Migrations, Identities and Democratic Practices in India 9781138236455, 9781351175265

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MIGRATIONS, IDENTITIES AND DEMOCRATIC PRACTICES IN INDIA

This book explores contesting identities, international politics, migration and democratic practices in the context of globalizing India. Drawing on extensive ethnographic research, it looks at one of the oldest migratory routes across a volatile region in eastern India which is fraught with violent claims of separate statehood. The book offers an account of how the ‘North Bengal’ region has acted as a gateway to migrant populations over time and points to why it must be understood as a shifting and liminal space through a study of Bodoland, Gorkhaland, Kamatapuri, Siliguri and the Greater Cooch Behar movements. It shows the region’s politics of identity or quest for homeland not as a means of compensating for the lack or absence of identity, but as an everyday practice of living that very absence, across borders and boundaries, without arriving at any definitive and stable identity, along with impacts and manifestations in democratic political processes. A major intervention in modern political theory – shedding new light on concepts such as home and homeland, space and self, sovereignty, nationstate, freedom and democracy – this book will be of interest to scholars and researchers of political science, modern South Asian history, sociology and social anthropology, and migration and diaspora studies. Samir Kumar Das is Professor of Political Science, University of Calcutta, Kolkata, West Bengal, India. Previously, he was Vice-Chancellor of the University of North Bengal, West Bengal; Visiting Professor at Universite Paris 13 and Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi; and Adjunct Professor of Government at the School of Foreign Service, Georgetown University. He specializes in and writes on issues of ethnicity, migration, rights and democracy. Some of his prominent publications include India: Democracy and Violence (2015, edited); Governing India’s Northeast: Essays on Insurgency, Development and the Culture of Peace (2013); ICSSR Surveys and Explorations: Political Science: Volume I: Indian State (2013, edited); Conflict and Peace in India’s Northeast: The Role of Civil Society (2006); and Blisters on Their Feet: Tales of Internally Displaced Persons in India’s North East (2008, edited).

MIGRATIONS, IDENTITIES AND DEMOCRATIC PRACTICES IN INDIA

Samir Kumar Das

First edition published 2018 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2018 Samir Kumar Das The right of Samir Kumar Das to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-23645-5 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-351-17526-5 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

“Only thoughts reached by walking are of value . . .” Friedrich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols or How to Philosophize with a Hammer (1889)

“Believe that what is productive is not sedentary but nomadic” Michel Foucault, ‘Preface’ to Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (1972)

CONTENTS

Prefaceviii List of abbreviationsxii Introduction1 PART I

Transit spaces

29

1 The violent gateway

31

2 The moving city

65

PART II

Unsettling identities

93

3 The dangerous journey to citizenship

95

4 Living the ‘absence’

129

PART III

Democratic practices

155

5 Home, homeland and politics of the unhomely

157

6 Democracy’s unusual sites

192

Glossary225 Index227 vii

PREFACE

The idea of writing this book occurred to me the moment I was asked to shift to the University of North Bengal back in early 2012. My stint at the University – hectic and tiring as it sometimes was – eventually turned out to be incredibly productive as it offered me the opportunity of being directly exposed to the social and intellectual life of the region. Familiar though as I was with the social life of Kolkata since my childhood, I increasingly came to discover that West Bengal is more than Kolkata and each society has its own ways of expressing itself that one has to be a part of it in order to be able to understand and write on it. While at one level, there exists an extraordinary proliferation of little magazines, booklets and books mainly in local and regional languages, theatres, plays and discussion forums and so forth, at another level, there is indeed an acute dearth of research publications coming especially from prestigious publishing houses. Ranajit Dasgupta’s (1992): Economy, Society and Politics in Bengal: Jalpaiguri 1869–1947 (1992) and Subhojyoti Ray’s Transformations on the Bengal Frontier: Jalpaiguri, 1765–1948 (2002), to my mind, deserve particular mention. The hegemony of global publication protocols does not seem to offer to us too much of a scope for experimenting with a variety of locally and regionally circulating speaking, writing and publication styles. In this book, I tried my best to reconcile the culturally specific forms of self-expression with the otherwise abiding imperatives of academic publication. While public life of North Bengal is exceptionally vibrant, the vibrancy does not necessarily get reflected in the kind of publications that are rolled out of the region. Is there any way to understand and make sense of these culturally specific forms of self-expression? Are these forms too specific to be investigated by an outsider like me? Are these forms to be taken as both given and unalterable? In Social Theory, the forms are often sought to be understood with reference to such concepts as ‘deep structure’, ‘root viii

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metaphor’, ‘master narrative’ and so forth. While each of these concepts has the undue effect of stabilizing and freezing – if not reifying – an otherwise changing and often volatile social reality that North Bengal represents while seeking to understand it, what I tried here is find out how the social life of the region could best be represented in the figure of a nomad: For one thing, the region being located in the cusp of South and Southeast Asia historically served as the bridgehead between the two civilizations constantly witnessing the movement of groups and communities across them. The constant population movement also invested the region with its rainbow character with the miscegenation of a wide variety of groups and communities while turning it into a fluid and liminal space. For another, its fluidity and liminality also enable it in many ways to escape the disciplinary grids of stable and settled administration. The region has not only been a standing witness to the cracking and splitting of empires and kingdoms in history, but a laboratory of experimentation with a plethora of tools and technologies of governance that primarily aim at settling the population within the spatial confines of North Bengal. It is only in the wake of the formation of nation-states and reorganization of international borders that such constant movement of population is supposed to have come to a complete stop. The figure of nomad represents human movement of a very special type. The nomad is one who is not only on the move without a permanent home to return to and is called upon to negotiate with many a border and boundary that the birth of nation-states seems to have brought into existence in the region, but is metaphorically shuttling between identities without ever being successful in decisively embracing any one of them. While this latter movement more often than not is also portrayed in the existing literature as a search for ‘home’ and ‘homeland’ as it were with the objective of sedentarizing them, the figure of the nomad aptly helps us interrogate – if not demystify – the otherwise overbearing notions of identity. Thus, homelessness does not necessarily imply a ‘lack’ or ‘absence’ – but simply a mode of living, social life per se. Nomadism is a way of living – not necessarily a futile act of reaching a final destination and home. The nomad, in other words, serves as an episteme – a way of knowing the world. Society and politics of the region are sought to be understood in this this book by effectively disembedding them from the frame of overpowering metaphors of identity, home and homeland. Thus, the figure of the nomad also compels us to revisit our conventional understanding of home and homeland, of self and identity, of space, sovereignty and territory, of democracy and democratic practices and offers – as Nietzsche puts it – ‘thoughts of value’. ix

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A book of this nature would not have been possible without the advice, help and assistance of a host of scholars and well-wishers. I particularly thank Ananda Gopal Ghosh, Dipak Roy, Nikhilesh Ray, Girindra Narayan Ray, Dyutis Chakraborty, Rajat Subhra Mukhopadhyay and Bijay Kumar Swatasiddha Sarkar of the University of North Bengal for their help and advice. Manas Dasgupta, Bimalendu Majumdar and Bani Prasanna Misra helped me both with their advice and writings. Ajay Misra and Brindaban Karmakar – both from the University of North Bengal – provided me with many important books and documents which I might not have come across ever in my life had they not had drawn my attention to them. I remain grateful to all of them. The nucleus of this book was formed when Parthasarathi Mondal, Chairperson of the Centre for Social Theory, Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS), Mumbai, invited me to present a paper on ‘Constituting the “Absence”: The Rajbanshis of North Bengal’ to a seminar on ‘Caste in India: Presence and Erasure’ that TISS organized jointly with the Indian Council of Philosophical Research (ICPR) in Mumbai on 20–21 January 2014. The dense interactions during the seminar inspired me to further toss around some of my albeit uncut and extremely tentative ideas with some of India’s leading sociologists and philosophers. The draft paper presented to the seminar developed into TISS Working Paper No. 5 brought out by the Research and Development and Centre for Social Theory, Tata Institute of Social Sciences back in March 2015 and subsequently into the Chapter 4 of the present book. A special word of thanks in this connection to Tata Institute of Social Sciences (TISS), Mumbai, and to Dr. Surinder Jassal, Deputy Director (Research) in particular, for having permitted me to publish the paper in this book. The second part of the same Chapter draws heavily on my Ambedkar Memorial Lecture on ‘Politics of Body: The Rajbanshis of North Bengal’ that I was invited to deliver to the Department of Anthropology, University of Calcutta in 2014. I thank Subho Roy for extending the invitation and of course his comments. I take the opportunity of thanking the members of Dinhata Boys’ Recreation Club, Cooch Behar, for inviting me to make a presentation on the history of the origins of the idea of development for North Bengal. Parts of some of the chapters were presented on various occasions both at home and abroad. I am grateful to Nani Gopal Mahanta and Akhil Datta of Gauhati University, Sanjoy Hazarika then with the Centre for North East Studies (C-NES), Jamia Millia Islamia, Atul

