In the extremely polarised era in the India that we live in, a biography of a contentious person, Vinayak Damodar Savarkar (1883-1966) is bound to attract substantial attention. This is not limited to the popular domain of public history but also in the scholarly domain. Historian Janaki Bakhle (Columbia University) has intervened in this sphere, first with two of her long, well-researched essays in 2010. These essays created a temptation among academics and expectations from Bakhle that she brings out a comprehensive biography of Savarkar. The wait took long. Eventually, this large volume has come out. In terms of methodological rigour, the book is indeed an extraordinarily impressive work.

This is perhaps for the first time that Savarkar has been studied not in a hagiographic account but with extraordinary scrutiny of a multitude of sources and evidence: the thick files of police and intelligence reports and a deep engagement with the range of Marathi language sources. This awe-inspiring volume inevitably impresses a discerning student of history with the range of the facets of Savarkar: his anti-colonial revolutionary activities, his anti-Muslim hatred, his radical caste reformism, his Marathi language oeuvres in prose and poetry (creative and rhetorical), the way he looked upon and weaponised history, and the ways he adapted to fashion himself into a legend in his own time through both mythologization and sacralization. In this segment, Janaki Bakhle looks into all hagiographical accounts (around 250 tracts) on and by Savarkar, mostly in the Marathi language. Bakhle says that between 1924 and 1937 Savarkar wrote around 300 essays on various issues, in Marathi, and therefore she makes it clear (p. 423) as to why did she has looked so deeply and closely into Savarkar’s Marathi writings, hitherto untapped by historians:

In this book I have kept in mind Theodor Adorno’s aphorism that one must be steeped in a tradition to hate it properly. By hate, Adorno meant critique, which I take to mean both appreciation and analysis. I have steeped myself in the traditions that surround Savarkar so I could present a new view, scholarly and dispassionate, but also embedded in the traditions and milieu that spawned his life and his legends. I have tried to present Savarkar as a man of intense nationalist passion who was seen as extraordinarily dangerous (hence important and influential) by the colonial authorities, yet who was used (perhaps unwittingly) at the same time by them to further their own agenda.

Janaki Bakhle’s study doesn’t go beyond 1937, even though, while evaluating Savarkar’s “historical” and performable writings, his 1963 account, Six Glorious Epochs has also been subjected to scrutiny and analysis. By terminating the study in 1937, Janaki Bakhle skips the story of Savarkar’s alleged roles in plotting the assassination of Gnadhiji wherein he was acquitted owing to lack of sufficient evidence. The critics of Savarkar may argue that a further trial based on “circumstantial evidence” may have culminated into a different end result This continues to intrigue many as to why neither Nehru, Sardar Patel (who barely spoke against the RSS before January 30, 1948) and Morarji Desai (whose 1974 autobiography hints at something) and other such leaders in power pursued this case further? Was it because such a judicial pursuit may have created administratively unmanageable revulsion from the admirers of Savarkar? Did Savarkar really carry a strong charisma among a section of his fellow castes in parts of his home province?

A close reader of the last three chapters of Bakhle may get some hint/clue about the answers to the last question. In fact, just as a powerful fiction leaves readers thinking for long after having finished reading the story, Bakhle leaves her discerning readers thinking on so many aspects of Savarkar. Bakhle’s relevant chapters clearly suggest that Savarkar, the poet-politician, rhetorical essay-writer, and playwright, the “nation’s bard”, was a sort of cult among a section of the Marathi literary world (for communalisation of this segment of Marathi population, see T C A Raghavan’s 1983 essay). Thus, Savarkar’s pre-Cellular Jail life when he was fiercely anti-colonial revolutionary, and his post-1924 life when he fashioned himself first and foremost as a poet and Marathi litterateur besides a rationalist anti-caste social reformist, helped him become quite a charismatic figure for a section of the Marathi-speaking population. That he “was not sporadically or episodically anti-Muslim; he was deeply and systematically anti-Muslim” (p. 148) could be no less significant factor in his popularity among certain quarters.

The first two chapters rely much upon a critically insightful examination of intelligence reports of the colonial police. The author rightly says that Savarkar spent all his public life under state surveillance (even after independence too). Bakhle is very clear about (a specific contention around Savarkar) that his anti-Muslim hatred always existed and that it had nothing to do with the rumour that he turned anti-Muslim only after he received maltreatment at the hands of a Muslim in the Cellular Jail. However, Savarkar’s anti-Muslim hatred became much more pronounced with the start of the Khilafat Movement, and it served the colonial interest very well. He looked upon Khilafat agitation as an “international conspiracy to steal Hindu sovereignty”.

Bakhle deals with colonial motives in great detail while detailing the Savarkar-Gandhi-Khilafat issue. It provokes scholars of the field to re-look into the hitherto untold impact of the pan-Islamist Khilafat agitation upon a section of Hindus. Apprehensions of Lala Lajpat Rai (Intezar Husain’s 1999 Urdu biography of Hakim Ajmal Khan, Ajmal-e-Azam, records it) were not far different from those of Savarkar on the issue. The colonial power-play of pitting the two religious communities of India against each other is brought out very deeply and comprehensively by Bakhle. Bakhle, quite rightly, makes it a point to mention that many eminent Muslim leaders and scholars were not for the institution of Khilafat, such as, Sir Syed (1817-1898), Ashraf Ali Thanwi (1863-1943), Ahmed Riza Barelvi (1856-1921), Shibli Numani (1857-1914) and Anwar Shah Kashmiri of Deoband. Despite this, by the time the World War-I began, Indian Muslims became so agitated in favour of the Khilafat keeping themselves quite oblivious to the anti-Caliphate upsurge of the Turks at home in Turkey. This aspect needed little more detailed treatment, in order to understand the sentiments of those segments of Hindus who were apprehensive about pan-Islamist “designs” of Indian Muslims. Yet, Gandhiji extended unconditional support to them in the early 1920s.

A further engagement with Azmi Ozcan’s 1997 book, Pan Islamism: Indian Muslims, the Ottomans and Britain, 1877-1924 would have further enriched the book under review. Ozcan makes it clear that Indian Muslims turned sympathetic to the Turkish Caliphate only in the 1870s, when the Ottoman-British relations began to deteriorate. Otherwise, the Ottomans and Mughals were not on good terms. There are indications that the former remained in apprehension that Mughals might snatch away their Caliphate. Mughal princess and writer Gulbadan Begam (1570s; see Rumer Godden’s 1975 biography), Sikandar Begum of Bhopal (1861) and the Tonk State administrator (1871) faced hostilities of the Haj administrators under the Ottoman Caliphate (see Ziauddin Sardar, 2014, Mecca: The Sacred City). Janaki Bakhle however does benefit from Naeem Qureshi (2014) who explains the Ottoman anxiety and insecurity, as they were the first Caliphs to have been non-Arab and non-descendant of the Prophet Mohammad (p. 91).

Bakhle misses to note that, not only Savarkar, long before that, since 1877-1878, Indian Muslim leaders too, were under colonial surveillance for their growing sympathies with the Ottomans. Just two decades back, in 1857, the Mughal state had already been liquidated. It would be pertinent to note that Turkish Cap became a fad in the MAO College of Aligarh (which was founded in 1877). Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hameed II (1876-1909) was reclaiming the Caliphate, calling himself, Imam-ul-Muslimeen, which had receptivity across Asia, Africa, including British India. Soon after Hameed, India’s Pan Islamists would form Anjuman-e-Khuddam-e-Kaba (Society of the Servants of Kaba) in 1912-13.

The colonial intelligence reports about India’s Khilafat leaders and Savarkar’s vitriol against the same carry some degree of resemblance in tone, tenor and vocabulary. She devotes considerable number of pages on the evolution of colonial policing and surveillance, which is quite useful for evidence-based historical research.

Savarkar’s deep antipathy against the Ali Brothers is understandable. While the former looked upon Kemal Ataturk as a secular saviour, the later was agitating passionately about the preservation of Caliphate. Interestingly, Jinnah too displayed a limited, essential resemblance with Savarkar on this specific issue. Also, in the post-Tilak phase of the nationalist mass movement both Savarkar and Jinnah developed an antipathy against Gandhiji. Contrary to assertions from some circles, at least for once, by 1927, we do find Savarkar speaking against Jinnah. In Savarkar’s understanding all Muslim leaders were for enhancing Muslim numbers through conversion, and that they bargained to obtain concessions from Hindus, issuing a threat that “whatever demands Muslims make, all of them have to be immediately granted by Hindus, otherwise with the help of Afghanistan or some other Muslim country we will establish Muslim rule in India” (p. 124).

Subsequently, like Savarkar, Shaukat Ali too (in 1933) would seek clemency from the colonial state to secure his pension to be restored from 1919, rather than from 1933 (something Janaki Bakhle has ommitted). Nonetheless, with meticulous and detailed surveillance reports obtained about Savarkar from the colonial state, helps Bakhle conclude almost irrefutably that the Colonial state always looked upon Savarkar as a tool to be used for creating Hindu-Muslim hostility (p. 423) and made a greater use of him after 1937.

