless people always have to bear the brunt of the carelessness of others?” Perhaps, in answer to his query a silent tear rolled down his cheek.
Having lost the track of time, he sat motionless on the brook bank, while his mind sank into oblivion. He didn’t realise how long he had been sitting in that vegetative state, when he was wrenched back to reality by someone calling his name. His self-imposed exile couldn’t save him from being accosted by the news reporter. He let out a sigh of resignation when he saw the approaching news reporter beckoning him. Within a few minutes the news reporter reached the brook bank and after a brief moment of deliberation plonked herself down on the barren ground beside Suryakant. Suryakant’s reticence didn’t dampen her enthusiasm even an iota. Without sparing any time on the niceties she straightaway began her interview.
Drawing in a deep breath she shot her first question, “Sir, I am aware that within a span of a few weeks you have lost your wife, son and daughter-in-law. I am extremely sorry for your loss, but …” “No, you are not. And you are under no obligation to pretend that you are sorry for me.” The news reporter was cut short by this vehement reply of Suryakant. But the news reporter was not to be cowed down; she recommenced, “Sir, please calm down. I am not as insensitive as you think. I am here only to know the story, your side of the story.” “Yes, so that you can sell our tears and earn easy money. The only language you understand is that of money. What do you care for the loss of poor, insignificant people like us?” snapped Suryakant. Suryakant had nothing left to lose in this world but he was determined not to let these agents of predatory capitalists snatch away his grief, the only thing he could cling on to in this lonely, desolate world. The news reporter softened her stern countenance and spoke in earnest, “Sir, the world has been complacent for too long. However, the time has come to jerk it out of its complacent slumber. Hence, it is imperative that you tell your story before it is too late to act. You need to understand that this is not merely your personal loss, and we are not here for petty political or monetary gains. Your tragedy is also the tragic story of the failure of entire humankind. The world needs to hear your story because it is a stark reminder of how we have failed our environment, our earth, our only home.” Suryakant was struck speechless by this impassioned plea. He sat brooding for a long while during which neither of them uttered a word. After what seemed like an eternity, he let out a deep, melancholic sigh and began:
“It all started seven years ago during an election rally. In that election the incumbent MLA faced a tough competition from his opponent, an independent candidate. To consolidate his position, the incumbent MLA promised us an industry in the vicinity of our village which would provide us employment without requiring us to leave our village. It was the first time that we were promised something relatively tangible and permanent, because prior to that all we got from the candidates during elections was free food and liquor. Also, we were tired of our youth going away to far-off places in search of employment, leaving us lonely and vulnerable. Hence, quite obviously we ignorant, rustic people were taken in by the tall promises of the MLA and pledged our support to him.
He and his party won the elections with a sweeping majority, and a few days later he came to thank us and assure us about the deliverance of his promises. However, that was the last we saw him in the next five years to come. Though we didn’t mind not seeing him yet we waited with bated breath for the promised industry. Now that I look back, I realize ignorance is the breeding ground of optimism. However, days turned into months, months into years, still no industry materialized, yet we waited with a frustrating optimism. Almost three years elapsed since the promise was made with no vestige of industry materializing anywhere within 80 miles of the village. This finally led us to think that the MLA had quite conveniently forgotten us as well as the promises made to us. But surprisingly we were proved wrong, and that too very soon.
Within a few months construction began a few miles off the village. Gradually, we gathered that a metal smelting and manufacturing industry was conceptualised on the site where presently the wage earners were labouring hard with its construction. Initially we couldn’t believe our luck, for we had no precedents of politicians fulfilling their promises. But as the magnanimous industry started taking shape, our joys knew no bound. Also, it was a proud moment for all of us as Raghunathpur was to become the only village with an industry probably in the entire state.