x

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Sood and Bhagat Oinam of the North East India Study programme (NEISP), Badri Narayan, then with the Centre for the Study of Exclusion and Inclusive Policy (CESIP) – both at Jawaharlal Nehru University for inviting me to deliver lectures in their respective centres and institutions – which finally went into the making of this book. The inputs from Neera Chandhoke of Delhi University, Sucharita Sen and Alexander Follmann of the Centre for the Study of Regional Development (CSRD), Amit Prakash, and Pratiksha Baxi of the Centre for the Study of Law and Governance (CSLG), Jawaharlal Nehru University have only made me richer. I express my deep sense of gratitude to Sekhar Bandyopadhyay of Victoria University (New Zealand), Dwaipayan Sen of Amherst College (the USA) and Surinder Singh Jodhka of Jawaharlal Nehru University for making many readings readily available to me. I am thankful to the students of my course on ‘Migration and Conflicts in South Asia’ at the Edmund A. Walsh School of Foreign Service, Georgetown University in 2014. The course gave me the opportunity of experimenting my ideas with some of the world’s finest young minds. An earlier draft of Chapter 2 was delivered as a lecture with the title ‘Women and India’s New Urban Landscape’ to Helene Perivier’s seminar class at Sciences-Po, Paris, in 2016. I thank her and other colleagues at Sciences-Po for their comments on the draft. Chapter 5 is a vastly revised version of the special lecture that I delivered to the National Conference on ‘Internally Displaced Persons’ organized by the South Asians for Human Rights (SAHR) in New Delhi on 18 July 2012. Last but not the least, I thank Routledge – Aakash Chakrabarty in particular – for being ever so responsive and three anonymous referees for their extremely useful comments and suggestions. I remain deeply indebted to Samita not only for bearing with my absence while I was on long sojourn and also for offering her deep insights that have eventually found place in the book. Unless otherwise indicated, all translations from original non-English sources are mine. Needless to say, I am alone responsible for the lapses, if there are any.

xi

ABBREVIATIONS

AABSU AASU ABAVP ABGL AGP AIUDF AJRC

All-Assam Bodo Students’ Union All-Assam Students’ Union Akhil Bharatiya Adivasis Vikas Parishad Akhil Bharatiya Gorkha League Asom Gana Parishad All-India United Democratic Front Adivasi Jami Raksha Committee or Committee for the Protection of Land of the Adivasis AKRSU All Koch-Rajbanshi Students’ Union of Assam ANSCA All-Nepalese Scheduled Caste Association AVP Adivasi Vikash Parishad (Council for the Development of the Adivasis) BAC Bodo Autonomous Council Bangiya Adhikar Mancha or Bengal Rights Organization BAM BBBC Bangla Bhasha Banchao Committee or Save Bengali Language Committee BGJMS Bharatiya Gorkha Janajati Manyata Samiti or the Committee for the Recognition of Indian Gorkhas as Tribe BJKP Bangiya Juba Kalyan Parishad or Bengal Youth Welfare Association BJP Bharatiya Janata Party BKKM Bharatiya Koch-Rajbanshi Kshatriya Mahasabha or the Congregation of the Kshatriya Koch-Rajbanshis of India BKRP Bharatiya Kamata Rajya Parishad BLT Bodo Liberation Tigers BPAC Bodo People’s Action Committee BTAD Bodoland Territorial Autonomous District BTC Bodoland Territorial Council CBRYO Cooch Behar Rajbanshi Youth Organisation CESR-G Centre for Ethnic Studies and Research–Golakganj xii

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CMKS

Cha Mazdoor Kalyan Samiti or Committee for the Welfare of Tea Labourers CPI Communist Party of India CPI (M) Communist Party of India (Marxist) CPI (ML) Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist) CPRM Communist Party of Revolutionary Marxists DBKS Dinbazar (Jalpaiguri) Byabasayee Kalyan Samiti or Dinbazar Merchants’ Welfare Association DGHC Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council DPA Darjeeling Planters’ Association EA European Association FAWLOIUS Financial Assistance for Workers of Locked Out Industrial Units Scheme GATA Gorkhaland Adivasi Territorial Administration GCBDP Greater Cooch Behar Democratic Party GCPA Greater Cooch Behar Peoples’ Association GCPP Greater Cooch Behar Peoples’ Party GJMF Gorkha Janmukti Minority Forum GJM/GJMM Gorkha Janmukti Morcha or the Alliance for Liberation of Gorkha People GKUF Greater Kamatapur United Forum GL Gorkha League GNLF Gorkha National Liberation Front GP An organization of GJM, the early nomenclature of ‘Gorkhaland Police’ was changed to ‘Gorkhaland Personnel’ to avoid legal complications Gorkhaland Sanjukta Morcha or Gorkhaland Joint Front GSM GTA Gorkhaland Territorial Administration HA Hillmen’s Association JCM Jana Chetna Manch or Forum for (awakening) Peoples’ Consciousness JUM Jalpaiguri Unnayan Mancha or Forum for the Development of Jalpaiguri KBSP-S Kamatapuri Bhasha O Sahitya Parishad-Shivmandir or Organization of Kamatapur Language and Culture– Shivmandir KGP Kamatapur Gana Parishad KLO Kamatapur Liberation Organization KMS Kishan Mazdoor Sangathan or the Organization of the Peasants and Workers KMSS Krishak Mukti Sangram Samiti or the Organization for the Liberation of the Peasants xiii

A bbreviations

KPP KRS

Kamatapur Peoples’ Party Kendriya Rajbanshi Samity or central Rajbanshi Organization Koch-Rajbanshi Students’ Union of Assam KRSUA KS Kshatriya Samiti or the congregation of the Kshatriyas MASUM Manabadhikar Suraksha Mancha MGNREGA Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act MLLDB Mayel Lyang Lepcha Development Board NDFB National Democratic Front of Bodoland NEFSSR-J North Eastern Foundation for Social Science ResearchJalpaiguri NHRC National Human Rights Commission NUPW National Union of Plantation Workers MSUA Muslim Students’ Union of Assam PPP Private-Public Partnership PTCA Plains Tribal Council of Assam SJDA Siliguri-Jalpaiguri Development Authority SJP Samajwadi Jana Parishad or Socialist Peoples’ Association SJSS Sanmilit Janagoshthi Sangram Samiti or the Combined Forum for Movement of the Tribal Communities SMS Shillong Mazdoor Sangathan or Shillong Workers’ Organization SRC States’ Reorganization Commission SSB Special Services Bureau Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act TADA TASO Transferred Area Surjyapur Organization TMC (All-India) Trinamool Congress UBUSM Uttarbanga Unnayan Sangram Mancha or North Bengal Forum for Struggle for Development UJSS Uttarbanga Jharkhandi Sangharsh Samiti or North Bengal Jharkhandi Struggle Committee UKD Uttarkhanda Dal or Party of the Northern Part ULFA United Liberation Front of Assam USP-T Uttarbanga Sanskritik Parishad-Tufanganj or North Bengal Cultural Organization–Tufanganj UTJAS Uttarbanga Tapasheeli Jati o Adivasi Sangathan or North Bengal Scheduled Castes’ and Tribes’ Organization UTNLF United Tribal Nationalist Liberation Front YCS Yuva Chhatra Sangathan