Janaki Bakhle brings out the merits of Savarkar’s caste reformism, something which has remained largely unacknowledged among the non-Marathi readers. She however doesn’t gloss over the limitations of Savarkar’s reformism. “[H]e never developed a critique of caste that acknowledged its deep connections to structures of power, access, and wellbeing” (p. 151). This chapter makes comprehensive engagement with the positions of Gandhi, Ambedkar and Savarkar on the issues of caste and untouchability. Savarkar’s pathologically obsessive pursuit of ethno-nationalism wanted to convert caste (jati) into Hindu ethnicity through an upper-caste Brahminic lens (p. 153). However, on this count, for a more informed critique of Ambedkar and its divergence as well as convergence (in terms of anti-Muslim utterances) with Savarkar, an engagement with Keith Meadowcroft’s works could have proven more useful.

Savarkar’s ethnonationalist project is analysed quite brilliantly in each chapter. He wanted to cure his “nation” of the “narcoleptic sleep disorder”, suggests Bakhle (p. 352). Scrutinizing him as “nationalist historian” she looks into his 1963 text, Six Glorious Epochs as a “defensive tract about the Hindu Mahasabha, which had held itself aloof from Gandhi and the INC-led Quit India Movement [of 1942]”, and where he “appears both angry and tired”.

This is a commendable work not only to know of many lesser known aspects and psyche of her subject (Savarkar) but also to learn much more about the divisive power-play of the British, the crucial decades of the nationalist movement during the 1920s and 1930s, and it unpacks new layers of Hindu anxiety around the Pan-Islamist Muslims of India. Janaki Bakhle’s historiographic rigour, insight (and beautiful prose) uncovers the genesis behind contemporary resurgence of Hindutva. A must read both for the specialists as well as popular reading which settles many contentions of public history on the subject.

Related:

The AMU Teachers’ Association (AMUTA) and Waqf Worries: Ordinary members of the Qaum are caught between a self-serving elite and a majoritarian Regime

Political History of India’s Two Muslim Universities since 1947

The Waqf Bill 2024: An Open Letter to the Joint Committee of Parliament, the Opposition, and India’s Muslim Communities

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In December 2020, the Aligarh Muslim University (AMU), Sir Syed Ahmad Khan’s dream-come-true, completed a hundred years. It’s an occasion the global community of its proud alumni – the ‘Aligs’ – would have celebrated in grand style. But the raging pandemic put paid to any such plan. However, it did provide time and space for one Alig to pay a unique tribute to his alma mater in the form of a book: Aligarh Muslim University – The Making of the Modern Indian Muslim. The author Mohammed Wajihuddin is a senior journalist at the Times of India.

As is clear from the Notes at the end of his book, lots has been written on Sir Syed, the Mohammedan Anglo-Oriental (MAO) College founded by him in 1877 and its later avatar, the AMU. But this is perhaps the first journalistic account on the subject which accounts for the easy-read, engaging text that flowed out of Wajihuddin’s keyboard.

In his book, Wajihuddin reminds readers on more than one occasion how Sir Syed was not interested simply in a university for Indian Muslims to dish out degrees in this or that subject. Rather, by founding an educational institution to act as the “intellectual hub of Indian Muslims”, infuse in them the spirit of modernism, rationalism, scientific thinking, he “stirred the waters of the stagnant Muslim community”.

The success of that venture is evident from the galaxy of freedom fighters, political stalwarts, writers, poets, actors and other luminaries associated with AMU at different points in its hundred-years-old history. Here is a short list of freedom fighters and national leaders with which the average Indian will be familiar with. Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan (Khudai Khidmatgar), Hasrat Mohani, the Ali brothers, Maulana Abul Kalam Azad (India’s first education minister), Dr Zakir Hussain (President of India), Hamid Ansari (Vice-President). Included among the luminaries from the world of art, literature and sports are Saadat Hasan Manto, Ali Sardar Jafri, K.A. Abbas, Asrarul Haque Majaz, Naseeruddin Shah, Saeed Jaffrey, Shakeel Badayuni, Javed Akhtar, Talat Mehmood (playback singer), C.S. Naidu and Syed Mushtaq Ali (cricketers), Olympians Aslam Sher Khan, Govinda and Zafar Iqbal.

On a personal note, Wajihuddin records how his own life is among the numerous examples of the success of Sir Syed’s dream. On how a brief stint at AMU transformed a boy from small-town Bihar into a modern Indian Muslim. “I owe my existence to AMU. Had it not been for the three years I spent there, I would not have been the person I am today… AMU opened my eyes to the world”.

That, however, is only one side of the story of an institution which was once referred to as the ‘Oxford of the East’. AMU has had its ups and downs. Wajihuddin, who loves his alma mater but not blindly, does not shy away from drawing attention to the not so pretty side of the picture. 

The role played by a significant section of the students, staff and administration in the movement for the partition of the country on the basis of religion remains a major blot. Between 1938 and 1945, Mohammed Ali Jinnah, the founder of Pakistan visited the AMU campus several times to a rousing reception on each occasion. Though they refused to be cowed down, “the ‘nationalist group’ at Aligarh was ridiculed, humiliated and pooh-poohed by the ‘pro-Pakistani’ section at Aligarh as they were outnumbered by the aggressively dominant (Muslim) League sympathisers”. In 1945, Maulana Azad who was dubbed the “poster boy” of the Congress by Jinnah closely escaped being lynched by the pro-Pakistan students. Post-independence, the same Maulana Azad along with Dr Zakir Hussain and others played a stellar role in helping the AMU community recover from the trauma of its own role in the partition saga. 

In a chapter titled ‘A modern institution or madrassa?’ Wajihuddin draws attention to the problematic ‘madrassanisation’ of AMU. While recognizing the dire need for the modernisation of madrassas across the country, he bemoans the fact that by opening its doors to madrassa products from the early 1980s onward, the AMU campus opened itself to students groomed in orthodox, conservative, insular, even regressive outlooks. This is something “the founder Sir Syed would not have approved of”.

Another chapter of the book titled, ‘Bastion of liberalism or hotbed of Islamism?, the author recounts how for long the AMU campus has also been a breeding ground for various Muslim religious outfits including the Tablighi Jamaat and the Jamaat-e-Islami. Though it had a benign agenda at birth in the early 1980s, the banned Students Islamic Movement of India (SIMI), spawned by the Jamaat-e-Islami, emerged from the womb of the AMU. 

“Were Sir Syed to return to his beloved campus, he would not recognize it today—and not only for its physical changes alone,” Wajihuddin writes. But being the optimist that he is, the concluding chapter of the book titled, ‘To the students of AMU’, reminds the present generation that Sir Syed’s mission of founding a modern educational institution was not just to hand out degrees but to impart the spirit of modernism and scientific thinking among Indian Muslims.

“You can take an Alig out of Aligarh but you cannot take Aligarh out of an Alig,” goes the saying. Hopefully the Aligs will read this book and introspect on the role they could play in reorienting AMU towards its original vision and mission.  

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One of the major accusations against the historians in India is that of neglecting and ignoring the role of the marginalised in the freedom struggle. Most of the time, we were ‘informed’ that there were some ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’ of the freedom movement, and then there were historians fighting the ‘political battle’ of ‘history’ and interestingly all of them belonged to the same stock of caste as well as ‘power’ positions as their opponents. None of the them really bothered that a huge country like India will have different take on history or presenting the historical figures.

History is also about events, and not what we personally like or dislike but the fact is history has become the most powerful tool at present to decide our ‘future’. There are claims and counter claims about whose ‘history’ is most authentic, and whose isn’t. But there are vital questions that should be asked:

• Why have been the issues of Dalits and Adivasis been relegated to the back pages of history?
• Why do we deny them agency over what happened?
• Far more importantly, can history be based only on documents, thereby excluding Dalit Adivasi history narratives, recorded in oral traditions?

This is why folk-lore and live stories too become an important tool for understanding history.

Subhash Chandra Kushawaha has emerged as an extremely important chronicler of the history as far as the issue of the marginalised is concern. He has come out with a book that should be essential reading for all who are keen to further study on the Bhil Tribe. His book: ‘Bhil Vidroh: Sangharsh ke sava sau saal’ (Bhil Revolt: One Hundred and Twenty-Five years of Struggle) has been published by Hind Yugm and is in Hindi. It has chronicled their history of 125 years, and a large part of his documentation has been explained through accessing the historical documents in various archives, both in India as well as abroad.

He has covered the period between 1800 to 1925, which has mostly been covered by international newspapers as well as various documents available in various archives. It is not that the history of Bhils has not ‘existed’ prior to it, but there is a historical truth in the fact that documentation pertaining to that period need to be explored as you might not get it in archives but probably in folklore by visiting those places, speaking to people or even visiting the old monuments, structures, listening to traditional songs or understanding whether there is any celebrations or festivities related to that.

Most of the time, the history of Dalits and Adivasis has been obliterated from our ‘manustream’ history writings projects under the flimsy excuse that the “documents or data are not available”. Subhash Chandra Kushwaha has painstakingly done enormous work in connecting the dots. However it needs more exploration now, as he has started a process which must be strengthened further by reaching out to those places and people about whom the work is being done.

Bhils have been victims of our hierarchical caste system and were brutalised and criminalised by the kingly clans of Rajputs prior to arrival of British, explains the author. Bhils were the owner of Khandesh as well as Central India, but were pushed to forest by the ‘Rajput invaders’. Though reading through an extremely important article written by Captain E Barnes and Thomas Emily Young published in ‘The journal of society of Art’ on February 8, 1907, suggests that Jhabua till 1550 was a Bhil Kingdom passed to Rajputs by Akbar. The whole article is extensively narrative which reflect how the British used the data to understand communities but there was much more than mere data in their work. The 1931 census which was done based on caste, gave ample example of scholarship of the British and attempt to understand India’s diversity through different angles including caste and ethnicity.