The construction workers worked very efficiently since the industry was inaugurated within a year. At the inaugural program all the residents of Raghunathpur were invited and the chairman of the industry personally welcomed us. He assured us that the residents of Raghunathpur will be given preference for employment though thousands of people from far-off areas had also applied for job. Thus the industry will not only be the biggest generator of jobs for the villagers but will also aid in the economic development of the village by transforming it into an industrial hub. The program concluded with distributing sweets amongst us. We were so impressed by the eloquence of the chairman’s speech that we would have readily laid down our lives at his feet had he asked us to. Alas! Little did we know then that he was going to extract a price heavier than our lives for transforming our wretched village into an industrial hub.
All the able-bodied boys and men of our village who had applied for job were employed within a week of the inauguration. My son was also among the first batch of men employed by the industry. Though the salary was not very generous and the working hours were too rigorous yet we were all happy with it. However, the initial exuberance was soon subdued by an absurd quagmire. Since all the able-bodied men were employed by the industry, the question arose who will till the lands? The question was immensely significant to us. Though we may welcome industry, yet we are primarily agriculturalists and we were not ready to abandon our traditional occupation. Leaving our fertile ancestral land fallow was simply impossible for us. Hence after weeks of debate and deliberation, we agreed on the decision to allow women to till the land. The decision was welcomed by all.
Life couldn’t have been in better in those few months. Our men toiled hard in the industry while our women toiled hard in the farms. There was always enough money and enough food. In the initial few seasons our agricultural yield was excellent, every farmland produced abundant crop. We praised our women for their commendable work. On the other hand, the industry was performing equally well with optimum production. Nevertheless, the growth of the company never reflected itself in its employees’ salaries; they remained as dismal as ever. Yet we never complained for we never again went to bed with an empty stomach, and it was all that mattered.
However, things started going downhill a year later. The landfill that you see there was a lush green meadow four years ago. The landfill is one of the earliest gifts of the industry to Raghunathpur, the others followed soon. The company started dumping all its solid wastes on the meadows while the effluents were discharged in this very brook which flows by us. Four years ago it was not as dismal as it looks now. Back then it was a gushing river with pristine blue water and was the abode of thousands of fish and other marine creatures. I know this brown, stinking, dirty rivulet in front of us does not corroborate my description of it, but again four years ago Raghunathpur was an altogether different world. Initially we didn’t mind the dumped waste for it neither encroached on our land nor did it stink. We had no inkling either of the magnanimous proportion that the landfill would acquire within a year of its inception or its insidious implications on our lives.
Soon our agricultural yield diminished drastically. At first we blamed our women for shirking their duties, but deep down we all knew that they worked as diligently as ever. However no amount of castigation and blaming would increase the yield, so we resorted to more trusted means of increasing yields such as chemical fertilizers and pesticides. For a while these chemicals worked their magic as there was a noticeable increase in the yield. But soon they too gave up their charm and left us not only with a dismal yield but also with a menacing debt. Most of us took loans to pay for the fertilizers, pesticides, and other chemicals which we believed will magically increase our yield. But very soon that magic dissipated leaving us in the cruel reality with the daunting task of repaying our loans. Though our men had a secured job but as I said their salary was not very generous. The money was enough to sustain us but not enough to pay off debt. Many men faced with this herculean task preferred the easy escape of suicide over the strenuous toil of life; my son was one of them.
Gradually, our land stopped sprouting life altogether. Our fertile, verdant, ancestral land was transformed into a barren, desolate wasteland. We had no food-grains left in our granaries. The luxury of three square meals a day was a long forgotten dream. However, this was only half the misfortune which struck us, for a few months later we were to suffer the full extent of it. As we were dealing with the daily grinds of life, another calamity smote us. Suddenly and quite inexplicably, many apparently healthy villagers fell ill in a rapid succession. Some of the afflicted villagers survived this calamity but they were rendered crippled, while the luckier lot, which included my wife and daughter-in-law, sunk into an eternal sleep.
A few weeks ago a group of people visited the village. After examining the land and water they informed us that the land and water of Raghunathpur has been contaminated beyond redemption thereby rendering the area uninhabitable. Now the government expects us to relocate. Where shall we go? This is our only home.
Indeed, we paid a hefty price for transforming our Raghunathpur into an industrial hub. We lost our land, our water, our home as well our soul. I wonder how long I am doomed to suffer in this perdition, which was once our home.”