xiv

INTRODUCTION

North Bengal or Uttarbanga as it is known in Bengali – located in the north of the Indian state1 of West Bengal – runs over the latitudes of 27 degree 13’ and 24 degree 40’ in the north, and 47 degree 45’ and 80 degree 57’ in the east. According to the earliest official census (1872), the region consisted of 3.22 million persons over an area of 29.50 thousand square kilometers with the population density of around 110 persons per square kilometer. As per the census of 1981, the total population of the region stood at 10.44 million persons with a density of 475 persons per square kilometer. As per the 2011 census, North Bengal accounts for 18.83 percent of total population of the state. The growth rate of population in North Bengal is 16.13 percent which is much higher than the state average of 13.93 percent. The decennial growth rate of population is higher than the state average and this is believed to be partly due to the huge influx of immigrants from mainly the adjoining Indian states and neighbouring countries like Bangladesh, Bhutan and Nepal into the districts of North Bengal.

Uttarbanga: the becoming of a region Today’s Uttarbanga consists of eight districts of North Bengal – Darjeeling, Kalimpong, Cooch Behar, Jalpaiguri, Alipurduar, North Dinajpur, South Dinajpur and Malda – Alipurduar and Kalimpong being the latest additions. The term ‘North Bengal’ itself, according to Ghosh, gained its “wide currency and popularity” especially in the 1980s primarily in response to the wide circulation and popularity of the term Dakshinbanga or South Bengal (Ghosh 2006: 2). However, the term Uttarbanga started figuring in the public discourse of mostly the newspapers and popular journals since the 1960s. Dasgupta, however, informs us that it was Dr. Bidhan Chandra Ray – the first Chief Minister of West Bengal – who used the term for the first time on the 1

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floor of West Bengal Legislative Assembly (Dasgupta 2013: 78). The two districts of Jalpaiguri and Darjeeling were created during the British rule. Much of Darjeeling was part of the Kingdom of Sikkim ruled by the Sikkimpatti Raja and the rest of it along with parts of Jalpaiguri and Cooch Behar were under the authority of Bhutan and Tibet at different points of history. North Bengal during the colonial rule would include a much larger tract consisting of the districts of Dinajpore (now Dinajpur), Bogura, Pabna, Rajshahi and Rangpur – all of them in East Pakistan/Bangladesh; Jalpaiguri, Malda, Darjeeling, the Princely state of Cooch Behar – now in West Bengal, parts of Purnea – subsequently in Bihar/ Jharkhand, and then-undivided Nadia – now a part of central West Bengal, Goalpara and part of the district of Kamrup – presently in Assam. During the colonial rule, a large part of the district of Mushidabad was considered as an integral part of North Bengal as Berhampore – now the headquarters of the district of Murshidabad – once served as the district headquarters of Rajshahi – although it is true that Rajshahi itself was a separate Division since 1874. Subsequently when Rajshahi was integrated into the Cooch Behar Division, the combined Division was renamed as ‘Rajshahi and Cooch Behar Division’. It was at this time that the Divisional Headquarters was shifted to Jalpaiguri and this arrangement continued till 1947. After the Partition of 1947, several other terms came into circulation to designate the region (like ‘Himalaya’, ‘Kanchanjangha’, ‘Terai’, ‘Gour’, ‘Kamatapur’, ‘Kotibarsha’, ‘Poundrabardhan’, ‘Barendrabhumi’ etc.), although each of them refers only a part of what Uttarbanga today consists of with the effect that the geographies respectively associated with this repertoire of terms are also at variance with each other. Ghosh argues that although the term Uttarbanga was used only to refer to a geographical region, with the passage of time it also acquired ‘an intellectual meaning and an identity of its own’ (Ghosh 2006: 12). Much like what happened in South Bengal in the early part of the nineteenth century, North Bengal too experienced similar ‘renaissance’ though much later – only in late nineteenth century. Akshaya Kumar Maitreya – an eminent historian from the region – in his Presidential address to the Uttarbanga Sahitya Sammelan (Literary Assembly of North Bengal) observed: At one point of time, the life force of Bengal (Bangadesh) was pulsating in the Barendra Pradesh of Uttarbanga. Whether one is a Hindu, or a Muslim or a Buddhist, all of them came there and were stirred by the distinctive longing for (swatantrya 2

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lipsa) a separate identity of their own and made the name of Bengalis famous in India.2 According to Ghosh, “the term was used institutionally first by the Rangpur Sahitya Parishad” or Rangpur Literary Council (Ghosh 2006: 41) established as a branch of Bangiya Sahitya Parishad (Bengal Literary Society) in 1905. Such initiatives were inspired by the growth of what Ghosh describes as Uttarbangabad or North Bengal-ism – ­literally an ideology for North Bengal (Ghosh 2006: 132). How does such a discourse of Uttarbanga with the ideology of ‘North Bengal-ism’ or North Bengali regionalism situate itself vis-à-vis South Bengal or for that matter West Bengal in general? Is Uttarbanga then to be merely called North Bengal being an integral part of (West) Bengal or as a geographical location, that is located north of West Bengal (Paschimbanger Uttar), without necessarily being a part of the ethos of West Bengal? Dipak Ray argues that the discourse of Uttarbanga will have to be understood in opposition to the Kolkata-centric understanding of West Bengal and the region, according to him, refers to ‘Bengal beyond West Bengal’ or Bangetar Banga (Ray 2012: 57). While at one level, the term Uttarbanga has been defined as ‘a natural expression’ (Ghosh 2006: 71), its often tenuous relation at another level to Kolkata-centric understanding of West Bengal has its obvious political implications for the region. But at the same time, we also see that this trend towards the formation of a homogeneous identity for the whole of North Bengal is to be read against its grain as it runs parallel to the multiple histories of resistance, dismemberment and fragmentation of the region.

Sedentarization in the migratory gateway History of the region alludes to a time when it was yet to become a ‘region’ and retained its liminal character in the sense of being always open to the forces and influences from without. North Bengal is variously known as a ‘corridor’, ‘borderland’, ‘frontier’, ‘shatter zone’, ‘route area’, ‘gateway’ or ‘bridgehead’ that serves as a link between the so-called Indian ‘mainland’ and the states of the Northeast and even farther – across the countries of Southeast and Central Asia. While defining ‘shatter zones’ or ‘route areas’, Bernard Cohn writes: Shatter zones or route areas are the traditional regions through which large numbers of people passed either in military or peaceful invasion. In these areas which in effect connect the nuclear regions there is no persistent political tradition. 3

