Divine incompleteness

I put off writing any sort of concluding blog entry until now because I'm just beginning to examine my impressions of the summer. One week ago I bid a sweet farewell to India from Noida's lush suburbs, leaving the comfort of my good friend Rati's home. Back in the quiet embrace of my own Mountain View garden, I have started to study the weave of my experiences. I tug at this strange cloth of contrasts and try to understand if it will be thick enough to withstand the scrutiny of foreign eyes. Do bear with my attempt to test the depth of my summer reflections.

My thoughts stem from the sense of incompletion that seems endemic to field research, and is clearly illustrated in my own work. This summer's last big journey was a trip to Ayodhya with the Singh family. Thanks to the hard work of Mr. Jaynardan Singh, I made it inside the contested site of the Ram Janambhoomi Mandir (birthplace of Ram)/ Babri Masjid (built by Babur in 1528) despite the coincidence of Independence Day and the end of Sawan monsoons which brought over 2.2 million Hindu pilgrims to Ayodhya. I circled the miles of gated foot passages next to thousands of disciples shouting "Jai Ram! Jai Ram! Jai Ram!" (Ram is Great) around the Mosque/Temple complex, expecting an elaborate palace at Lord Ram's birthplace similar to the Kanak Bhawan. The above photo (courtesy of the BBC) gives a good sense of this trek. Upon reaching the upper-most hillock, I had to blink to believe my eyes. With a result looking ever-so-much like a refugee camp, the faithful have pitched low tents of black tarp above a small, velvet-clad figure of Lord Ram. A few miles away stand replicas of the first Temple of Lord Ram, which many claim predates the Mughal ruler Babur's construction of the Babri Masjid in 1528. However this history remains widely contested. [Sidenote: Historian Romila Thapar presents the most convincing evidence I've seen. She refers back to the original story of Ram, as told in the sage Valmiki's Ramayan, set in approximately 3102 BCE. This contrasts with Survey of India archaeologist Lal's excavations, where the first evidence of primitive human habitation in Ayodhya dates to the 8th century BCE.]

Yet today pillars have been hewn and stone platforms assembled for a temple to replace the mosque demolished by fanatics-cum-devotees of the Vishwa Hindu Parishad in 1992. The violence (pictured below) began with a VHP-organized 'Shilla puja', where people came from across the Indian subcontinent with bricks to build a new temple for Lord Ram at the site of his birth. Supporters of a new Hindu temple remain steadfast that It Will Be Built despite the more than 900 deaths in the riots across the country that followed the destruction of the Babri Masjid, continued in 2002's equally horrifying set of riots in Gujarat.














In this context, I consider the Ram Janmabhoomi temple's incompleteness a very, very good thing.

Please forgive me for harping on such a devestating issue to make a few points about India today.

First, my time in Ayodhya emphasized how poorly I understand polytheistic Hindu culture. Walking barefoot through the streets of old Ayodhya, I saw devotees paying homage at the sites where they believe Gods walked the earth. In ancient palace retaining rooms, people flock to beautifully-painted locations where Ram and his divine consort, Sita, once spent their days and evenings together. In modern temples, people stop to pray near the swings that Ram and Sita supposedly enjoy every evening. Given my upbringing in the West's purely secular public life, I am surprised to see large numbers of people intertwine their daily behavior with their Gods'.

Frankly, I find some of this terrifying. For example, consider the transformation of Tulsidas' 16th century epic poem, Ramcharitmanas into a popular story now re-written many times under the title "Ramayan," which Ramanand Sagar made into a serial television show in 1987. All of this is well and good, but a sizable portion of the show's 100 million fans began worshiping the actors in the serial as Gods. Then-PM Rajiv Gandhi celebrated this fact, saying "[Ramayan] has imbibed the great Indian culture, tradition and normal values especially in the young." I hope that India's future will be argued over by a great many contradictory voices, rather than decreed by a single, made-for-television coalition of Hindu deities, but such events make me pessimistic.