Subhash Chandra Kushwaha has built up narrative chronologically and they help us understand the areas where Bhils were residing. One full chapter on Khandesh and Bhils of Khandesh, where both the Mughals as well as Marathas fought to control the Bhils. With the ascendency of Bajirao as Peshwa in 1798, Khandesh saw the down fall of various Bhil Jagirdars and anarchy grew afterwards. It is reported that Peshwas remained the most brutal force who actually criminalised Bhils. Equally brutal were Marathas too. The Bhil Rajput relations are well discussed here in the book but it is also acknowledged that ‘Bhilala’ community of Bhils emerged out of relationship between Rajputs men and Bhil women or vice versa. Bhilala’s considered themselves superior to others because of their lineage but other Bhils don’t think so.

The British felt that the Brahmin rulers of Western India made Bhils what they became at that time due to brutalities and criminalisation of Bhils. The story of anarchy and chaos in Bhil land has been very well described in the book. By 1818, anarchy was it was at its prime when British took control of the Khandesh and had to face 80 notorious gangs (these are not my words but as per the book) with over five thousand followers. The British knew it well that it would be difficult to control the anarchy in Khandesh unless Bhils are taken into confidence. They had realised that the chaos and anarchy in the Bhil zones are basically because of the criminalisation process started by the Peshwas and Marathas so the British focused on the ‘policy of reclamation’ and not on policy of extermination as was during the previous regimes. 

By April 1827, Khandesh Bhil corp was born as peace was restored in the region. Mr Kushwaha has explained in the policy of British against the Bhils of Central India and Madhya Bharat in the chapter giving detailed example of how robbery and looting in the region was rampant. It is important to understand why the English felt Bhils could be useful for them as they were brave and loyal.

The chapter ‘Bhil Rebellion in Khandesh and Madhya Bharat’ is extremely informative as it gives example of reasons of Bhils turning to gangs of looters and rebels as the old kingdoms left them unattended during the time of massive drought and famine killing hundreds of people and compelling them to fend for themselves. Bhils were becoming rebels because of their socio-economic condition and exploitation. They were witnessing death and yet never lost fighting honorably.  In 1823, as many as 172 Bhil prisoners out of 232 who were sent from Khandesh died during the journey which reflected the behaviour of the police towards them.

Bhil Revolts

The first Bhil revolt happened in 1804 against Peshwas who as mentioned earlier too were brutal and criminalising Bhils. Prior to British taking over, Bhils fought against the local chieftains, caste prejudiced Rajas and Majarajas who were exploiting them. The book document important heroes of Bhil rebellions such as Nadir Singh Bhil (1802-1820), Gumani Nayak (1819-1820), Cheel Nayak, Dasharath and Kania revolt in 1820, Hiriya Bhil, 1822 and Bhari Bhil 1824. All these are well narrated.

There are numerous other stories ranging from Mulher (Nasik, Maharashtra) historical battle of 1825 till Kunwar Jeeva Vasava in 1846, which also explain how the English tried to divide Bhils on religious lines, as Muslim Bhils were more aggressive and rebellious in nature.

But two important things need to be understood to identify the Adivasi rebellion in India and why the British had actually soft corner for them. The first thing is that Adivasis were fighting to protect their own land from outsiders and for them, whether it is Indian outsiders or British, did not matter. However, the British too wanted to exploit their natural resources. Adivasis in India have always revolted against any attempt to change the nature of their life style and culture. British wanted to exploit the forest resources and wanted to push their ‘citizenship agenda’ everywhere. The census operations started for the purpose of identifying people and resources so that everything is documented. In 1852, land survey was ordered in Jal Gaon area as East India Company wanted to push through its new revenue model and forest was an income generating or revenue generating model for them. There was massive revolt against the British in 1853 and 1858 against their exploitation of the local resources. 

An interesting part in this is that rest of India was also revolting against the British policies but Adivasis and Dalits were always maltreated by those who were claiming discrimination from British. That was the irony that the initial anger and rebellion among Dalits and Adivasis was mainly against the feudal lords who were exploiting them and treating them worse than animals. Subhash Chandra Kushwaha has already brought this aspect in his two-landmark work, ‘Chauri Chaura Revolt and Freedom Movement’ (now available in English too) as well as on ‘Avadh Kisan Vidroh’, gives the other side of the history which has been neglected by the historians. All these movements subsided in the nationalist war cries of Gandhi and Congress party which assimilated them and converted the entire issue as the fight against British Raj. Ignoring the local feudal caste culture was the biggest drawback of Gandhi’s movement though he symbolically tried to address the issue of ‘untouchability’ without attacking the caste system which made it a complete farce.

The second part of the book is focused on Rajputana, Revakanta and Mahi Kanta agency which give us details about the geographical location of the region followed with an analysis of Rajputs and Bhils of Rajputana. Rajputs and Bhils had complex relationship and perhaps historians can work further on the issue particularly in Rajasthan where Rajputs are particular about their historical heritage and mention Maharana Pratap as an extremely benevolent ruler and friend of Bhils. Revakanta was an agency in Gujarat and Mahi-Kanta in Bombay Presidency where Bhils lived in large number and revolted against British policies of acting against Bhil Jagirdars and the military action in 1820 hardly got any success and were able to contain the rebellion to some extent by December 1823.

A separate chapter is on the icons or heroes of Rajputana, Revakanta and Mahi Kanta Bhil revolt beginning with Baroda Bhil revolt in 1804. The first among those heroes by Jagga Rawat (1817-1830) who rejected the domain of the Rajput kings and was arrested on February 27, 1826, and was kept till 1830. But not much is known about his condition later on. Another interesting documentation is the Banswada Rebellion (1872-1875) led by Dalla, Deva, Onkar Rawat and Anupji Bhil. This is explained in a better way which says that the pact in 1868, between Banswada State and the English got the right to suppress Bhils and exploit the natural reserve in those areas. There is also a short yet interesting description of Mewar Bhil Revolt of 1881 but heroic fight of Govind Guru at Mangarh Tekari in the Dungarpur province in 1913 is narrated in extreme details and how the British finally neutralised the Bhils in the region. It was unambiguous that Bhils were revolting against exploitation and refused to do slave labor. There was campaign against alcoholism as well as for vegetarianism, monogamy and against dowry.

Tantya Bhil

In the third part of the book, a biographical sketch of Tantya Bhil who was referred as The Great Indian Moonlighter by foreign media. He was a rebel with a cause and most ferocious who got a Robinhood image as he was a messiah for the poor. Born in 1842, Tantya saw exploitation from the childhood as his ancestral property was illegally grabbed by local feudal lord whose caretaker was killed by Tantya. He was arrested in 1873 and got one year imprisonment. Tantya continued his fight against exploiters and have been in and out of jail for so many times. Since 1878 to 1888 Tantya had over 400 cases of dacoity against him but he was never caught. Police always disturbed his relatives and other family members. Tantya was finally arrested on August 11, 1889. On October 19, 1889, Tantya was sentenced to death by session Judge Lindse Niel in Jabalpur. On December 4, 1889 Tantya was hanged to death inside the Jail.

Though this book itself has a big chapter on Tantya Bhil, Mr Subhash Chandra Kushwaha is writing a separate book on Tantya Bhil.

This book is extremely important to understand the history of Bhil revolt in India though I would say that it is an entry point for future generations to know in details but as a person keen to understand the viewpoint of those who have been denied spaces and deliberate omissions by those suffering from prejudices, it is advisable that attempt should be made to find the local narrative about these incidents. As most of the documentation or references in this book emerge from various archives or international media, there should be an Adivasi side of it too and to explore that it would be good to visit some of these places and document the oral history of the region so that we get the ‘other’ side of the narrative particularly prior to British period as well as during that period.

Subhash Chandra Kushawaha is working on these issues passionately and voluntarily for the last so many years. It is his zeal that made him do this extremely difficult task of documenting things from various archives and libraries. Researchers in the Universities and institutions should now follow it up and dig the Adivasi history further so that they get a fair deal.  We need more and more such initiatives particularly from Adivasi communities and their scholars to take this further towards a logical conclusion.

Name of the Book: Bhil Vidroh: Sangharsh ke sawa sau saal

Author: Subhash Chandra Kushwaha

Publisher: Hind Yugm

Pages: 352

Price: Rs 249

The post BOOK REVIEW – Bhil Vidroh: Sangharsh ke sawa sau saal appeared first on SabrangIndia.

“The preparation was accomplished with phenomenal secrecy, was technically flawless with consistency and assured results. The theme was power. It attracted clusters of young men to support the hidden agenda. Leaders know how passions are aroused and how to prevent the same; they however always see what would be beneficial to them rather than what would be good for the nation. This is what happened in Ayodhya.” (from Liberhan Commission report on demolition of Babri mosque).

Preface

Babri Masjid has become history. A thing of the past.

Soon we will have a Supreme Court judgment on the case regarding the mosque, but as we know, the name of the case itself is something vague — Ram Janmabhoomi – Babri Masjid land dispute case. It is about two entities, and just like the first one, the second one is also nearly a myth by now.