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Socially or culturally the area tends to be more of a mosaic than a relative unitary kind of social structure, and the tendency is characteristic to some extent of both regions of relative isolation and the perennial nuclear regions. (Cohn 1987: 109) North Bengal has historically served as the gateway to the countries of Southeast and Central Asia. Being a gateway, it has been one of the world’s greatest migratory routes in history – a transit space that was as it were standing witness to almost incessant human migration both from South and Southeast Asia (Chatterji 1974). It is only towards the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth that the idea of governing the region by way of creating borders (the drawing of the McMahon Line being an instance) and extending the administration right up to the borders (also known as ‘Forward Policy’) caught the imagination of the colonial authorities. The colonial policy of enclosing the region literally on all sides culminated in the Partition of 1947 that led to the reorganization of international borders with the birth of two nation-states of India and Pakistan. What had hitherto been a transit space with all its porosities and openness started to turn into a settled ‘territory’ with its people situated within it. What subsequently emerged as ‘India’s Northeast’ remains precariously connected to the so-called mainland India through a narrow, only 21-kilometer wide ‘Siliguri Corridor’ – also known in strategic circles as the ‘Chicken Neck’. On the one hand, the reorganization of international borders was intended to reduce the historically prevalent nomadic movement of population groups in the region – if not bring it to a complete halt. On the other hand, with the transformation of a transit space into human settlement, the otherwise nomadic population groups and communities felt encouraged to settle here and claim North Bengal as their homeland. Partition (1947) itself, to cite just an instance, occasioned the production of many such homeland imaginaries in the region. Insofar as a variety of homeland imaginaries comes into circulation and continues to shape and influence political practices of the groups and communities living in the region, the landscape of nation-states becomes only one amongst a host of homeland imaginaries in contemporary North Bengal. The landscape of nation-states with their supposedly ‘well marked out’ spaces and ‘impenetrable’ borders is thus called upon to reckon with and negotiate a bewildering variety of homeland imaginaries. While at one level the circulation of a multiplicity of homeland imaginaries makes it impossible for anyone of 4

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them to exercise unbridled hegemony over others, the relatively ‘subjugated’ imaginaries at another level continue to remain as – what Foucault would have called – ‘heterotopias’ – constantly destabilizing, fracturing and interrupting the ‘master narrative’ of the settled history and settlement whether of the space or of the people or as in most cases both in the region. Most of the writings on North Bengal are however framed predominantly in the ‘master narrative’ of settlement in the sense of settling different groups and communities within the space of North Bengal that had a long history of continuously moving population. The problems that North Bengal as a region seems to be facing today are believed to have emanated from the region’s yet incomplete process of settlement. The demand for the separate statehood of ‘Kamatapur’ or ‘Greater Cooch Behar’, ‘Gorkhaland’ or ‘Surjyapur’ or a separate ‘Adivasi Pradesh’ in the Dooars and so forth are taken to point to the incomplete nature of settlement in the region. While writings on North Bengal are issued from the abiding concern of completing the hitherto incomplete agenda of settlement in the region much in the way Mohammed Ali Jinnah insisted on ‘finishing the unfinished task of Partition’, most of them, to our mind, dwell on individual movements without making any systematic attempt whatsoever at understanding them within a comparative framework and bringing their findings to bear on the configuration of space and time in the specific context of North Bengal. The literature on the society and politics in North Bengal thus shuttles between the twin extremes of home and homelessness, between homeland and the palpable ‘absence’ of homeland. Let us see how the movements by the Rajabanshis at different stages of history since the early twentieth century are explained with reference to their growing landlessness and depeasantization particularly since the late nineteenth century. Jana quotes the census of 2001 according to which the percentage of population as cultivators is highest in Cooch Behar (14.61 percent), followed by Dinajpur (11.97 percent), Malda (8.44 percent), Jalpaiguri (8.24 percent) and Darjeeling (5.15 percent). Jalpaigrui records a remarkable increase in the number of agricultural labourers with a correspondingly sharp decline in the number of rural cultivators during 1991–2001. All this is believed to indicate that the Rajbanshis hitherto the landowning class lost more land in that decade. The mushrooming of unauthorized tea gardens from the late 1980s is yet another development that had aided the growth of landlessness. As we will see, there has been an enormous increase in the number of plantation estates in Jalpaiguri district in the 5

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1990s. As Jana explains: “Since no new land has been reclaimed the tea gardens must have eaten away a good part of the land cultivated by the Rajbanshis” (Jana in Nepal & Chakraborty 2012: 319). A large amount of land seems to have changed hands and their status as well. An unconfirmed source puts it at 40,000 hectares consisting mostly though not exclusively of small tea gardens. According to Dasgupta, the advent of colonial rule brought about ‘social, economic and political change’ in the district of Jalpaiguri particularly during 1869–1947 when tea estates were set up by the colonial rulers and ‘services and professions’ were monopolized by the ‘upper caste Hindus and Noakhali Muslims’. This obviously “narrowed down the opportunities and increased pressure on available resources” (Dasgupta 1992: 87). As he puts it: “These . . . processes generated new social tensions and strivings which partly found expression through the Rajbanshi Kshatriya movement” (Dasgupta 1992: 87) that we will discuss in Chapter 4. These ‘tensions and strivings’, according to him, took on the form of an identity movement. According to him: By 1920, and in fact by the turn of the century, very significant changes had occurred in the agrarian structure of Jalpaiguri in the form of transformation of cultivating and resident-jotedars into non-cultivating and non-resident-jotedars, the intrusion of non-agriculturalist mahajans, traders and professional people into the rural society, the increasing impoverishment and loss of land by small landholders and small peasants, resulting in the swelling of the rural poor and landless adhiars or adhiars owning tiny plots. (Dasgupta 1992: 49–50) By all accounts, many of the Rajbanshi landlords lost their land as a result of the new tenurial system introduced in North Bengal by the colonial rulers. Thanks to the extensive land leasing and lower agricultural profit, many landlords fell into debts. His research points out that the title ‘tin’ was given to people who used to own houses made of tin roof. The title would recognize the number of houses a jotedar would own – like etin (one tin roof), dutin (two tin roofs), etc. Such tin roof houses – otherwise very characteristic of the poor people – were used by the Rajbanshi jotedars of North Bengal at a time when brick and mortar houses with trendy architectural designs were very common in South Bengal. If this was the case of the jotedars, one could well imagine the penury of the sharecroppers or the Rajbanshi 6

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adhiars. Rajbanshi Kshatriya movement is to be understood as part of this larger social and economic transformation. Subhajyoti Ray’s landmark book also points out how the colonial policy of initiating land settlement in the Dooars between 1872 and 1895 led to social and economic transformation unsettling thereby mainly the Rajbanshis living there. In his words: Between 1872 and 1895 in the permanently settled parts of the district (Baikunthapur and Chaklajat estates) the aim was to clearly define plots and fix rents as well as to reserve rent-free lands, and generally streamline the system. But it was in the Dooars that the most far-reaching changes of the period took place. (Ray 2002: 199) Again, Roy Choudhury shows that the Rajbanshi families controlled about 53 percent of the jotes (plots of agricultural land) of Western Dooars and therefore remained a powerful factor amongst rural elites. Poor return from agriculture, non-payment of governmental revenue and high price of land caused a substantial number of jotes to transfer hands. By the turn of the twentieth century, and particularly since 1905, the big jotes had regularly started to change hands and were mostly being concentrated among non-Rajbanshis (Roy Choudhury 1987: 14 mimeo). As Mukhopadhyay observes: Through this process of land alienation a class of new landed gentry or jotedars emerged in the region which was quite alien to the previous one. Ethnically many of their descendants are now less favoured by the descendants of the old Rajbanshi jotedars of this region. (Mukhopadhyay 1987: 9 mimeo) The Dooars became the flashpoint insofar as such roving population groups as the sannyasis, the fakirs and swidden cultivators were sought to be settled by clearing the jungles. Realizing that many Rajbanshi landowners have lost their raiyati land through mortgage and sale, a Rajbanshi leader – once a well-to-do jotedar and an office-bearer of the Uttarkhanda Dal on which we will have occasion to dwell later – asserted: “he must have his land, and the Bhatiyas (people from the downstream or the South), to whom he had sold his property must be thrown out” (quoted in Mukhopadhyay 1995: 227–228). The movements for establishing a separate state of Kamatapur or Greater Cooch Behar in more recent times are viewed as a response to “the 7

