I met Sanatan some seven
years back at Ayodhya hills in Purulia. This region by then had already begun
to earn notoriety as a 'Maoist -infested' one and after much deliberation we
had decided on this trip.
Just as we got off our car at the government
accommodation turned tourist lodge, we saw a young man standing at a corner
inside the compound. He could be anything between twenty five and thirty five. A
sadly shrivelled man whose youth had taken a beating because of his daily
struggle with poverty, writ large in his eyes .He approached us and offered to
take us on a sight-seeing tour on foot in the afternoon on both the days. When
asked about his charge he quoted an amount which we could not believe....it was
so paltry.
He arrived much before the scheduled time and waited for us. We walked with him
through the village roads and he showed us hills, falls and small hamlets.
There was nothing to 'see' as tourists understand the term, as it was an
aimless walk through the villages, soaking in the ambience .Suddenly he stopped
in front of a hut and asked for ten rupees .When he went inside, keeping us
waiting, we could sense that he had gone in to have a glass of mahua---the
local intoxicant made from the fruits of mahua tree which keeps these people
going. On his return we resumed our walk and he talked about the life of the
local people....how the entire region was dry and arid for most of the year
yielding almost no crops and how difficult it was to eke out a living. As we walked
we found small construction work going on in several places....people building
their own little houses. Sanatan asked them if there was any need for more
labour. Everywhere the reply was in the negative. I just wondered how this man,
married and with a child and another on the way,could manage to survive?. Odd
jobs were also very difficult to find.At the end of the walking-tour he took
leave of us but did not take the money. He would come the next day and take us
on a different route again!
The next day too he came
before time and escorted us to a far-off region. We walked till it was quite
late. The sun was about to set. Narrating the plight of the villagers ,he
blurted out that he didn't have anything to eat that day...and that it was
quite a normal routine for most of the villagers to skip meals.Instantaneously
my trip was soured. I asked him why he hadn't told us before .He was ashamed,I guessed
.But I felt more ashamed to have strutted through these villages with a camera
and the tourist gaze. It was quite clear to me why the previous day he had
stopped on the way to have a shot of mahua.That is the energy drink for the
starving adivasis. He said his wife was
expecting again but she too had eaten nothing that day. Asked what he fed his
two - year old child, he replied whatever was available to him, like bread or
biscuits. Milk was something to be dreamt of. We took him to the nearest eatery
and offered him tea and snacks and handed a packet of the same for his wife and
child .When I asked him how he would feed the child that was expected, pat came
the reply that whatever would be available to them would suffice for the new
child. I tried in vain to explain to him the benefits of tubectomy for his wife! When he was paid quite a lot in
excess to what he had quoted the subdued glee in his eyes I would never forget.
He planned to buy rice after quite a few days and eggs for his home. It was
going to be quite a feast, it seemed. But when asked what he would do once this
money was spent, he had no answer except that perennial optimism...I might get
some work by then.
That night I couldn`t have my
dinner. I remembered the eyes of Sanatan....uncertainty, insecurity, a resigned
attitude ....all rolled into one. I was trying to gauge what it felt like when
one is not sure if one would get food the next morning. I suffered from an
overpowering sense of guilt. And I made a promise to myself. Never to visit such places as a tourist,
well-dressed, with a camera in hand. Just as I would never spend a vacation in
the vicinity of a closed tea garden in the Dooars where malnutrition, starvation
and death stalk the people. It was outright heartless ,to say the least. I had no business
to be there if not to make a difference, however small, in the lives of these
people. I remembered that I, a thorough city-bred epicure, had not even
bothered to ask Sanatan`s full name.
Seven years have passed. Sometimes I
feel curious to know about Sanatan and his family. With the change of guard in
the state has there been any real change in their lives? Has there been any
development in the god-forsaken terrain where neglect, apathy and deprivation
were part of the system? Does Sanatan
and his family get a square meal every day? I dare not visit the place again to
get my answer.