Problems with things of the past is that we soon forget what it was and where it stood. And in current India, it will not be a surprise if after a few more years it does not even find a place in the history books taught in schools. If it finds, it would only appear as a symbol of Muslim aggression. Even the court dispute has become more about beliefs and people’s sentiments than about historic and archaeological evidences. Rightly so. But when an ‘almost’ Hindu nation weighs its sentiments, sentiments of a large section of people go unnoticed. Forgotten. Ignored.

That is precisely why an alternative recording of events become important. Alternative sources of history, when the mainstream history is limited to the heroic accounts of the dominant society and its protagonists. Ram Rajya’s history is about the heroics of Ram. The villainy of Ram and his disciples will have to be heard from the backyards of history. It needs to be told nevertheless. it needs to be heard nevertheless. At least by those who do not want to be run over by these cultural bulldozers.

A multitude of accounts

‘Babri Masjid, 25 Years On’ is a book that came out in 2017, a collection of essays edited by Sameena Dalwai and Ramu Ramanathan. Irfan Engineer’s name is listed as ‘Journal Editor’. It comes after two other important books on the same topic — ‘The Babri Masjid Question 1528-2003: A Matter of National Honour’ and ‘Destruction of the Babri Masjid – A National Dishonour’, both by veteran lawyer and political commentator A G Noorani. What makes this book different is the multitude of accounts and angles covered in the book, as it is told by a spectrum of authors that covers many prominent artists and activists.

I know it is too late to introduce a book that came out almost two years back, so I will stick to highlighting some parts of the book that I find important, and placing it in the context of the legal and sentimental dispute as well as the ‘conscience of the society’ that I am a part of.

Countdown and a Witness account

In his essay ‘Countdown to Ayodhya’, senior journalist Anant Bagaitkar describes political developments centred around the Ayodhya issue close to the demolition. He recollects how he and some other journalists secretly met a senior RSS leader and the conversation they had, where the leader clearly said they were prepared to break the structure if the Government did not yield to pressure by the end of the three month deadline that they had given. This was in July 1992. Later in September, VHP leaders VH Dalmiya and Ashok Singhal declared that a temple could not be constructed without the demolition of the Babri Masjid. In October, VHP organised a meeting of the dharma sansad to consider the future course of action on the issue. In this meeting the decision was taken to resume the kar seva and the date decided was 6 December, 1992.

He also recalls that by November end RSS, VHP, Bajrang Dal and Shiv Sena workers had gathered in Ayodhya as kar sevaks, and even before 6 December, the assembled mob indulged in attacking mosques and mazars (shrines) in the vicinity of Ayodhya.

What follows is a witness account of the events from 1st to 6th December 1992, in an essay by then Maharashtra Times journalist Pratab Asbe who was entrusted with reporting the events in Ayodhya. He recollects that on 5 December, during the rehearsal of the kar seva, leaders had announced that the kar seva on 6th will only be a symbolic gesture. They said, “On 6 December, two lakh kar sevaks will put a fistful of soil in the four-acre  premises of Ram Mandir and the monks will clean the Ram Chabutra with the holy water from the river Sharayu.” However, we know that was not to be the case.

On 6th December afternoon, Adwani gave an inflammatory speech that went like this, “No power in the world can stop the construction of Ram Mandir. If the central government tries to obstruct, then we will not allow the government to run. Those who have come to be martyrs let them be martyrs. Let the fortunate ones be able to make it to Lord Ram’s feet. Let them be martyred.”

It is particularly interesting how they manhandled the media persons who tried to cover the incidents of that day. “Many national and international journalists were standing near Ram Chabutra. Kar sevaks and saints started misbehaving with these media persons. The so-called holy men started abusing journalists. One of the monks was hitting a journalist from Voice of America. This was followed by a Time magazine journalist getting beaten up. Even BBC’s Mark  Tully  couldn’t  escape  this. And  then  anybody  and  everybody started hitting the journalists. Just then, television cameras faced the wrath of this aggressive mob of kar sevaks. Around 60-70 television cameras were damaged..” “only the photographers with a still camera  were able to put the cameras in a leather bag and escape. They were also followed and beaten up. As a result, the photography and video shoot of kar seva came to a halt. This attack on the press was pre-planned and a well-co-ordinated strategy..”

The final acts of the drama unfolded soon. In his own words, ~as if the doors of a dam were opened, mobs of kar sevaks started jumping on the compound surrounding the Babri Masjid. In no time, they broke the compound and entered the mosque and with an unswerving determination, climbed the mosque up to its dome. They started hitting the mosque with anything that they could catch hold of. Immediately, they were being supplied with spades, shovels and ropes. This boosted the demolition process. High on the sadistic pleasure derived from the act, kar sevaks were repeatedly attacking the mosque as if it was a living human being. Unable to withstand the shocks, the mosque began disintegrating. The soil and bricks started falling apart. At this end, the voice  on  the microphone announced, “Siyawar ramchandra ki jai, mandir yahin banayenge.” Seeing the  attack on the mosque, women spectators along with their men counterparts started dancing and shouting slogans..~

~at 2.45 p.m., the first dome of Babri Masjid was demolished. The moment the dome collapsed, Uma Bharti joyously embraced Murli Manohar Joshi. Uma Bharti and Sadhvi Rithambara shouted inflammatory slogans, instigating kar sevaks. Sadhvi Rithambara announced: “ek dhakka aur do, babri masjid tod do” (Pound and thrash till it collapses). While all this was happening, the police was also seen clapping and expressing its joy. Around 4.00 p.m. in the evening, another dome  collapsed. And then the third and the last dome at 4.46 p.m. Sadhvi Rithambara congratulated the Hindu population on the microphone by saying, “The shameful structure has fallen.”~

Artists’ accounts

The first among the six artists’ acoounts is that of theater actor, director and activist Sudhanva Deshpande of Jan Natya Manch New Delhi. He weaves his narration beginning with his memories of Operation Blue Star and Indira Gandhi assassination that he witnessed as a teenager and his experiences during 1992.

In the next essay ‘How it feels to be a Muslim in India’, award winning playwright Shafaat Khan talks about the post-Babri Muslim life in India and in Mumbai in particular. He says, “the Mumbai riots ensued by the demolition of the Babri Masjid had brought a change in direction. Until that time I believed that violence was in the hands of a few goondas and politicians. For the first time I saw that physically and mentally, the common man was imbibed with the destructive forces all the way. A whole society was given over to violence with a strong belief that it provided all the answers.” He explains how this affected his life as a playwright and director, and how his adaptation of Asghar Wajahat’s Hindi play Jis Lahore Nai Dekhya, O Jamyai Nai, was an attempt to communicate with ‘the rioters, supporters of riots and those who strengthened them by standing upright on the street.’

Unfortunately, around 27 years on, that ‘whole society’ is still at large, making use of every opportunity to ‘annihilate the other’. The hatred machines have got more and more official channels at their disposal and perpetrators of hate crimes are rewarded with election tickets, increased popularity and more and more power.

In her essay ‘Why I never wish to forget the violence’, Playwright and screenplay writer for popular Marathi TV serials Manaswini Lata Ravindra tells how her mother who never wore religious symbols was forced to wear a bindi to escape violence from a Hindu mob. She also recollects memories from her school days, about how the dominant ones in the class silenced those who had different opinions, or were just different, say by name / religion. “The day the episode of Shivaji Maharaj chopping off Shaista Khan’s fingers was taught in the class, all the Hindu boys assumed themselves in the role of Shivaji and the Muslim boy was obviously considered to be Shaista  Khan. I remember the Muslim boy was so petrified that he skipped school the following day.” She also tells about how she realised that at no cost will she ever be able to gain experiences from someone else’s societal environment. “How much ever one tries, it is very difficult to change your context of being someone.” Which is an important point in any intersectionality we talk about these days.

Joy Sengupta writes about how he woke up to a hard realization at home, that ‘the well-oiled mechanism was geared towards bringing about a preconceived, elite-driven Hindu unity’. He adds that “Middle-class India, under the mask of liberal democracy, was nothing but a sheer bunch of fence-sitters belonging to the Hindu majority waiting to cross over. This demolition just helped them unmask and breathe in soft Hindutva. Indian nationalism and the modern Indian state were getting crafted out of the affirmations of Hindutva.”

Veteran theatre artist and television host Dolly Thakore has contributed with a piece titled ‘Joining hands, building trust’. She was also a volunteer for an NGO ‘Citizens For Peace’ that did relief works in a riot-struck Mumbai. Playwright, actor and women’s rights campaigner Sushma Deshpande feels the ‘obsessive need for communicating the ideologies of Jyotirao and Savitribai Phule to the masses’ and writes about her experience of conducting a theatre workshop for Muslim girls in Hyderabad.  She notes that ‘when the whole community is under attack, the scope to address the issues and the rights of the weaker sections within that community get further eroded.”

Activists

In her account ‘Where is the place for the activist’, academician and activist Shama Dalwai explains how being a Muslim or having a Muslim in family in Mumbai became a frightening prospect by end of 1980s. She says that the school that her children went to, though seemed like a liberal institution, “affixed a Muslim identity to my children by singling them out as ‘strangers’ and ‘the others’.” During the Mumbai riots that broke out post the demolition of the mosque, as a Hindu mother of half-Muslim children, she recounts how she became terrified for the safety of her children (Sameena is her daughter). The police violence, mayhem by Shiv Sainiks and, most shattering, she says, was the withdrawal of the Leftist comrades from the scene. She also talks about how media selectively omitted certain kinds of news, and talks about her attempts to calm down the Muslims.