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loss of land and non-availability of employment opportunities” (Jana in Nepal & Chakrabarty eds. 2012: 320). The literature on Gorkhaland movement – to cite yet another example of homeland movement – also revolves around the binary between homeland and its absence that catalyzes in its turn the search for home and homeland. The Gorkha National Liberation Front (GNLF) that led the Gorkhaland movement in its first phase during the early 1980s did not make any direct reference to the backwardness of the region or the economic plight of the Nepalis or the Gorkhas and concentrated primarily on the issue of their identity. At a time when the GNLF movement was at its peak, Subash Ghising – its supremo – in an interview pointed out that “ordinarily they had no complaint of economic neglect” (quoted in Sarkar 2011: 4). But its documents released from time to time referred to ‘colonial exploitation’ by Kolkata and declining recruitment of the Indian Gorkhas in the Gorkha regiment of the Indian army. The issue of land remains at the heart of the two Gorkhaland movements in the 1980s and in the first decade of the new millennium. In an interesting paper, Sarkar argues that ‘subinfeudation’ and ‘fragmentation’ of landholding in the Darjeeling hills, declining landman ratio and growing unavailability of livelihood opportunities have pushed a significant portion of rural population into the urban centres of the region and outside, for whom, there is no alternative avenue to livelihood. It is amongst them that the imaginary of Gorkhland or land to be reclaimed from the outsiders settled in the hills became very popular. As Sarkar further tells us, the significance of land in the Gorkhaland movement is discernible from a leaflet – Bulletin no.1 of the GNLF – circulated on 27 August 1980. The first two sentences printed in English capital letters are these: “RETURN ALL LAND FROM BENGAL!! BENGAL IS NOT THE MASTER OF OUR LAND!!” Once reclaimed, the leaflet also promises that all possible arrangements would be made to redistribute surplus land of towns, market places and of plantations and patta (ownership) will be given to those landholders who resided in plantation areas and had been tilling small pieces of land for generations without any legal entitlement. It was the issue of land that caught the imagination of the members of the Gorkha Volunteer Corps (GVC) – a more militant outfit of the Gorkha Janmukti Morcha (GJMM) that shot into prominence mainly in the first decade of the new millennium with the objective of creating a separate state of Gorkhaland. In Sarkar’s words: It is not surprising . . . that this segment of the urban populace had nothing to lose and the most violent segment and/or the 8

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sacrificing elements – the members of the Gorkha Volunteer Corps (GVC), for example – were essentially composed of them. (Sarkar 2010: 115) In perfect consonance with the above finding, a survey conducted by Deepika Chettri shows that the Gorkhas of Darjeeling had always dreamt of having a state of their own, and they visualize it as self-sufficient state with good educational institutions, hospitals, good infrastructure, and industry-based economy, good communication and a state where the people would have equal opportunity in all matters and of course, to solve the issue of not having a separate identity and most importantly ‘the sense of belonging to their own state i.e. Gorkhaland. (Chettri 2010–2011: 30) Attainment of Gorkhaland is the key to the solution of all other problems including inadequate and unsafe drinking water and miserable road conditions. Much in the same vein Chakraborty’s survey traces ‘a strong sense of relative deprivation’ among the people of the Darjeeling Hills that translates ‘anti-outsider feeling’ into ‘anti-South Bengal feeling’ (Chakrabarty 2013 mimeo). This book proposes to turn the table around and raises the question of how the perpetual ‘lack’, ‘absence’ and ‘incompleteness’ as told in all these stories are made into a part of lived experience of the people of the region, how people live through the ‘lack’, ‘absence’ and ‘incompleteness’ without necessarily trying to replenish or compensate them, how what we call ‘absence’ is an inseparable part of their collective existence. The politics that the ‘lack’, ‘absence’ or ‘incompleteness’ produce by being perpetually denied of home and homeland that a groups or community can describe as its own is not necessarily framed in the fight for home and homeland, but often gives birth to what Heidegger would have called the new politics of the unhomely. The book makes a modest attempt at discovering the democratic sites where the new politics unfolds itself, gets enacted and played out.

One ‘North Bengal’ or many? Officially a major part of the region is still classified as backward. The Planning Commission in a study conducted in 2002 identified three 9

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districts of Jalpaiguri, South Dinajour and North Dinajpur as backward under its ‘Backward Districts Initiative-Rashtriya Sram Vikas Yojana’. Malda was subsequently added to this list. As per the West Bengal Human Development Report (2004), none of the districts – with the exception of Darjeeling – is favourably placed on the scale. While Darjeeling ranks fourth in terms of human development in West Bengal, all the other districts lag far behind – ranking somewhere between 10 and 17. The same report also points out that Darjeeling ranks the top with Human Development Index of 0.65 amongst the districts of North Bengal, while Malda with 0.44 Index ranks the last. It may be noted that Darjeeling ranks higher than the state average (0.61) while Malda occupies the seventeenth position – the last in the overall ranking within the state. A composite index of health and education infrastructure has been prepared to show the relative social development of the districts. The Index shows that Darjeeling with a score of 1.36 ranks first in North Bengal and second in West Bengal; the lowest score of 0.69 goes to Malda with 0.67 for two Dinajpurs, 1.10 for Jalpaiguri and 1.27 for Cooch Behar. Compared to the state average, the health and education Index is relatively better in Cooch Behar, Jalpaiguri and Darjeeling; but the condition is very poor in the districts of Malda and two Dinajpurs. Our Independence was accompanied by Partition. Most of India’s Plan documents in the first few decades point out that North Bengal – truncated by the blow of Partition – has become landlocked on all sides and it might never be possible for the region to catch up with the rest of India that seems to be surging ahead with the new optimism of Independence. North Bengal is thus condemned to remain in a state of perennial backwardness and underdevelopment, and very little – if at all – could be done to alleviate its congenital problem of being landlocked and backward. The discourse on development in North Bengal during this time was marked by a deep sense of regret. The colonial model of enclave economy with tea and timber as its mainstay to be extracted from the region by and large continued even after Independence. By all accounts, north of West Bengal or today’s North Bengal was better connected to its counterpart in the East (now in Bangladesh) than with the South. Dasgupta quotes a document entitled A Guide to Darjeeling published by the colonial rulers in 1838, which mentions that it would take 98 hours to travel from Kolkata to Siliguri at that time. The phenomenal development of roads and railways reduced the time to a little over 24 hours by the year 1879 (Dasgupta 2013: 7). Uttarbanga became remote after Partition with the rail tracks and 10

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direct roads situated mostly in East Bengal. After the passport system between the two countries was introduced in 1952 and people were not allowed any longer to move through the newly independent State of Pakistan, North Bengal was cut off from South Bengal. According to an estimate, more than 25 hours were required at that time to travel from North to South Bengal. The areas that formed part of North Bengal after Partition had a “surplus in food and other agricultural production”; but farmers could not benefit due to the lack of marketing – a fact eventually leading to pauperization of the peasantry and their starvation (Ray 1998: iii). It is only with the construction of the Farakka barrage and the development of communications that North Bengal got connected to South Bengal thereby drastically reducing the journey time from the capital. The commissioning of the Farakka barrage in 1975 revolutionized the means of communication and substantially reduced the distance between Calcutta (now Kolkata) and the districts of North Bengal. The pre-Farakka pessimism rapidly gave way to new – yet ­cautious – optimism of the late 1970s and the 1980s insofar as the region slowly emerged as the hub of trade and commerce. Industrial backwardness was sought to be made good by rapid development of trade and commerce particularly in the city of Siliguri and a few other cities and towns around it. As Benu Datta Ray – a renowned octogenarian litterateur from North Bengal writes: The rulers of West Bengal – leave alone those of Delhi – have never cared for us. Not until the construction of the Farakka bridge. Even after that North Bengal continued to remain a far-off (pratyanta) land, the object of slight and neglect. They have not taken any initiative to dispel lack of education or mis-education, it is because of this we see this separatism. (Datta Ray 2012: 89) While Farakka may be regarded as a landmark in the region’s history of articulation of demands, a deep sense of neglect still runs deep in the minds of the people living in the region. Kaku Baba Oraon – an Adivasi intellectual from the region – expresses it in 2011 in the following terms: “The decisions concerning North Bengal are taken in South Bengal. The people of North Bengal look at the people of South Bengal with suspicion” (Oraon 2011: 4). According to Ghosh, none of the early intellectuals – who contributed significantly to the articulation of the idea of Uttarbanga in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries – ever brought the issue 11

