Two women walk away from the Ganges river, carrying its water with them in the urns
Type “dalit” into Google News, and you will be flooded with gory
reports from across India of women from this supposedly lower caste
being raped and murdered, of men being hacked to death. In the northern
state of Haryana alone, over two dozen dalit girls and women have been
raped over the last month. There was a 16-year-old victim of gang rape
who immolated herself; a woman who was gang raped at gunpoint in front
of her three children; and another 16-year-old girl who was gang raped
by eight men while four others recorded it and circulated the video,
after which her father committed suicide.
The National Crime Records Bureau reports that every day three dalit
women are raped, two dalits are murdered, 11 are beaten and two homes
are burned down. Yet in the face of such persistent hatred, dalits
continue to assert their humanity. Rallies are often held and lawsuits
are routinely filed. But it isn’t clear whether these efforts have
triggered the kind of empathy needed to shift Indian culture toward
recognizing dalits as equals. That is why dalits in the eastern state of
Bihar have begun to try something different.
In February 2011, 1,001 dalit women from the Dom community walked
through the town of Parbatta, carrying pails of water from the pious
river of Ganga (or Ganges). In symbolic fashion, they were taking claim
of the river from those who had dominated and oppressed them.
The Ganga Kalash Yatra, as it was called —
kalash meaning earthen urn and
yatra
meaning rally — was the third annual such event in Bihar’s Khagaria
district, one of the most deprived districts in the entire state. Dalits
comprise about 70 percent of the population. But with unequal land
holding patterns on top of the caste system’s social oppression, the
options for employment are limited. Many work as farm laborers — where
they are exploited in the fields with low wages for strenuous work —
while others migrate to cities for rudimentary jobs. Often, women bear
the worst consequences; being abducted by feudal lords is commonplace.
Traditionally, Doms never had any land holdings, and thereby no
income of their own. They were forced to do important jobs that no one
else would take up — cremating dead bodies, cleaning the toilets of the
people in the village and managing the dead bodies of animals. Like
other lower caste communities, they were prevented from having a
relationship with the Ganges. For whatever religious needs that were to
be met, they could only access a tributary of the river. Every such
symbol of oppression had to be reclaimed. And this is what the Yatra
aimed to do, says Sanjeev, a longtime supporter of the Dom community,
who has been instrumental in galvanizing the momentum behind their
revolt.
From riches to rags
Sanjeev’s story in itself is nothing short of a utopian tale. Until
2004, he was leading an urban life in the Indian capital of New Delhi.
He had at one point been a runway model before working as a marketing
executive. The death of a relative in 2004 brought him to Khagaria, the
place where his parents are from. After the customary rituals and
dinner, he stepped outside where he was shocked to see a man fighting
with a dog over food thrown into the garbage pile. He went back inside
and asked his relatives to get a plate of food for the man, and to
invite him into their home. But his request to help this Dom man was met
with ridicule.
Later, during that same trip, he was shocked to see what he had only
heard in stories — people from the same community were not allowed to
take water from the hand pump that was situated in the upper caste area.
He began to think about the idea of equality as he went back to his
comfortable life in New Delhi. Months later, he returned to Khagaria
without a round-trip ticket or a plan.
Not knowing where to begin, but observing the obviously unsanitary
conditions, he began bathing the Dom children, one by one, near a
hand-pump. People watched in disbelief and doubt. Then he walked around,
talking to people and asking women if they would like to read and
write. Soon, a ramshackle hut of twigs and mud became a classroom. His
students were women, who hid their faces behind veils.
This made the men
suspicious and they burnt down the hut. But within in a few years, they
were learning along with the women.
The community then formed Bahishkrit Hitkari Sangathan (BHS;
Organization for the the Benefit of the Untouchables) in 2006 and with
that the upper castes began to face challenges in their habitual
domination of the dalits. Some responded with violence. Sanjeev was
forced to leave Khagaria after his cousin was murdered in an attempt to
intimidate Sanjeev and stop him from doing his work. Guerrilla Maoists,
who have a certain influence in the region, also began to feel
threatened that the young boys of the lower castes would no more be
inclined to join their ranks to fight against the oppressive system.
Nevertheless, BHS continued to thrive, with membership growing to
over 10,000 people. It soon launched a campaign to stop the Doms from
having to eat leftover food from the garbage. Meanwhile, the education
work continued, and some of the Dom children were enrolled in schools —
many for the first time in their families’ history. But once again,
these changes were met with resistance. Parents from the upper caste
protested the demographic mixing in schools and some teachers even
neglected the Dom students.