Helen Bharde, a former corporator affiliated to Indian National Congress, is a christian woman married to a Muslim. Her write-up is mostly about setting up and running the relief camp at her locality Golibar. She writes about how that place, near Santacruz, became a haven for the Muslims during the riots. How Muslims, fearing for their lives, had run away from their homes and formed a community at Golibar and sought refuge there. It does not mean it was all safe there. She recalls an incident when a young boy who was playing in the vicinity was mistaken for a rioter and shot down by the police. And ‘if that wasn’t tragic enough, the old man who went to retrieve the boy was also beaten up brutally’, she adds.

In her essay ‘Walking the tightrope: Balancing gender and community’ Flavia Agnes critiques the women’s movement that failed to create a strong alternative for women of all castes and religions.

Rekha Thakur of Bharipa Bahujan Mahasangh in her note writes about the ‘dual agenda’ of Massacring the Muslims and criminalising Bahujan at the same time. One could say it is problematic to make such a reading, as the growth of Hindutva in India from late 80s to 2019 can not be understood only as a savarna ideology. It is essentially based on hatred of Muslims (and Christians, though to a lesser extent). Many of the Sangh leaders were from OBC communities. It also succeeded in containing the OBC angst post anti-Mandal uprisings of 1990s.

In ‘Riots in the pink city’, M Hassan narrates Jaipur of 1989 to 92. He describes it as a period of intense polarisation and violence. How the southern hilly region, being predominantly tribal, is a fairly known ‘laboratory’ of communalism due to the Vanvasi Kalyan Parishad of RSS, which spread its tentacles in each tribal settlement. About how Jaipur’s Musafirkhana acted as a shelter and relief camp during communal riots, and how the Musafirkhana issued guidelines to
ward off confrontation and escalation of conflict in 1989 and 1991. Hassan writes about how the ‘Game of riots’ that is often played to alienate one community. It is a game that continues even now, Musaffarnagar being the latest major instance.

In her essay ‘A bruised nation’, Shaila Satpute, who was Maharashtra State leader of Janata Dal once, confesses that she is more afraid today than what she was during the days of riots. “At that time there were sporadic incidents of violence. Today, I notice that the seeds of hatred that were planted have grown into a poisonous tree. Now, everyone is a target. At that time, the Babri Masjid incident provided a reason for violence. Now, people don’t need a reason to resort to violence”, she says.

Vaze College Physics Professor Dr. Sanjeewani Jain’s account of the collective action of teachers and students is the last in the section.

Asghar Ali Engineer’s Special Essay

Noted Islamic Scholar, social reformist and peace activist late Asghar Ali Engineer in a lengthy special essay notes that the Babri Masjid-Ram Janmabhoomi controversy was one of the major controversies which was exploited politically to the hilt  in  post-independence  India. He also connects it to theShah Bano controversy during 1985-86, and feels that had the controversial Muslim Women’s Bill not been passed in early 1986, the Ram Janmabhoomi controversy would not have arisen. He criticizes not only BJP and Shiv Sena, but also Congress for the cynical exploitation of Babri issue for winning 1989 elections, in an attempt to capture ‘popular imagination’.

Engineer gives a summary of the history of the controversy and observes that the ‘historical’ accounts suggesting that Babar demolished a temple before erecting a mosque there are based on prejudices and guesswork. To quote from his essay, ~The translator of Babar’s Memoirs Mrs AF, Beveridge in a footnote suggests that Babar being a Muslim, and “impressed by the dignity and sanctity of the ancient Hindu shrine” would have displaced “at least in part” the temple to erect the mosque. She bases her inference on the fact that Babar being Muslim must have been intolerant of other faiths and thus demolished the temple which was supposedly in existence there. It is, at best, a very generalised inference..~

He adds that there is no doubt that the laying of the foundation stone of Ram Janmabhumi on 9 November, 1989 could not have been done without the connivance of the then Government led by Rajiv Gandhi, and how KK Nayar who was DM of Faizabad resisted all attempts to remove the idol when an idol first ‘appeared’ in those premises in 1949 and how Congress was helpless at that time. He feela that “if locking (the premises) was murder of justice and ideals of secularism, its unlocking (in 1986, opening it for Hindus to worship) was greater injustice and outright slaughter of ideals of secularism.” He concludes the essay with the most sane thing to say, that we should “do every thing possible to resolve this issue through constructive dialogue in the spirit of reconciliation” and it is “highly necessary to arrange a round-table dialogue between the religious and secular leaders of the two communities.”

Strengths, and what it lacks

The book is not by any means an apologetic one. Irfan Engineer does not mince his words when he says “Twenty-five years ago, Babri Masjid came crumbling down on 6 December 1992, amidst massive mobilisation by the Sangh Parivar — organisations affiliated to right-wing Hindu supremacist Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh..” That itself is the major strength of the book.

Sameena Dalwai and Ramu Ramanathan do not see the demolition of the Babri mosque as an isolated incident, and they place it in a context. Reading from Sangh Parivar idol Vinayak Damodar Savarkar’s book Six Epochs of Indian History, they observe that “In this, Savarkar admonishes Marathas for not taking revenge on Muslims in response to the atrocities committed around the year 1757 by Abdali. It seems, Savarkar would have liked the Marathas to not merely take revenge, but to annihilate Muslim religion (Mussalmani Dharma) and exterminate the Muslim “people” and make India Muslim-free.. According to Savarkar, the Maratha army should have exterminated ordinary Muslims (i.e. not just soldiers), destroyed their mosques and raped Muslim women.” This is particularly relevant in a time when BJP makes election promises of honoring Savarkar with Bharat Ratna, which can be seen as a token of gratitude for laying the foundation stones of a religious hatred on they have built their political empire.

They also take into account another major factor that has contributed heavily to the hatred against Muslims in this country, partition. They observe that “India’s partition is not documented very well. The blame can hardly be placed on the British as the main culprits, as that remains untold. So does the fact, that arson, murder and rape was done by both sides to the ‘other’. Now young authors and curators alike are trying to keep alive the history of partition through collecting stories that turn into artefacts from a dying generation into live narratives”. These narratives are crafted well in order to produce hatred. Connecting to more recent times, “Khairlanji happened. Gujarat Carnage happened. Mumbai riots happened. Otherwise our next generation will only be told to remember Godhra and Mumbai Bomb Blast, but not what happened before or after.”

Despite this clarity in thoughts and a good overall vision about the whole sequence of events that led to the demolition of the mosque and what happened after that, I think the book misses out on one aspect intentionally or unintentionally. It is the ‘bad Muslim’. The bad Muslim does appear in a couple of articles as an element to be calmed down, but the book fails to address the so called bad Muslims or the outfits that raise the Muslim political question. Be it AIMIM, SDPI or any such groups. Dalit / Ambedkarite perspectives are also missing in the book. Also I feel there is an excess of brahmin accounts. It wouldn’t do any harm even if a couple of such accounts were omitted. As Manaswini rightly points out in the book, there is a limit to the extent to which one can relate to another person’s feelings, how much ever one tries. That space could have been given to more Muslim writings.

Times of extraordinary stress and distress have not ended

In the Foreword to the book, Professor Upendra Baxi says ‘Dr Sameena Dalwai and Ramu Ramanathan collect here the reminiscences of living together in the times of some extraordinary stress and distress twenty-five years ago’, but it is not only about a time frame that is twenty-five or twenty-seven year old. It is about living together in the times of extraordinary stress and distress in the current India also. It is also about how we move forward from this point.

I will end with a poem that is quoted in the book, written by Zbigniew Herbert in a poem in 1956.

We stand on the border
We hold out our arms
For our brothers, for our sisters
We build a great rope of hope
Yes, we stand on the border
That is called reason
We gaze back at historical fires
And we marvel at death.

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Language creates, destroys, and maintains but not always in the fashion in which it was intended. When even well-intentioned people repeat a word or phrase too often, or use it in trivial or decontextualized ways, they create ironic and often portentous conditions. As with the stories of the “Boy Who Cried Wolf” or “Chicken Little,” overuse or benign abuse of language nudges us to maintain complacent inertia when in fact the sky is truly falling.

So it is with the world “fascism.” When we refer to a tough teacher or a micro-manager as “fascist” and when we repeat the idea ad nauseam, we both exaggerate the exigencies of normal life and tragically, inure ourselves to actual fascism growing in our midst.

Jason Stanley reminds us that we are in fact slouching towards fascism as we normalize the invidious rhetoric of racism, misogyny, otherization, false-victimhood, and Orwellian turns of phrase. Carrying the enormous emotional baggage associated with his own parents’ struggles as refugees and victims of Nazism coupled with the logic of a learned philosopher, Stanley has produced a clear, readable, and important treatise on fascism and how it grows and ultimately engorges itself on normalized lies.