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of economic backwardness of the region to the forefront of public discourse (Ghosh 2006: 204). It is only with the Partition (1947) that North Bengal came to be branded as a ‘backward region’ in official circles and its ‘backwardness’ vis-à-vis South Bengal became the running theme of the public discourse (Ghosh 2006: 202). While many of the sub-regional movements – as we will see – have their origins in the otherwise commonplace theme of backwardness, each one of them seeks to represent itself in contradistinction with – sometimes in opposition to – others. The present discourse of North Bengal has far less to do with the backwardness of the region as a whole, and more with the backwardness of a particular area or a sub-region like the Dooars or the Hills or of a particular group or community living within it – like the Gorkhas, the Adivasis or the Rajbanshis and so forth. In simple terms, the idea of Uttarbanga as a homogeneous space has been irreparably fractured thanks to the conflicting homeland imaginaries. Each of the movements organized in the name of a sub-region, community or a group of them projects itself as the sole spokesman for the cause of the region’s backwardness with an implicit claim to the whole or a part of North Bengal being its exclusive homeland. Each of the communities settled here seems to have a claim to the region – the Bengalis, the Rajbanshis/Kamatapuris, the Nepalis/Gorkhas, or such communities as the Surjyapuris, the Namashudras, the Hajongs or the Chains and so forth triggered by its distinctive – albeit rivalling – imaginaries of homeland. Most of the books reflecting on the ‘theory’ of neglect of North Bengal fails in unpacking the prevalence of a diversity of homeland imaginaries more often than not clashing and colliding against each other. Goswami, for instance, while introducing a collection of papers on rebellions and movements in North Bengal, observes: If one becomes careful one can note that whatever rebellions and movements have taken place in Bengal have their seeds been sown in North Bengal. The root of any rebellion and movements lies in the endless neglect and deprivation. North Bengal has been eternally deprived. Sometimes the Aryans came and established their hegemony by evicting the nonAryan sons of the soil from their land. . . . Subsequently the British and their stooges exploited North Bengal and pushed vast sections of people from North Bengal into famine and caused their death. Various types of rebellions and movements are being organized in North Bengal against exploitation and deprivation since the ancient times till the present. (Goswami 1420 BS: 1) 12

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While this book too is framed in the ‘grand narrative’ of un-/ settled history and incomplete settlement, it does not explain why these ­movements – catalyzed by the same neglect and discrimination – remain isolated from one another and do not bring about any revolutionary unity amongst them. Homeland claims being exclusive keep the groups and communities apart or make their alliances momentary and ephemeral. In the 1990s when the Indian economy was passing through a process of globalization, North Bengal entered into the scene strangely for its being part of a global transborder, economic network relatively independently of the sanction and mediation by the State. At one level, migration of cheap and unskilled labour and trafficking of women and children have been taking place across countries and their incidence by all accounts has been on the rise. At another, each node within the trafficking network opens up to a variety of pathways and there is neither any given path in the journey nor any final destination. North Bengal, as we will see, is presently passing through a huge churning of population – much of which remains undocumented. Today’s North Bengal is thus caught in a quandary – between its long history of remaining a liminal region with its constantly moving population and the present imperative of being organized into a homogeneous ‘growth region’ desperate to come out of its isolation and landlocked nature. Overlaid in this binary, there is also the deep-seated feeling of being discriminated against – not only by the ‘people from the South’ (the Bhatiyas) but also by the neighbouring groups sometimes accused of acting in collusion with ‘the people from the South’. The terms of development discourse in North Bengal seem to have shifted over the decades from its backwardness as a single and compact region vis-à-vis South Bengal to the unevenness and asymmetries that exist within North Bengal, amongst its various sub-regions and micro spaces, groups and communities. Indeed, subregional articulations revolving around a variety of homeland claims simultaneously represent only a variation in the theme of backwardness and uneven development. The idea of Uttarbanga as a single, composite and indivisible space faces a myriad of challenges particularly in recent years. Dyutis Chakrabarty (2013 mimeo) suggests a classification of ‘North Bengal’ following the threefold criteria of geographical contiguity, communicability and religious composition of the population: Malda and South Dinajpur are historically known as ‘Gourbanga’. Both these districts lost their connection with the rest of North Bengal when Islampur was made a Pargana of Surjyapur in the district of Purnea – then in Bihar – creating the great divide between the north and south of North Bengal. 13

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Northern districts of Darjeeling, Jalpaiguri and Cooch Behar had historically been integrated with Malda via Rangpur and East Dinajpur, both of which went to erstwhile East Bengal/Pakistan after the Partition causing physical separation amongst the once-integrated districts. Disruptions took place in respect of intra-district movement of traffic as well, especially in then-undivided Dinajpur and Jalpaiguri. Since most of the road links of undivided Dinajpur fell largely in erstwhile East Bengal/East Pakistan after Partition, its western part remaining in India became virtually devoid of any metalled road. The rail link between Siliguri and Calcutta (now Kolkata) that ran through Rangpur and Dinajpur was discarded as a result of Partition. Islampur, as we have already pointed out, was shifted to North Bengal mainly to provide a bridgehead between north of North Bengal and ‘Gourbanga’ or the south of it. Chakrabarty also argues that the diversity and heterogeneity of the region make it impossible for North Bengal to be subjected to any uniform economic and administrative strategy of development. While the classification suggested by Chakrabarty may have its merits in terms of its cartography and administrative compactness, needless to say that it has been challenged on political grounds. The inclusion of Darjeeling Hills in North Bengal is resented by a section of Gorkhaland activists who, as we will see, have been demanding a separate ‘Gorkhaland’ for the Gorkhas. The northern part of the district of Jalpaiguri inhabited predominantly by the Adivasis (aboriginals) – now forming part of the newly created district of Alipurduar – is regarded by many as a separate region itself. It may be noted that Alipurduar became a district on 1 January 2015. Thus, a section of Adivasis under the leadership of Adivasi Vikash Parishad is completely opposed to the proposed inclusion of the region in the recently formed Gorkha Territorial Administration (GTA). It may also be noted that organizations like Amra Bangali (We, the Bengalis) and Jana Chetana Manch (Forum for Public Consciousness) would view the region as an integral part of West Bengal. Political parties like the Communist Party of India (Marxist), Indian National Congress and the ruling Trinamool Congress (TMC) reiterate from time to time their commitment to an undivided West Bengal with North Bengal being one of its indivisible parts, though each of them has been accused by the sub-regional forces of having imposed ‘colonialism’ of South Bengal on North Bengal. Besides the Kamatapur/Greater Cooch Behar and Gorkhaland movements that are otherwise much too well reported, there are many other comparatively smaller movements – smaller certainly 14