“People feared that if these children were educated and then employed
at better jobs, it would not be possible to practice untouchability,
which would signal the end of their own dominance in the society,”
Sanjeev explained.
This didn’t stop BHS. In fact, they started to receive some funding
and established a core team of 12 organizers, including six women. Yet,
something bigger was still needed. There was a need felt to assert the
Dom identity, while also reclaiming universal symbols and resources,
like the Ganges, which had come to be an instrument of oppression.
Through meetings and brainstorming sessions, the idea of the Ganga
Kalash Yatra was born. February was decided upon as the time for the
Yatra because that was when the women had less work in the fields;
summers would have been too difficult for a rally.
Down by the riverside
While attending the Yatra in 2011, it was remarkable to see women
from far off districts and villages travel to Parbatta in the biting
cold of the winter. They chipped in small amounts of money to
collectively hire a tractor, that would take them to the Yatra. In the
first year, 175 women participated, but about 400 did in 2010. I was
told that the process had been the same each year: They had managed to
take leave from their chores at home and participate in a celebration of
their identity as women and equal human beings. Among them were Muslim
women, who face religious subjugation and fall under the category of
Other Backward Classes.
For a month prior to the Yatra, women from the Kumbhakar caste
— kumbhakar
means potter — were making urns to be used by the women. Other
logistical arrangements included buying fruits and packing them in
plastic bags. Tents had to be erected at an assembly ground; microphones
and loudspeakers also had to set up. Sanjeev said, “This time, we are
having someone from the Dom community to preside over the function, and
he will sit next to a politician who we have invited. This will give out
the signal that the Doms are now capable of taking the lead for
themselves, rather than having politicians decide for them.”
The night before the Yatra, women had taken shelter in a small hall.
In one corner, lentils, rice and vegetables were being cooked for
everyone. As the temperature dropped that night, and the lights went
out, lamps emerged and songs were sung by the women. Soon, only the
crickets were heard, for everyone had to be up by 4 a.m. to get to the
banks of the Ganges.
Even before the sun was up, the women grabbed their bag of clean
clothes and jumped into tractors to head to the river bank. Many trips
were made by the tractors and a few jeeps. At the river bank, the women
began to bathe; adolescent girls frolicked in the water. As the sun came
up, the women carried water into the urns; some women applied vermilion
on their foreheads and wore red-and-golden bands — just like the upper
caste women would do on a pilgrimage.
By 8 a.m., the women began to walk back to Parbatta. In two straight
lines, with the urns on their heads, they headed to the meeting ground
four miles away. A few jeeps with BHS banners glided between the moving
queues; loudspeakers shouted slogans of empowerment. The town of
Parbatta watched the rally go by. They had seen it in the previous
years, but this one was larger. People stood in their balcony to watch
the once-oppressed walk in stride, carrying the symbolic river waters.
By noon, everyone had placed their urns at a specified location, and
sat under a huge canopy. An oil lamp was lit, and a series of speeches
followed by the visiting politician and the chosen president of the
ceremony. Women broke their fast by eating the fruits and later, a
cooked meal. The space and opportunity was used to convey people’s
grievances to the representatives of the local administration. On the
fringes of the meeting ground were small booths that gave out
information about various government schemes, including those related to
health, nursery for children, housing and employment.
By 4 p.m., the ceremony was over. Women rested or walked around. But
the air continued to be filled with remnants of the sociological
process: priests were hired to chant ‘Sita Ram’ for 24 hours,
continuously, without a single break. They began at 4 p.m. that day, and
continued through the night, in different tones, until the next
evening.
At about the same time, the women took the pots and returned to the
riverside once again. They threw the pots into the river, and
collectively took a vow that they would not let themselves be oppressed
in the year ahead.
“What I am trying to do is to get the Dom to realize that nothing is
owned just by the upper caste — neither the river, nor the rituals,”
Sanjeev explained. “But this process is just one small yet significant
step towards making the Doms heard. They have been suppressed for
centuries. The government has so many programs for the lower castes, but
has that changed the mindset of the oppressor?”
The work that remains
Although the Yatra did not take place in 2012 due to a paucity of
funds, many want it to return. As Sanjeev told me over the phone
recently, “They want it as a chance to get together, have some fun, and
feel their own strength.”
In the meantime, Sanjeev is focusing on getting the government to
allocate homes and arable land to the Doms by getting the children
involved. They have been making demands of the government for arable
land, so that their fathers have work, which would thereby enable them
to go to school.
“They [the Doms] will have to stand up on their own and bring about
the real change,” said Sanjeev. “I’m just a cog in the wheel.”
Members of Bahishkrit Hitkari Sangathan carry a sign that says,
“Towards A New Horizon.”