In fact, Stanley organizes the book in 10 chapters, each with illustrates a key pillar of fascist strategy. These chapters are:

1. The Mythic Past
2. Propaganda
3. Anti-intellectual
4. Unreality
5. Hierarchy
6. Victimhood
7. Law and Order
8. Sexual Anxiety
9. Sodom and Gomorrah
10. Arbeit Macht Frei

Fascism movements are alike in that they invoke these 10 categories to create a state of mind in which people are primed and softened in a way that makes their acceptance of fascism appear natural. Stanley intelligently offers examples: the US under Trump, India under Modi, Hungary under Orban, and others to show that the methodologies employed cross boundaries; he invokes Hitler and Mussolini as well and shows that the language employed by today’s fascists is structurally similar to that of these famous and genocidal fascists of the mid-twentieth century.

Important to the argument is that tendencies towards fascism are not restricted to the canonical Right wing. Liberals too often invoke mythical pasts and redacted histories, find code-language and dog whistles to refer to minorities, and go out of their way to lionize the Armed Forces and police. Further, they also indulge in anti-intellectualism, replacing partially-formed thoughts and self-serving instincts for scientific facts and real data.

The point is clear. It can happen to anyone. It can happen here. It is happening here. Fascism is a multi-pronged onslaught that, like a tidal wave, can roll low until it becomes and unstoppable force that destroys anything decent in its path.

Romi Mahajan in an Author, Marketer, Investor, and Activist

Originally published in Medium

Courtesy: Counter Current

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Well-equipped with an eye for details in everyday life and laced with the rigour of a historian’s talent for facts, Ghosh sketches a narrative which is as much factual as emotional. It binds the reader till the last page, through vivid description of flora and fauna of Sunderbans dotted with the fine texture of human interactions.

There are tiger and crocodile attacks, and so are the assaults of poachers, and climate change. Ghosh says in an interview that novel is a complete expression of human emotion. In this completeness, one point has been missed. To my understanding, it cannot be considered as merely a slippage. This is a point which is the subject matter of the discipline social anthropology- the social aspect of human behaviour and condition. Men do not act in a vacuum, the actions are deeply embedded in social conditions prevalent. It is not that Ghosh is not aware of the social dimensions of poverty. At one place he says: Was it possible that in Morichjhãpi had been planted the seeds of what might become, if not a Dalit nation, then at least a safe haven, a place of true freedom for the country’s most oppressed? Ghosh is aware of caste-based inequality and mentions it a few times. There is also mentioning of communalism, albeit in a soft tone. At another place, he writes: She (Piya) had not thought to speculate about Fokir’s religion, but it occurred to her now that he might be Muslim.

It is here that I felt that despite being a social anthropologist by training, Ghosh has missed a larger picture about a society where I also hail from, West Bengal. A novel cannot be expected to be an exercise in understanding social problems, but it cannot close its eyes to the darker side of any society or culture. Rather, I would say, only when a problem ceases to appear as a problem, it has normalised itself and not eliminated. The issue of casteism and communalism are inextricably linked and we see its manifestation across India. The case of West Bengal or even Sundarbans is more about exploring the particularities present in the geographical boundaries than about seeing these as exceptions to the twin ailments of casteism and communalism.

One expects a bit more about the two problems considering the setting is full of travails of poor people residing in Sunderbans. Indeed two characters- schoolmaster Nirmal Bose and his wife Nilima Bose, a social worker, spent all their lives for the cause of the people in the Lusibari and areas nearby. Lusibari is the imaginary island, where the important characters reside and eke out a living fighting nature’s fury. Ghosh has not missed the mundanity of rising and fall of tides and makes it so relevant for the character Piya, a marine biologist, that even readers roll with those tides. That everydayness of caste and religion-based human suffering has been missed. One can ask- why most of the poor characters were Dalits or Muslims, while the rich and the middle class were a (Piya) Roy, or a Bose (couple). Once we acknowledge this bias in Indian society, or Bengali society our task becomes to narrate this in a novel form. Brushing aside the issues can only delay the process till the point it becomes cancerous.

Piya was rendered heartbroken after watching a baby dolphin washed ashore. It was dead. The waves of casteism and communalism also throw Dalits and Muslims out from the sea of humanity. I wish to read Amitav Ghosh more, and this time with more details on our social lives, more details on how we exclude ‘others’ and more details on why our eyes were gleaming with dreams while others were teary. I am looking forward to those novels by Amitav Ghosh. Best wishes, sir.
 

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Image Courtesy: HarperCollins

On the third day of their captivity, Mohsin found himself sitting beside Tariq, their bare backs against a stone wall. The cell that they were brought into at noon smelt pungently of blood, urine and excrement, its thick stone walls muffling the echoes of wails and shrieks from neighbouring cells. The only exit to the outside world was a heavy door with iron bars on the opposite wall, which led through the dimly lit hallway to the Tunnel.

Mohsin’s left hand was handcuffed to Tariq’s right. The food that followed the beatings and starvation animated them and Tariq burst into tears. Suddenly, struck by a thought, he stopped sobbing and said, ‘Imagine God being subjected to our pain.’

Mohsin rebuked him sharply for even thinking such a terrible thing and warned him that they were no longer on the ledge beneath the bridge to gather rocks from the bed of the stream and discuss strategies to pelt Force 10 as he passed by in his cavalcade of jeeps through the marketplace. They were in a damn prison where they might be beaten to death; Tariq shouldn’t start his philosophy lecture there and talk drivel.

‘You’re a fucking coward,’ Tariq hissed back.

Mohsin yanked the manacle and Tariq yelped and shouted, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Mohsin turned away, his face filled with loathing. He wanted to yank at Tariq’s wrist again and break away from him – his vile, noxious friend.

‘Why, then,’ Mohsin asked in a perplexed tone, ‘did you come out of your house? Was it only to throw stones at the police?’

‘I am troubled by my memory, Mohsin,’ said Tariq in a quiet voice. ‘I ran into a soldier six years ago, during the summer that I turned eighteen. On returning home after my fateful encounter with him, I joined Father and Mother for lunch, and put the memory of the two pigeons that he had made me kill out of my mind. Later that day, I retired to my bedroom on the third floor – ours is an ancient house, you know. Every time I went inside, no matter how much I used the broom and rag, the grime on the wooden floor and the withering wooden walls would return. Over a period of time, I grew used to it: the sandy, brown stuff smelling of mould and lassitude.

‘The sun was above the Wall in the west and when I went into my bedroom after lunch, I began to feel drowsy. I shut the windows, drew the curtains and lay on my bed which was right up against the window. I put a pillow under my head and picked up the remote control from the windowsill and switched on the TV. It was time for Upheavals, a documentary series on the History Channel about Latin America that I followed religiously.

‘I was deep in a scorching, brown desert on the border between Mexico and Texas when an unexpected gust of wind pushed the window open, the shutter knocked against my arm, and I dropped the remote control. The string that held the curtain snapped and like an unfurling flag, the curtain flew across the room. Through the window I watched as the sudden storm raged across Srinagar and shook the Wall. The stream that passed by it had finally lost its stagnant stupor and was swelling, swirling and flowing. And then the two pigeons entered. I quickly pushed the window shut; I wanted to capture them. But the pigeons had turned into stupendous metallic creatures. Their eyes were red, their beaks sharp, and their wings gleaming. If they bite me, I’ll bleed to death, I thought. They circled overhead, their wings like little swords; they tore against the sheets of still air inside, causing the eternal grime from the floor to rise. They flew in tangents, grazing and bruising the walls, until they landed on top of the TV. The pigeons pecked frenziedly on the screen behind which a mutiny was going on. They, the pigeons, terrified the gun-toting gringos on horseback and the Mexican rebels cheered. The spectacle continued until the horses whinnied, their hoofs trampled and a slaughter began. In their mad fury the pair of pigeons attacked the screen with their beaks, their hoary feathers swirling and floating before me. My head clanged inside and I felt giddy, as if the pigeons were circling not in my bedroom but inside my head. I watched this drama as though in a bizarre dream with breathless astonishment until the birds escaped through the window that the violent wind had banged open again.

‘As soon as they left, the rebels fell and mingled with the dust on the ground and the storm abated. I lit a cigarette and stood by the window. The Wall was erect and the waters in the stream were still and as muddy as ever. As the sun sank behind it, the sky turned a dull purple hue and copper clouds moved into the middle over the Wall. My room was deserted and the pigeons were gone as though they had never existed, as though beyond the Wall that blocked my vision of Srinagar and the last glimpses of that day’s sun, they were dead – eternally dead. Although I was sad, I didn’t feel wracked with guilt. I never was guilt-ridden. What was there to be guilty about as long as one lived and longed?

‘I remember on that day I had walked out of my house for the shrine where you and Father go to pray these days – where both of you fool yourselves that the dead saint is alive and that you are earthly vassals of some divine god. Ha, ha! What dogmatic fools you are, to be sure! Faith, my friend, is the consolation of the weak and foolish. It’s only good for those who can afford it, whose quest for life and curiosity to contemplate reality it can douse with the promise of a halo of light. But not for those whose feet are planted firmly on the ground, not for those who are not blind to the veins cut open by time, and not for those who are tuned to the History Channel and watch and reflect on the human waste and the scale of human cruelty. Imagine the mounds of dead bodies in the sand. Imagine the mosaics of blood on the wall. Inhale the stink of your shame, Mohsin.