Having lost the track of time, he sat motionless on the brook bank, while his mind sank into oblivion. He didn’t realise how long he had been sitting in that vegetative state, when he was wrenched back to reality by someone calling his name. His self-imposed exile couldn’t save him from being accosted by the news reporter. He let out a sigh of resignation when he saw the approaching news reporter beckoning him. Within a few minutes the news reporter reached the brook bank and after a brief moment of deliberation plonked herself down on the barren ground beside Suryakant. Suryakant’s reticence didn’t dampen her enthusiasm even an iota. Without sparing any time on the niceties she straightaway began her interview.
Drawing in a deep breath she shot her first question, “Sir, I am aware that within a span of a few weeks you have lost your wife, son and daughter-in-law. I am extremely sorry for your loss, but …” “No, you are not. And you are under no obligation to pretend that you are sorry for me.” The news reporter was cut short by this vehement reply of Suryakant. But the news reporter was not to be cowed down; she recommenced, “Sir, please calm down. I am not as insensitive as you think. I am here only to know the story, your side of the story.” “Yes, so that you can sell our tears and earn easy money. The only language you understand is that of money. What do you care for the loss of poor, insignificant people like us?” snapped Suryakant. Suryakant had nothing left to lose in this world but he was determined not to let these agents of predatory capitalists snatch away his grief, the only thing he could cling on to in this lonely, desolate world. The news reporter softened her stern countenance and spoke in earnest, “Sir, the world has been complacent for too long. However, the time has come to jerk it out of its complacent slumber. Hence, it is imperative that you tell your story before it is too late to act. You need to understand that this is not merely your personal loss, and we are not here for petty political or monetary gains. Your tragedy is also the tragic story of the failure of entire humankind. The world needs to hear your story because it is a stark reminder of how we have failed our environment, our earth, our only home.” Suryakant was struck speechless by this impassioned plea. He sat brooding for a long while during which neither of them uttered a word. After what seemed like an eternity, he let out a deep, melancholic sigh and began:
“It all started seven years ago during an election rally. In that election the incumbent MLA faced a tough competition from his opponent, an independent candidate. To consolidate his position, the incumbent MLA promised us an industry in the vicinity of our village which would provide us employment without requiring us to leave our village. It was the first time that we were promised something relatively tangible and permanent, because prior to that all we got from the candidates during elections was free food and liquor. Also, we were tired of our youth going away to far-off places in search of employment, leaving us lonely and vulnerable. Hence, quite obviously we ignorant, rustic people were taken in by the tall promises of the MLA and pledged our support to him.
He and his party won the elections with a sweeping majority, and a few days later he came to thank us and assure us about the deliverance of his promises. However, that was the last we saw him in the next five years to come. Though we didn’t mind not seeing him yet we waited with bated breath for the promised industry. Now that I look back, I realize ignorance is the breeding ground of optimism. However, days turned into months, months into years, still no industry materialized, yet we waited with a frustrating optimism. Almost three years elapsed since the promise was made with no vestige of industry materializing anywhere within 80 miles of the village. This finally led us to think that the MLA had quite conveniently forgotten us as well as the promises made to us. But surprisingly we were proved wrong, and that too very soon.
Within a few months construction began a few miles off the village. Gradually, we gathered that a metal smelting and manufacturing industry was conceptualised on the site where presently the wage earners were labouring hard with its construction. Initially we couldn’t believe our luck, for we had no precedents of politicians fulfilling their promises. But as the magnanimous industry started taking shape, our joys knew no bound. Also, it was a proud moment for all of us as Raghunathpur was to become the only village with an industry probably in the entire state.
The construction workers worked very efficiently since the industry was inaugurated within a year. At the inaugural program all the residents of Raghunathpur were invited and the chairman of the industry personally welcomed us. He assured us that the residents of Raghunathpur will be given preference for employment though thousands of people from far-off areas had also applied for job. Thus the industry will not only be the biggest generator of jobs for the villagers but will also aid in the economic development of the village by transforming it into an industrial hub. The program concluded with distributing sweets amongst us. We were so impressed by the eloquence of the chairman’s speech that we would have readily laid down our lives at his feet had he asked us to. Alas! Little did we know then that he was going to extract a price heavier than our lives for transforming our wretched village into an industrial hub.