Second, the government's response to the politicians who incited the violent riots of 1992 and 2002 has been abysmal. The top politicians in the VHP-BJP alliance who whipped up religious hatred have, for all intensive purposes, been rewarded with more votes, membership in ruling coalitions, and more leadership responsibilities. For example, India's Home Minister at the time of the Babri Masjid demolition, LK Advani, was present in Ayodhya at the time and at the very least did nothing to prevent the violence. However he is now the BJP's President.

I can't help seeing a connection between India's politics and its rampant public sector corruption. An article by JNU Philosophy Professor Pratap Bhanu Mehta discusses corruption in the context of Montesquieu's words:

If 'we inquire into the cause of all human corruptions, we shall find that they proceed from the impunity of criminals, and not from the moderation of punishments.'

Rather than witnessing a progressive move towards social equality, it seems contemporary India is reinterpreting inequality as fundamental to its fractured social identity. In this context, laws meant to induce cooperation become a crutch for personal corruption - more specifically, inequality becomes legitimized by the reservation system, and laws based on inequality are poor catalysts for new equality. These laws are good at legitimizing personal hoarding of public wealth. Without any external accountability, criminals become the newly-empowered class, and their methods become not only accepted but legitimized as pushing society one step closer to a poor sketch of equality.

I believe there are many good things about contemporary India, but Ayodhya didn't emphasize them. You will have to trust that I will add a more optimistic chapter to my concluding thoughts shortly.

Storming the fortress gates

Well, this makes one working week in Pratapgarh, but it certainly hasn't been the work I expected.

Let me first give you a sketch of a man who embodies the district. This is thanks to an interview by Prem Panicker:

Kunwar Raghuraj Pratap Singh urf Raja Bhaiya: MLA of Kunda

"How does one classify you? A raja, with the princely 'Kunwar' tag to your name, seeking votes from your 'subjects'? What are you, monarch or democrat?

(Laughing) I am whatever the times dictate I should be, I guess. Ours is a royal family, you cannot wish that away. You cannot, too, wish away the fact that despite democracy and government and all the rest of it, villagers typically look up to the powerful person in their midst -- landlord, raja, whoever -- for their needs. For them, I am their raja, their court of last resort.

And you hold court. A daily durbar, at your Raj Mahal residence, where you listen to grievances and deliver verdicts none may disobey. How does that gell with the fact that you are a member of the state government?

Again, I do what needs to be done. You will have very little idea of what life in a village community is like. Here, people have real problems that demand quick solutions. Someone encroaches on someone else's land, someone illegally harvests what belongs to another, what do you expect the villager to do? Go to court? You know how courts are -- ten years from now, they will still be giving you dates, the list of postponements will swell your case file. A villager cannot afford that -- he needs justice right now, because his existence depends on getting it. If he has to wait 10 years, he will be dead. So, he comes to me, and I help in whatever way I can.

What way is that? Assume someone occupies another's land, what can you do?

I call both parties, listen to their claims and counter-claims. If I need more information the headman of the village in question is there to provide it, and after listening to everyone, I give my verdict.

And it is obeyed. Why? What prompts this implicit obedience?

Respect. Our family ruled this land. My father, Raja Udai Pratap Singh, still flies the royal flag on top of our palace in Bhadri. Every morning, people throng to him, he distributes milk and halwa, he engages in social service. We have looked after this land and its people for centuries, and people respect us for that. Look, if you go to any royal territory, you will find it is the same -- go to Gwalior, for instance, and see the respect the Scindia name commands, see how everyone goes to them for justice.

So it is only respect? Not fear?

Isn't there always some fear mixed in with respect? You respect the courts, but isn't there also some fear, fear of punishment, mixed in with that respect?

That is because the court can punish me, send me to jail. Do you have the right to punish the people here? And how do you do it?

Rights are what people give you. Courts are appointed by governments, governments are appointed by people, so ultimately, the courts too derive power from the people. So do I -- the people come to me, they ask me for justice and when they do that, they give me the power to render justice.