[…]
I know you think I am completely wrong in my conception of the world and after-world. The only thing I cannot accept is your claim that you’re unafraid of death because you are. And you think if Force 10 kills you, you’ll become a martyr and live eternally in a world that is just and lasting. Bullshit. What kind of fool’s paradise are you living in? And how dare you think of paradise when Kashmir still exists on earth. Why the fuck don’t you understand that the occupation itself is the deepest circle of hell and there is no hell beyond it? Remember one thing: men and women are merely men and women, and whenever and wherever they are shackled, their movement curtailed and their freedom taken away, they will rebel and launch a hailstorm—’

The door opened at that moment and interrupted Tariq’s rant. Force 10 moved towards them in the semi-dark, the keys clinking in his hand. He directed the light of his torch at their faces, piercing their eyes with the sharp beam of light. Then he grabbed the manacle that shackled the boys together and unlocked it.

‘If you move or open your mouth, I will drill holes in your head,’ he warned them and dragged Tariq to the door and tied him to the bar in the centre. Then he came back to Mohsin and said, ‘Follow me.’
[…]

Mohsin obeyed, but with his eyes shut, unable to look at himself after three days of torture and relentless beatings. He did not want to see the defeat in his eyes and a broken body covered with innumerable gashes. He glanced away from his reflection and looked at Force 10 who gestured to him to walk to the Tunnel.

Past Café Barbarica, Force 10 opened a door to his right and pushed Mohsin into the office that was suffused with sunlight. The walls were washed white and supported a highvaulted ceiling.

‘Stand there in the middle,’ Force 10 ordered Mohsin and walked out through the front door.

Inspector Masoodi was seated behind the table, resting his arms on the soft arms of a leather chair. Rumour had it that Masoodi believed in the same God that Mohsin did, the God about whom Tariq was sceptical. About Inspector Masoodi it was said that wherever he was posted in Kashmir, he built an opulent mosque where he prayed five times a day from the front row. He was a clean, uniformed man with a florid face and a thick, groomed moustache. With his black baton, he tapped the wooden table top, and Force 10 entered with Mohsin’s mother.
[…]

Inspector Masoodi gazed coldly at Mohsin. He placed his baton on the table and folding his arms across his chest, he sat back in his chair.

‘Your son is a miscreant,’ he said to the weeping woman. ‘He has strayed from the path that God ordained for us in the Qur’an.’

‘Is it I who has strayed?’ Mohsin shouted indignantly. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing. He felt the pain of the beating seeping into every inch of his body.

‘Mohsin, shut up,’ his mother said.

‘You can see for yourself that this kid has no manners,’ Inspector Masoodi said. ‘It’s all the same – he who breaks the law of the land, breaks the law of God.’

‘He’s innocent,’ the woman protested.

‘He is a miscreant,’ Inspector Masoodi said.

‘I beg of you, please let him go.’

‘I will let him go if he recites from the Qur’an,’ Inspector Masoodi said, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. ‘I will let him go if he recites the chapter, Al Fatiha, the line: Guide us on the straight path.’

‘Mohsin, please do whatever he says,’ his mother begged him.

‘Do you honestly expect me to recite the Qur’an in front of this man?’ Mohsin asked, incredulous. ‘Does he even know how perverse he is?’

‘Do whatever he says, Mohsin,’ his mother repeated. ‘Where does the recitation of the Qur’an fit into the business of custodial torture?’

‘Mohsin, your mother begs you.’

‘Mother, not on my life, not in front of this hypocrite,’ said Mohsin.

‘Then you will rot in this prison,’ Inspector Masoodi said, rising. He pointed the tip of his baton towards Mohsin’s chest.

‘Inspector Sahib, he is innocent,’ his mother wept.

‘Mother, I’m anything but innocent. I throw stones at the soldiers and police. I’m a criminal and my crime is that I am besotted with the spectre of freedom. I won’t stop pelting policemen like him until all of them have been driven out of Kashmir.’

As Force 10 led Mohsin back through the Tunnel into the hallway, they could hear Tariq singing:
Bring me back my moment,
bring me back my pair of pigeons.

My friend has gone mad, Mohsin rued in his heart. Who could possibly remain sane in this theatre of cruelty? As he walked in through the door, his eyes met Tariq’s and there was a moment of acknowledgement. Mohsin wanted to tell Tariq, ‘I don’t believe in Inspector Masoodi’s God. His God is very different from mine.’

As they approached the washbasin, Force 10 asked Mohsin to remove the shirt. Mohsin peeled it off and hung it back on the nail. He looked into the mirror and his bloodshot eyes stared back at him. His lower lip was torn; his face was grotesquely swollen.
Force 10 stood behind him and looked on impassively. Inside the cell, Tariq continued his insane singing.

‘Can I have some water?’ Mohsin asked.

‘Okay, but hurry up,’ Force 10 replied. Mohsin was taken aback by Force 10’s inexplicable lenience. He leaned over the basin and turned the faucet. Force 10 stepped away to lean against the wall behind him. He lit a cigarette and took a drag and the smell of burnt tobacco and dry weed filled the chamber.

‘Stop singing that damn song,’ Force 10 coughed, ‘or I’ll wring your neck and tear your lungs out.’

Tariq stopped singing. Force 10 dialled a number on his cell phone. Mohsin washed his face and drank a palmful of water. As he placed his hands on the sides of the washbasin, he felt it move slightly. Mohsin looked at Force 10 in the mirror. He was engrossed with the phone and had turned away. Mohsin saw the shaved nape of his neck. Wrapped in the pleasant odour of the smoke, Force 10 laughed luridly and clicked his tongue. He seemed to be talking dirty to a woman.

Mohsin grabbed the washbasin with both hands and moved it. With one swift motion, he tore it off the wall and turned, holding the ceramic basin aloft.

Force 10 fell to the floor, unconscious. His eyes were open, the blood gushing out of the wide wound in his head. There was a long silence until Tariq resumed his song.

Bring me back my moment
Bring me back my pair of pigeons.

Feroz Rather is currently a doctoral student of Creative Writing at Florida State University and his work has appeared in The Millions, The Rumpus, The Southeast Review, Caravan, Warscapes, Berfrois, and Himal. His most recent essay, ‘Poet in Srinagar’, appeared in the anthology Mad Heart, Be Brave: On the Poetry of Agha Shahid Ali. The Night of Broken Glass is his first book.

This is an extract from The Night of Broken Glass, written by Feroz Rather and published by HarperCollins. Republished here with permission from the publisher.

Courtesy: Indian Cultural Forum
 

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In an exclusive tete-a-tete with Sabrang Ketan Vaidya tells us the story behind the story of Hope Express.

What prompted you to write about mills and chawls?
The mills were not just brick and mortar edifices but an essential part of the city’s heritage and history of syncretism, multi-ethnicity and bonhomie. The oft proclaimed Mumbai spirit, I believe, is a legacy of the sub-culture that evolved around the mills of Mumbai of yore. My book is about a mill worker’s son aspiring to be a journalist and revolves around the impending redevelopment of a chawl in a mill district. While the book reminisces and at times turns nostalgic about the fall of the mills, it is not anti-development and sees the redevelopment process as a given in the chawls, as well as Mumbai’s 19000 old tenement houses in the interest of the lower middle class dwellers who inhabit them.

What are your observations on changes in physical spaces affecting the socio-cultural fabric of a city? 
The recent spate of redevelopment in the old rent act buildings of the city has altered the physical spaces of the city like never before. The spate of redevelopment and getting a brand new house in lieu of redevelopment is an aspirational dream among the teeming middle classes of the city. Few can otherwise afford a home in the city in their lifetime. However, the more congenial space that the chawls or old smaller apartment buildings offered, will soon be a thing of the past, with insular living taking their place.  This is more about the physical space. The city has also undergone increasingly exclusivist with vegetarian communities excluding the meat-eaters and people of one faith, the other. This, I feel, is a bigger dent on the socio-cultural fabric of a city than a change in the physical appearance due to redevelopment. 

Is Mumbai becoming increasingly exclusionist and intolerant? What is driving us apart?
Increasing prosperity has not led to increased bonhomie in the city. The city continues to be cosmopolitan for the outsider. However, it is increasing becoming clannish thereby changing the very character of the city. I feel political ideologies that foster hate and division among people have had a long and a free hand in the city. This is what has divided the city in a systematic way. This exclusion and intolerance doesn’t just disturb the body politic of the city but also puts a great hindrance to the city trying to achieve a global identity. 

Do we live in ghettos in a purportedly cosmopolitan city? 
There are linguistic ghettos and then there are religious ghettoes in Mumbai. For the member of the ghetto they give a sense of security and belonging. However, they also encourage narrowness of thought and generalisation of the ‘other’. There were always ghettos in Mumbai however a more intensive communal ghettoisation happened in the early nineties. Increased ghettoisation coupled with suspicion of the other ghetto members is a deadly mix that the city must avoid at all times.

Your protagonist is a journalist. Is this story semi-autobiographical?
Raghu is myself at times and at other times, so much a composite character inspired by others. Although I was aggressive and pursued a story to its logical conclusion during my career, there were others who truly embodied the journalistic spirit of endless pursuit. It is a tribute to all those unsung journalists that I encountered when I was a journalist.