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not in significance, but in terms of the size of their social constituency – organized by such groups and communities as the Surjyapurias, Namashudras, Chains etc. of North Bengal. These smaller communities, by all accounts, have been assimilating into the numerically major communities of the region and historically became part of it as much as the others. Namashudras provide an instance. As Sarkar (2013: 92–93) argues that there are many Namashudras living in North ­Bengal and it is not possible to make out from their surnames whether they are Namashudras or the Rajbanshis, for many of the Namashudras – thanks to their assimilation into the Rajbanshi society – have already acquired such Rajbanshi surnames as ‘Barman’ and ‘Rajbanshi’ in spite of being Namashudras themselves. Similarly, in a study on the Hajongs of North Bengal, Dipak Ray traces the continuities between the Hajong and Rajbanshi cultures and describes the Hajongs as “the proto-form of the Rajbanshis” (Ray 2013: 45). In sum, even if some of these movements do not threaten the unity of the nation, all of them being of fragmentary nature, according to Dasgupta et al., “impair the integrity of the society” of North Bengal (Dasgupta et al., 2013: 8). Space, identity, democracy This book instead proposes to raise the question of how the stories of perpetual ‘lack’, ‘absence’ and ‘incompleteness’ are made into a part of lived experience of the people of the region, how people live through the ‘lack’, ‘absence’ and ‘incompleteness’ without necessarily trying to replenish or compensate them. The binary between home and homeland deflects our attention from many of the significant nuances and intricacies of the society and politics in North Bengal. The politics that the ‘lack’, ‘absence’ or ‘incompleteness’ produce by the groups and communities being perpetually denied of home and homeland is not necessarily framed in the fight for home and homeland, but often gives birth to what Heidegger would have called the new politics of the unhomely. The book makes a modest attempt at discovering the democratic sites in which the new politics of the unhomely unfolds itself, gets enacted and played out in the region. The book tells us a story beyond the meta-narrative of home and homelessness, of homeland and its absence. It seeks to unearth the story of the perpetually nomadic state of the people – if not literally at least metaphorically. While the forces and processes unleashed by what is generically called globalization have set in motion migration of a different nature – labour out-migration and sex trafficking being just two 15

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examples dealt in Chapter 2, how does this new migration contribute to the reconfiguration of space? Both these types of migration have a role to play in integrating North Bengal into the ‘global’ political economy – not through the usual trajectory of a revolutionization in telecommunications and computer technology, innovations in finance, management and accounting and so forth, but through the trajectory of clandestine flow and circulation of mostly cheap and unskilled labour, of goods and services across the borders. Does this compel us to redefine the region’s ‘gateway’ character? Insofar as the world per se has turned into a closely knit site of crisscrossing gateways thanks to the forces and processes of globalization, what impact does this flow of labour have on the region’s otherwise unsettled space? Borrowing from Deleuze and Guattari (2010: 32), we argue that the forces and processes of globalization have contributed to the ‘deterritorialization of space’ and made the space move as the cheap and unskilled labour flow circulates through a network; any two points within the network sometimes are unfamiliar with each other. As one is sucked into the network, one is forced to remain constantly in motion and has no way to return home. For, there is no home and the home, as we will see in Chapter 2, is irretrievably lost. Nomadic migration rules out possibilities of homecoming. In simple terms, the conventional lines of labour migration connecting the point of departure with the point of destination get blurred and the churning of population takes place on a gigantic scale. Moreover, the forces and processes of globalization have made it imperative for a great many people from the region to migrate to cities of rapidly globalizing India outside their homeland. This has not rendered the homeland imaginaries redundant, but has only lent to these imaginaries an extremely contingent character. Given that mixed composition of population in any site of social interaction today becomes the inescapable reality (for instance, inside a railway compartment, a more cosmopolitan workplace or an airport), ­violence – albeit sudden, unexpected and with short duration – is planned and organized to force ethnic differentiation of such mixed spaces. New ethnic ties and alliances are forged outside the given homeland. Are there novel and unprecedented ways through which the contesting homeland imaginaries persist and with what effects? The book tries to answer these questions. If space is being reconfigured, so has there been a certain reconfiguration of the identity of the groups and communities living within it. How do the communities live the ‘absence’ and the ‘lack’ of homeland and identity becomes part of lived experience? How do the political practices of replenishing the ‘lack’ or ‘absence’ on the part of groups 16

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and communities suffering it often turn against them as a collective body? In short, this forces us to read the politics of the region beyond the known binary of home and homelessness. How does a body of people shuttle through a host of identities in course of history without realizing any of them? The quest for identity and homeland, as we argue, nevertheless necessary at times in order to establish one’s citizenship status, often threatens to disarticulate and dismember the groups and communities undertaking it. The journey to citizenship can turn out to be extremely dangerous. The urge for settlement ironically threatens to further unsettle the groups and communities. Settlement, in other words, becomes an aporia with its deadly seduction of triggering many a quest in the region. Conflict over contesting homeland claims results in almost regular cycles of violence and bloodshed in the recent past history ironically in a space that has historically been successful in retaining its transit character allowing free passage of people, groups and communities, goods, services, livestock and wild animals and so forth until very recently. Contesting homeland claims are more often than not issued from an obsessive concern for establishing and maintaining what one considers as one’s distinctive identity and the mortal fear of losing it as one faces the threat of being swept away by others thanks to the incessant flow of migrants. The book essays, with the help of a series of ethnographic works conducted mainly between 2012 and 2014, how the twin quest for exclusive homeland and distinctive identity sparks off alarmingly regular cycles of violence and bloodshed in the region and argues that the quest not only results in violence and bloodshed, but threatens to unsettle and pulverize many of these groups and communities as collective bodies. Ironically, the quest for identity and homeland in a historically transit space, as we will see, deprives us of both home and homeland. Finally, what implications do these apparently irresolvable binaries of home and homelessness, homeland and its absence, settlement and unsettlement have for democratic politics? Is politics of North Bengal or even in the Northeast in general being imagined beyond the given framing of homeland imaginaries? Why is right against displacement not necessarily a right to home? How do these practices reflect on our mainstream understanding of democracy? How are we to disembed our understanding of democracy from its sedentary and homelandist underpinnings? Does this in any way compel us to revisit our understanding of democracy? If transit space and unsettling identities are the two broad themes that run through the book, then democracy becomes the third theme that, as we will argue later in the book, 17

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sutures the two together. For what do the groups and communities do in an essentially transit space when their search for identity and homeland constantly threatens to unsettle and dismember them? What are the social and political practices through which they tend to negotiate and live the absence of their identities without necessarily endeavouring to compensate for it? Not all social practices of the migrants and the homeless are necessarily practices of homecoming. Is our understanding of democracy too territorialized, settled and sedentary? How is the trauma of losing one’s home transcended into the feeling of being at home with the constant motion and unsettlement? This book makes a modest attempt at understanding the politics of North Bengal beyond any of the known binaries mentioned. As already discussed, Heidegger’s concept of the ‘unhomely’ (2000), as we will argue, serves as a powerful metaphor for deciphering the nature of such nomadic politics of North Bengal. The figure of the ‘unhomely’ bears out twofold significance: first as a critique of home and homeland that pulls us within by creating and maintaining the line between ‘us’ and ‘them’ and by igniting violence, and second as an ethical practice that implies transcendence of ethnic lines and the binaries. Democracy’s unusual sites have resurfaced particularly in recent years releasing new and hitherto unprecedented possibilities of democratic practices. North Bengal is illustrative of this experience. The new nomads While there is an acute dearth of serious literature on the society and politics of North Bengal, there is very little in the existing literature that seeks to understand the unsettled and unsettling nature of what we may term ‘nomadic politics’ in the region. Nomadic politics in the old-fashioned sense of actual movement of population groups without any home to return may have declined thanks to the evolution of nation-states and the consequent human settlement with the reorganization of international borders. But, nomadic politics, for us on the other hand, serves as a powerful metaphor to describe the politics of the region. The metaphor becomes apt insofar as it seeks to decipher the extremely contingent nature of the configuration of space and constitution of the democratic subject in the region. First of all, now that there is considerable churning of population threatening to destabilize the given ethnic composition of hitherto recognized homelands, every space turns into a gateway with unprecedented increase in population migration even within the national territory. Any ethnicization of space under the circumstances can only be contingent and ephemeral. 18