....

So there is no truth to the reports that you depend on strong-arm tactics, on your squad of bully-boys?

None.

When some Muslims spoke out against your candidature in 1996, Dilerganj village was attacked, five houses torched, three girls trying to escape were chopped to death, the men fled. Is that true?

That the incident happened is true. That I had something to do with it, is not. Here, you are in a feudal society -- quarrels sometimes lead to bloodshed, but how am I to blame for that? If I am supposed to be that sort of person, how is it that there are 10 people contesting against me in Kunda? Why are they not all dead?

I travelled through the constituency, and through Bihar -- and there is not one single poster, flag, bunting, party office, of anyone. Your posters are the only ones to be seen there. Surely, that is because the others are terrified of you?

It could be because the other parties realise it is a lost cause, campaigning against me here. Last time, I won by over 85,000 votes in a constituency with just 2 lakh 45 thousand (245,000) people. This time, my margin will increase. The other parties must have realised that it is a waste of money to put up flags and buntings and all that."

I'm hoping to meet Raja Bhaiya shortly, but til then this is my story:

Day One: Impassable rail and roads made a three-hour trip a day's journey.

Day Two: Cut short by a snake-worshiping holiday (it's the monsoon season, and hence time to worship Shiva) and a new ritual called "Tehsil Diwas" (this is actually a highly worthwhile activity I will explain in the future). However I arm-wrestled officials for meetings. Or the near-equivalent; my able translator Priya Singh got Pratapgarh's reigning heavyweight, Mr. Amitendra Srivastav, Bureau Chief of Sahara News, to help introduce me to a great number of lawyers and arrange a meeting with one of Pratapgarh's elder statesmen, Mr. Tej Bhadur Singh. The wise 80-year-old lawyer still advises his juniors at court daily and holds what seems to be a court of earlier times from his mansion as benevolent elder Zamindar.

Day Three: In breathtaking succession I got access to the Sub-District Magistrate's Land Revenue Court Record Room, learned about ten relevant sections of UP land law; then met the incredibly vigorous District Magistrate, Sendhil Pandian C, who gave me blanket access to all records and a ream of statistics; rushed to SSP sahb HR Sharma, who validated many of my old theories on caste that I had long considered as dear, deceased friends; and with Amitendra's support all seemed effortless.

Day Four: Black despair returns. The Record Room Keeper revoked my access to their files once he learned that I want (pained expression as he contracts his face in horror)... ek hazaar (1,000) case files. Only now does written permission from the DM become a prerequisite. Of course, the DM won't answer his phone. Waiting became so frustrating that I eventually took to sleeping in officials' offices to avoid conscious recollection of the time. In the evening, upon our return to the RRK with Omnipotentent Amitendra, everyone suddenly agreed that I had crossed two continents to do my research, and they should do everything possible to help my work. Hope springs eternal.

Day Five: An early-morning meeting with the local Tehsildar (land revenue official) brings promises of cultivation records to come... However only one record into my data collection at the court, the RRK decided that the information I want is "far too secret" to share openly.

Repeat from beginning of Day Four.

As luck would have it, the RRK took me to a very reasonable SDM (Sub-District magistrate) who relented and gave me complete access after a five-minute, rapid-fire quiz on the minute tenants of Uttar Pradesh's land revenue law. !

An evening meeting with the local Naib Tehsildar (Tehsildar's Junior) gives me reasons to question my current work. However she is taking Priya and me into the field to visit officials in two neighboring villages of my choice tomorrow, and a local survey team will take us out Sunday.

Time moves unpredictably here, and for better or worse this doesn't seem to be a condition particular to me. I'll continue adjusting and learning as best I can.

A fond farewell to Yamunanagar

My spirit drew itself up as I reached Yamunanagar this Thursday. Despite the four hour wait on the railway tracks just minutes away from the city, my return was sweet because I was coming home. The monsoon rains knit a grey veil around the city that lowered around me as I disembarked, but I found help at every stage of my journey.