Are we suckers for nostalgia? How should we view development?
Nostalgia cannot give respite to tenants living dangerously in old British era buildings. I feel that is why the people of the city should be at the center of any urban heritage conservation effort. Development shouldn’t be a physical transformation of a place from old and decrepit to tasteless and tacky structures. Development shouldn’t be looked from the eyes of the agencies who are bringing it about, but from the standpoint of stakeholders who are affected. 

You can check out Hope Express here:

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हैदराबाद केंद्रीय विवि के शोध-छात्र रोहित वेमुला की डायरी पढ़ते हुए ये अहसास तेज़तर होता चला जाता है कि इस बेहतरीन ज़हीन सूझबूझ और वैज्ञानिक नज़रिये के लड़के को अगर ब्राह्मणवादी ग़लीज़ व्यवस्था के नुमाइंदों ने आत्महत्या की ओर न धकेला होता तो ये हम सबके बीच मुस्कुरा रहा होता और दुनिया भर के उत्पीड़ित समुदाय की तक़लीफ़ों को शब्द दे रहा होता, इन तकलीफ़ों के सामाजिक राजनीतिक आयाम का सैद्धांतिकीकरण कर रहा होता। साथ ही, सरंचनागत अन्याय और अत्याचार के ख़िलाफ़ मुट्ठी ताने लोगों का आह्वान कर रहा होता कि वे अपनी तक़दीर के निर्माता खुद हो जाएं। कथित राष्ट्रवादी परियोजना और परजीवी ब्राह्मणवादी व्यवस्था के हत्यारे युग्म के हमलों का जवाब दे रहा होता और जीवन की मूलभूत ज़रूरतों, अस्मिता और इंसानी गरिमा से सदियों से बहिष्कृत कर दिए गए समूहों, समुदायों को प्रतिरोधी विचारों की सान से लैस कर रहा होता।

डिज़िटल प्रकाशन जगरनॉट से रोहित की डायरी “कास्ट इज़ नॉट अ रयूमर” रोहित के व्यस्थित, पैने चिंतन और सुरुचिपूर्ण, समाज-वैज्ञानिक गद्य का अहम दस्तावेज़ है। ‘दि हिंदू’ अख़बार की पत्रकार निखिला हेनरी ने इसे रोहित के फेसबुक लेखन को संकलित और संपादित किया है। यह डायरी छात्र रोहित के कैंपस एक्टिविज़्म, देश दुनिया में चल रहे विभिन्न जनआंदोलनों के प्रति उनकी धारदार सोच-समझ और मनुष्य की सामुदायिक मुक्ति की विभिन्न विचारधाराओं की बौद्धिक विरासत को जांचने-परखने और उन्हें ‘रिक्लेम’ करने की ईमानदार छटपटाहट का न सिर्फ़ बोध कराती है, बल्कि आज के सामयिक मुद्दों से तार्किक मुठभेड़ करती हुई प्रतिरोध का व्याकरण निर्मित करती है। यह डायरी इस अर्थ में एक ऐतिहासिक दस्तावेज़ है कि एक असीम संभावना से लबरेज़ एक बेहतरीन जन-बुद्धिजीवी या ‘ऑर्गेनिक इंटेलेक्चुअल’ की निर्मिति के पदचिन्हों का रेखांकन करती है।

रोहित की डायरी ब्राह्मणवादी दर्शन के पाखंडी चरित्र और इसके मूल में निहित धूर्तता और इसके छल-प्रपंचों की, समग्रता में, असलियत उजागर करती है। यह जाति के सिद्धांत और व्यवहार के सवाल पर दक्षिणपंथी हिन्दुत्ववादी राष्ट्रवाद पर तीखा प्रहार करती है और वामपंथी राजनीतिक धाराओं की सुसंगत आलोचना पेश करती है। यह डायरी मनुष्य विरोधी मनुवादी चिंतन-प्रणाली के भौतिक नतीजों यानी इसके सांस्थानिक कुकर्मों से हमारे देश की छलनी कर दी गई अंतरात्मा का एक करूण शोकगीत है। यह शोकगीत पीड़ा में असहायता और निष्क्रियता के ग़ुबार में इंसान को क़ैद रखने के विरुद्ध है। रोहित का सुचिंतित लेखन मनुष्यता के साझे भविष्य की हिफ़ाज़त में उम्मीद के गीत रचता है। सारांश में, यह शोकगीत अपने प्रारूप में मज़बूत और निश्छल उम्मीद का बायस बन जाता है। इस उम्मीद का काव्यात्मक उरूज़ हमें रोहित के आख़िरी पैग़ाम में देखने को मिलता है जहाँ वह एक तरफ़, सितारों के बीच ख़ुद को तिरोहित करने के लिए तैयार कर रहा है और दूसरी तरफ़ एक अपने ब्राह्मणवादी हत्यारों को उनके अनाचारी पापों के बोझ से मुक्त करते हुए भी व्यवस्था के सामने अकाट्य सत्य सवाल छोड़ जाता है। बेहतर होगा कि हम रोहित की इस चिठ्ठी का एक अंश यहाँ फिर पढ़ें: “मैं हमेशा से एक लेखक बनना चाहता था। विज्ञान लेखक कार्ल सैगन की तरह। लेकिन, आख़िर में ये ख़त लिख पा रहा हूँ। मुझे विज्ञान से, सितारों से और प्रकृति से प्यार था। लेकिन, मैंने लोगों से प्यार किया और ये नहीं जान पाया कि वे कब के प्रकृति से जुदा हो चुके हैं। हमारी भावनाएं दोयम दर्जे की हो चुकी हैं। हमारा प्रेम बनावटी है।  हमारी मान्यताएं झूठी हैं। यह बेहद मुश्किल हो चला है कि हम प्यार करें और दुखी न हों। एक आदमी की क़ीमत उसकी तात्कालिक पहचान और नज़दीकी संभावना तक सीमित कर दी गई है। एक वोट तक। आदमी एक संख्या बनकर रह गया है। एक वस्तु मात्र। एक इंसान को उसके ज़ेहन से कभी नहीं आँका गया। सितारों की ख़ाक़ से बनी एक शानदार चीज़। हर क्षेत्र में, पढ़ाई में, गलियों में, राजनीति में, और ज़िंदगी तथा मौत में।”

रोहित की इस डायरी में उनके 2008  से जनवरी 2016 तक के लेखन का संकलन है। जिसमें उन्होंने इंसानी अस्तित्व के लगभग सारे मुद्दों को संबोधित किया है। इसमें समकालीन राजनीति, नागरिक अधिकार, विज्ञान, शिक्षा, धर्म, प्रकृति, नारीवाद, मार्क्सवाद सहित दोस्ती और रोज़मर्रा के जाति अधारित उत्पीड़न और संरचनागत शोषण-दमन के बारीक़ से बारीक़ पहलुओं की पड़ताल शामिल है। उन्होंने देश में, लोकतंत्र को भीड़तंत्र में तब्दील कर देने के फ़ासीवादी मंसूबे और इसके शीर्ष नेतृत्व के मनोविज्ञान का सारगर्भित  विश्लेषण गया है। गो-रक्षा दल के अत्याचारों और उनके राजनीतिक आक़ाओं का, अभिव्यक्ति की आज़ादी के अपराधीकरण और विवि परिसरों में दलित शोध-विद्यार्थियों की सांस्थानिक हत्यायों, या कि इस हत्या को नॉर्मलाइज़ और स्वीकार्य बनाने के लिए प्रचलित शब्द ‘आत्महत्या’, की घटनाओं पर जीवट प्रतिवाद किया है। डायरी पढ़ते हुए यह हैरानी लगातार आहट देती रहती है कि इन रचनाओं का लेखक जातिगत उत्पीड़न, दमन और अलगाव की परिस्थितियों में अपनी जीजिविषा को अपदस्थ नहीं कर सकता। रोहित के लेखन को पढ़ते हुए उनकी ख़ुद सितारों में खो जाने की हसरत अविश्वसनीय सी लगती है। रोहित की रचनाएँ उनकी अनुपस्थिति से ज़्यादा उनकी ‘नोटिसेबल’ उपस्थिति का अहसास कराती हैं। यह मृत्यु को भी एक जीवंत उत्सवधर्मिता में तब्दील करती हैं।

ये डायरी रोहित की ज़िंदगी और उनकी अनुपस्थिति, मौत के चुनाव, में भी विद्रोह का संदेश है। एक निस्सीम उदात्तता है जो मृत्यु के बाद भी जिए गए जीवन की अनंतता की संभावना प्रस्तुत करता है। अकारण नहीं कि रोहित ने अपने लेखन में विक्टर ह्यूगो, डॉ. अंबेडकर और मैल्कम एक्स जैसे चिर-विद्रोही नायकों के लेखन का उल्लेख किया है। यह डायरी ग़ैर-बराबरी, शोषण, जातीय और लैंगिक उत्पीड़न तथा हताशा के ख़िलाफ़ लोगों को एकजुट होने के लिए पुकारती है। रोहित, सितारों के बीच, गुजरात के ऊना में इस एकजुटता की सच होती कल्पना पर धीमे से मुस्कुरा रहा होगा।

Book: The Caste is Not a Rumor; Online Diary of Rohit Vemula

Edited By: Nikhila Henry, Juggernaut Publication, New Delhi. 268

Pages, Price: Rs. 10

The post इंसान ज़ाति की हरेक अप्राकृतिक मौत इस दुनिया को एक चेतावनी है। appeared first on SabrangIndia.