Decades after the abolition of untouchability, it is alive and well in parts of Uttar Pradesh. Add to that a touch of begar, or forced, unpaid labour, and life can be tough for a dalit in Ghazipur. Writer-journalist P. SAINATH in the second of a series of exclusive reports from around the country on the conditions of dalits.
There are nearly 156 million dalits or members of the scheduled castes in India. That is more than Pakistan’s population. “Dalit” simply means oppressed or ground down. Communities formerly considred “untouchables” under the caste system increasingly describe themselves thus. Whether in employment, literacy or other indicators, dalits are worse off than most. Yet there are signs of restlessness and change within these groups.
Barachawar, Ghazipur (East UP)
When Gulabji says his prayers, he does so in his own temple. Gulabji is a landlord of Barachawar block of Ghazipur district in eastern Uttar Pradesh. He is also a priest and his temple exists within the land he controls. Yet, the shrine has something in common with all the others in the area. Large numbers of people here would not dare enter it. They are, after all, dalits.
There is a paradox, though. Gulabji and other Brahmin priests would never allow dalits to enter their temples. But they often enter dalit bastis to perform wedding and other functions for cash. Gulabji had a useful visit to Karagaon Mushar basti not long ago. He went back with close to Rs 1,500 in cash, some new dhotis and various other gifts. All in a day’s work.
“For them”, says Dina Nath, “we are untouchable. But our money is not.” The signposts of a more commercial era sit well on the map of caste in Ghazipur. How does Gulabji cope with being in the dalit basti? The money helps. And, says Saudagar Ram, “They mostly conduct any ceremonies outside the houses.”
Not all the dalits go to the priests. “Community elders now perform marriages”, says Dina Nath. Who then seeks the services of the Brahmins? Everyone here is mostly poor, but those relatively better off seem to be the ones going to the Hindu priests. A Lucknow-based IAS officer familiar with the regions sees in this “a purchase of respectability – a step, however small, up the social ladder”.
It seems a futile step, because other barriers stay firm. Most dalits in any case cannot afford it. Nor can they enter the temples. You can see their own places of worship within each dalit basti. Usually a raised platform with a few mounds on it, bearing little resemblance to the iconic worship of Hinduism. The dalits have their own ceremonies and festivals. They have little to celebrate and much more to worry about in the “mainstream” festivals.
The one they fear the most is Janmashtami.
“That’s when the police force us to work free for them for some days,” says Hari Charan in the Mushar basti of Karkatpur. Police stations in this belt stage celebrations of Janmashtami that are, by standards here, quite lavish. These require a lot of physical labour. That is where the dalits come in.
Begar, or forced labour, is also alive here. At least, in a few police stations. As elsewhere, it is directly tied to caste. Within the dalits, the Mushars, poorest of the poor have it works. And when the practitioners are the police, escape is unlikely. What happens if, say, the Mushars refuse or resist?
“You go to the lockup”, says Hari Charan cheefully. This is not just on the issue of forced labour. “Generally”, says the IAS officer, “lower level officials have over the decades dealt with these sections by slapping cases on them. Often falsely.”
Hari Charan might be literate. His knowledge of the Indian Penal Code, however, would startle a city lawyer. He – and many like him here – can cite section after section of the IPC with some accuracy. In Barachawargaon, people spoke with easy familiarity of Sections 109, 111 and 357. In Karkatpur, we were educated on Sections 410 and 412.
The Mushars ought to know. They have been booked under all those sections. Many of them, more than once, and often for no crime at all. Ramchij once spent 12 months in jail before being acquitted b a court. “Let alone bail, I couldn’t afford a lawyer.”
Local interpretations of various IPC sections, though, might startle the legal fraternity. Many seem to have been held “on suspicion” of “planning a dacoity”. And that seems the route to forced labour. Another complication is that police stations failing to meet “targets of arrests jeopardise their own existence. One way out is to pick up those least likely to resist.
“Even this last Janmasthami”, says Hari Charan, “some of us were rounded up and taken to the nearby police station. They wanted us to chop wood for them, to make atta, to sweep and clean the place. It happened before. But this time, we refused though they threatened us. Why should we? They pay us nothing.”
Do they force the women, too? “They don’t have to”, says Keshari, a Mushar woman. “They know that our fear of the men being locked up will draw us there.”
Kapil Dev of Malari village, recalls how he visited a nearby thana to get 10 Mushars released in 1996. Dev, who heads the activist group Poorvanchal Gramin Vikas Evam Prashikshan Sansthan, says: “They were cutting wood, doing various chores. After much protest, they were release within two days. Sometimes they are forced to carry seized goods. They are given nothing for that labour, not even food.”
Yet, some say things have improved. Groups like the PGVPS have helped that process locally. In a wider sense, so has the Kanshi Ram-Mayawati phenomenon. Even Ramchij who spent 12 pointless months in jail feels so. “It used to be worse”, says Hari Charan. But “now we have started standing up to them.”
Bhola Shrivastav, officer in charge of the police thana at Muhammadabad denies firmly that police in any way target the dalits. “Besides”, he says, “it is not so easy for anyone to push them around any more. There has been some awakening these past few years.”
He however believes there are deep-rooted “social problems” leading to discrimination. One officer also spoke of upper castes rigging cases against dalits. “They then put up the ball for the same man. He becomes beholden for them.” At the Karimuddin and Baresar police stations in Barachawar block – the two most named by dalits speaking of begar – we met no senior officers. They were all on election duty those days.
The IAS officer says there is “social sanction to such practices across east UP. Some administators have tried to break them, with little success. It’s linked to the problem of resources. If the same Hari Charan owned 15 acres of land, would anyone dream of forcing him to do free labour?”
But the dalits, who make up a fifth of Ghazipur’s population of 1.4 million, are mostly landless or marginal farmers.
Of the dalits, though, several Mushars opt out of the agricultural labour force. They seek food and firewood in the forest. Or pick up wasted or damaged crop in the fields. some rear a few pigs but almost none own cattle. You can see a few chopping logs of wood with a Ramma, an odd, spear-like tool.
In economic terms, they are at the bottom of the heap. Yet, despite the odds, some now assert their dignity more forcefully. A few are militant. As Inari Devi in the Mushar basti of Gunhapa Nasirpur told us: “Here the police trouble us less now. The last time they came, we chased them out. They did not return.”
A couple of police stations might have a lot of work to do next Janmashtami. Their own.
Published in The Hindu, April 5, 1998