First two young men emerged out of the unlit streets outside Lucknow's rail station to negotiate a reasonable fare for my luggage handler (Indian suits are heavy!), then another man carried my bag when I needed to change rail cars, and a third man stopped me as I lugged my bags up a flight of stairs at the Yamunanagar station and graciously took my bags across the gap and even negotiated the final rickshaw ride for me. So despite the thirteen hour rail ride my body wasn't totally pummeled by the trip. What was really most striking was my willingness to step back from rushing forward with my work in order to spend a few final days with my Indian family, Gudu, Goru, and Mama-ji. I tell myself I'm returning because I promised I would only stay away a week, and because it gives me time to double-check my logic behind my last research site, to make up for lost sleep, to practice Hindi, and to ground myself before entering a totally new locale. Honestly, though this pause is completely selfish. Finding a sense of home, a family, and the peace that comes with all of that, is a precious gift that I am wont to renounce.

The picture above is the lovely Sodhi family's rooftop, where Gudu and I have spent many an evening appreciating the cool night breezes and the space to talk freely. Below is a view of their backyard, with the sunset following today's solar eclipse...















Although I don't yet have a picture of Gudu, Goru, and Mama-ji, let me show you a little bit of local drama: my first, up-close-and-personal view of a local dispute from (near-start) to finish. Below is a photo of the mobile shop that is adjacent to the Sodhi's home. One evening about a week and a half ago, Gudu and I had escaped the ever-present heat and notable lack of electricity to perch on the rooftop.




















From here, you can see the men generally loafing about the shop. Just down the street is a concentration of private money lenders. Sometimes crowds gather when these unscrupulous lenders cause problems for people who come to them unable to repay their debts. This was exactly what happened before our eyes. One skinny, middle-aged man ran down the street towards the mobile shop, followed closely by a handful of hefty-looking men who looked prepared to teach the probable-debtor an unforgettable lesson. Soon after that another crowd of men came with bats and muscles bared. By now a few cars and vans had congregated around the mobile phone shop, where an ever-growing throng closed around the frightened man, with many fierce shouts ringing out into the night.

I asked if we should call the police, but learned this was an utterly fruitless act. In fact, the police did drive by just before the crowd gathered, with a new set of red-and-blue lights flashing. Unfortunately, their cursory attempt to flush out local deviants was probably of secondary importance to the cops, whose primary interest seems to lie in the novelty of scenic drives through the city and the chance to stare at the women on the streets. Their priorities are evidenced by the fact that the one predictable response of a call to the police is Silence.

So who finally dispersed the heady crowd? Who else but the local elders, including a man who Gudu vividly described: "He has a gimp leg, but his long fingers are in every pot." We watched the man with a gimp and several other rotund characters make there way to the shop, after which the crowd dispersed sedately. Go figure! Of course this had nothing to do with caste panchayats. Yes, I have laid that theory to rest.

In case you're worried, my spirits are not entirely broken. Below is me ready to forge into the fields in search of fallow land, disputes, and adventure (in a new suit!).




















If all goes well, Monday I should arrive in Pratapgarh, UP via Lucknow, where the 2001 Census tells me there is high variation in village-level amounts of fallow land, and locals confirm that fallow land is not a result of infertile soil.

There are three reasons for good cheer: (1) my old translator Priyanka Singh will return to the field with me; (2) the wise professionals at AMS survey company will help me access local officials, elders, disputants, and so on, in any village I request in Pratapgarh; and (3) my long-awaited meeting with a member of the National Council for Applied Economic Research, Dr. Hari Nagarajan, went extremely well. I should now get access to the most recent round of the Rural Economic and Demographic Survey (telling me all about land disputes and cultivation in 16 Indian states) and have an invitation to return to Delhi and work with NCAER as a visiting scholar this winter!

So despite my sad farewell to the Sodhi family, I have the pleasure of knowing I will return shortly, and hopefully with some good work behind me.