All the able-bodied boys and men of our village who had applied for job were employed within a week of the inauguration. My son was also among the first batch of men employed by the industry. Though the salary was not very generous and the working hours were too rigorous yet we were all happy with it. However, the initial exuberance was soon subdued by an absurd quagmire. Since all the able-bodied men were employed by the industry, the question arose who will till the lands? The question was immensely significant to us. Though we may welcome industry, yet we are primarily agriculturalists and we were not ready to abandon our traditional occupation. Leaving our fertile ancestral land fallow was simply impossible for us. Hence after weeks of debate and deliberation, we agreed on the decision to allow women to till the land. The decision was welcomed by all.
Life couldn’t have been in better in those few months. Our men toiled hard in the industry while our women toiled hard in the farms. There was always enough money and enough food. In the initial few seasons our agricultural yield was excellent, every farmland produced abundant crop. We praised our women for their commendable work. On the other hand, the industry was performing equally well with optimum production. Nevertheless, the growth of the company never reflected itself in its employees’ salaries; they remained as dismal as ever. Yet we never complained for we never again went to bed with an empty stomach, and it was all that mattered.
However, things started going downhill a year later. The landfill that you see there was a lush green meadow four years ago. The landfill is one of the earliest gifts of the industry to Raghunathpur, the others followed soon. The company started dumping all its solid wastes on the meadows while the effluents were discharged in this very brook which flows by us. Four years ago it was not as dismal as it looks now. Back then it was a gushing river with pristine blue water and was the abode of thousands of fish and other marine creatures. I know this brown, stinking, dirty rivulet in front of us does not corroborate my description of it, but again four years ago Raghunathpur was an altogether different world. Initially we didn’t mind the dumped waste for it neither encroached on our land nor did it stink. We had no inkling either of the magnanimous proportion that the landfill would acquire within a year of its inception or its insidious implications on our lives.
Soon our agricultural yield diminished drastically. At first we blamed our women for shirking their duties, but deep down we all knew that they worked as diligently as ever. However no amount of castigation and blaming would increase the yield, so we resorted to more trusted means of increasing yields such as chemical fertilizers and pesticides. For a while these chemicals worked their magic as there was a noticeable increase in the yield. But soon they too gave up their charm and left us not only with a dismal yield but also with a menacing debt. Most of us took loans to pay for the fertilizers, pesticides, and other chemicals which we believed will magically increase our yield. But very soon that magic dissipated leaving us in the cruel reality with the daunting task of repaying our loans. Though our men had a secured job but as I said their salary was not very generous. The money was enough to sustain us but not enough to pay off debt. Many men faced with this herculean task preferred the easy escape of suicide over the strenuous toil of life; my son was one of them.
Gradually, our land stopped sprouting life altogether. Our fertile, verdant, ancestral land was transformed into a barren, desolate wasteland. We had no food-grains left in our granaries. The luxury of three square meals a day was a long forgotten dream. However, this was only half the misfortune which struck us, for a few months later we were to suffer the full extent of it. As we were dealing with the daily grinds of life, another calamity smote us. Suddenly and quite inexplicably, many apparently healthy villagers fell ill in a rapid succession. Some of the afflicted villagers survived this calamity but they were rendered crippled, while the luckier lot, which included my wife and daughter-in-law, sunk into an eternal sleep.
A few weeks ago a group of people visited the village. After examining the land and water they informed us that the land and water of Raghunathpur has been contaminated beyond redemption thereby rendering the area uninhabitable. Now the government expects us to relocate. Where shall we go? This is our only home.
Indeed, we paid a hefty price for transforming our Raghunathpur into an industrial hub. We lost our land, our water, our home as well our soul. I wonder how long I am doomed to suffer in this perdition, which was once our home.”
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