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Second, with the space becoming increasingly networked, any two points within it appears as ‘flat’ through which rapid human movement not only becomes possible but a reality. As a result, nomadic politics in our era implies movement of space itself more than the movement of people along a fixed space with clearly marked points of departure and destination. Third, nomadic politics sums up the intense quest for home and homeland as much as it tells us why the quest is bound to be futile. In other words, the quest itself threatens at times to turn against the groups and communities involved in it. Finally, nomadic politics implies a certain celebration of homelessness or what Heidegger calls the unhomely. The book brings through its recently conducted ethnographies the critique of the unhomely to bear on our understanding of the society and politics of the region and home and homeland in particular. The figure of the unhomely has the potential of setting new democratic practices in motion. Nomadism, as we argue in the book, has become the condition of our life. It is important that we engage with the already rich and growing literature that has already developed on the nomads and nomadism. The word ‘nomad’ is derived from the Greek nom des meaning “those who let pasture herds” and is defined by The Concise Oxford Dictionary, as “member of a people that continually moves to find fresh pasture for its animals and has no permanent home, a wanderer”. While a ‘nomad’ may be one who also moves for many reasons like economic adaptation, political freedom and escape from revenge and vendetta from rival groups etc. other than ‘finding pasture for its animals’, the qualification that he has ‘no permanent home’ is what distinguishes him from a displaced person. While Gujjars, Banjaras and the snake charmers wander about mainly as a means of economic adaptation to an arid and barren region with low or no productivity, Gomel tribes of South Waziristan, according to Akbar Ahmed (1981), move about mainly for ‘political freedom’ (azaadi) from the Pakistani State and protecting the dignity of their women (tor) against the surrounding communities. On the other hand, Yomut Turkmen of Iran moves about for no apparent economic reason, but to escape from vendetta and retaliation against the ‘crimes’ they had committed against other groups (Irons 1974: 635–658). By all accounts, nomadism of this variety is increasingly becoming a thing of the past (Stein 1981: 1–11 mimeo) – a process widely known in Social Anthropology as sedentarization – inasmuch as ‘old’ nomadism is being slowly replaced by what we prefer to call ‘new’ nomadism or nomadism of our time. Certain groups and communities are ­identified – if not officially recognized as nomads in the 19

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old sense – moving constantly within any given terrain, while new nomads reflect a condition of our time and may be drawn from a wide heterogeneity of groups and communities across Bihar, Odisha or anywhere – who are not only displaced but are rendered permanently homeless thanks to development projects, ecological disasters, ethnic conflicts and so forth – moving from one end to another as the forces and processes of capitalism make their way across nations and national borders and the churning of population takes place on a world scale beyond the control of nation-states. The famous Arjun Sengupta report of 2006 also highlights how a significant proportion of labour engaged in the informal sector particularly in construction industry continually moves about and migrates from village to city and then from one city to another – depending on the extremely contingent demand for construction labour – without a home to return to. As we see here migration of this nature is a symptom of our time when the migrant does not find any place – so to say – good enough for her to live for long and make it her home and therefore is forced to constantly move from one place to another, to experiment as it were endlessly with the spaces only to finally discover that the entire planet has become uninhabitable for her. Interestingly, in India, migration is measured not in terms of one’s distance from home but from – to borrow a phrase that Irudaya Rajan has used while preparing a report on the state of migration in India in 2011 – one’s ‘last place of residence’. Permanent nomadism induced more by the instability of spaces than the migrant’s elusiveness is the condition of our time. One is immediately reminded of this report on the state of informalsector workers in India. They form a staggering 92 percent of India’s total workforce and their share has steadily been on the rise – thanks to informalization of labour under conditions of globalization. A majority of them consists of the migrant labourers – a majority of whom again happen to be bonded labour and work under conditions of abject unfreedom. The labour mobility, as the report tells us, takes place from the poorer states like Bihar, Odisha and Uttar Pradesh to relatively richer states like Maharashtra, Gujarat, Punjab and Haryana with meagre or no physical and social capital assets. They mostly belong to the Dalits (the downtrodden), Scheduled Castes (SCs), Scheduled Tribes (STs) and Other Backward Classes (OBCs) and most importantly women. Significantly, the Committee also notes with concern that most of the migrants do not have any ‘permanent place of residence’ at all and the lack of permanent residence is one of the reasons – if not the key reason – why they are vulnerable to 20

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discrimination whether in matters of recruitment, wage structure or living conditions or a combination of all of them. The forces and processes of globalization have turned the vast army of the informalsector, migrant labour back into the age of tree-borne primates (Sengupta 2006: 93–100 ff.). The famous Arjun Sengupta report of 2006 quoted earlier also highlights how a significant proportion of labour engaged in the informal sector, particularly in the construction industry, continuously moves about and migrates from one city to another – depending on the demand for construction labour – without a home to return. The Northward migration to Europe and the US has resulted in population flux in these countries and many of these countries have fast become ethnically mixed and all this has elicited xenophobic reactions from the host countries. While people are desperate to reach the shores of Australia, New Zealand or northern Europe, they are forcibly turned away with the effect that Europe today has turned into ‘Fortress Europe’. Old nomads would move about within what is called a striated space making it difficult for them to cross over the lines of separation. Gypsies and Romas of Europe or cattle raisers of Kargil or the snake charmers of Purulia in West Bengal are held in suspicion and are subjected to incredible torture and repression throughout the ages for having refused to remain confined to any kingdom or national territory and be bound by its norms and protocols. Space in the age of nation-states is striated like a chessboard with clearly defined rules governing the movement of people from one box to another. As one violates them, one gets stranded or even faces punishment. Remember the tragedy of how a band of 213-odd snake charmers including women and children was intercepted at zero point along the IndoBangladesh border in North Bengal in 2003 and it nearly triggered off a diplomatic standoff between the two countries – although by their own admission they come and go across the border in their pilgrimage to Ajmer Shrine almost on an annual basis without having ever been detected by the border police, on either side, for generations. They live a virtually borderless existence – an existence in which borders as it were do not exist. Today in our age of globalism, space has become flat and smooth so much so that the lines of their journey can be plotted graphically on the surface. It is possible to connect any two points of the ‘place of last residence’ and the place of their – albeit momentary – arrival through an endless number of lines irrespective of national borders and boundaries. Each point in the journey turns into a potential node through which a multiplicity of their migratory routes break away or 21

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converge in unforeseeably complex ways. In the words of Deuchers, “the point of the line is . . . to follow the line; to be at a point between lines and not travelling from point to point. Consider escape along lines of flight as journeys; journeys where one does not know the destination but where ‘other world’s are (already) possible” (Deuchars 2011: 22). Each space in other words is networked with the other and does not exist in isolation thanks to the constant circulation of global capital and labour, of goods and services. It is impossible to sever one from the other. Today, space exists more as a constellation than as a fixed and frozen point. One does not know how the girl next door whom one knows as homely and shy gets shot in a hotel in the city while entertaining her clients at night, how the village girl of Malda makes her way to Mumbai, to Kathmandu, Bangkok or even to Copenhagen – as a study conducted recently by North Bengal University – points out. Today it is the space that moves – and the moving space in its turn makes the nomad move. New nomadism is more a function of moving space – with nomads being the objects of such moving spaces, while old nomadism is a function of nomads themselves constituted as moving subjects.

Plan of chapters The present book revolves around the three themes of space, identity and democracy organized into three sections in that order. Section I consists of two chapters. Chapter 1 discusses how the quest for space in a historically unstable region – ‘gateway’ as we prefer to call it – triggers alarmingly regular cycles of violence and bloodshed centring essentially on contending homeland imaginaries. It begins with a reference to the chronic nature of violence in the Bodoland area – now in Assam, discusses how the victims migrate to the adjoining areas of West Bengal who – notwithstanding the hospitality shown to them by the Government of West Bengal – are seen to eventually exceed their welcome with the effect that a conflict ensues between them on one hand and the locals on the other. It also reflects on how different kinds of space are articulated through the violence that occurs in the area and elsewhere as the spillover effect of the conflict. Chapter 2 focuses on the city of Siliguri that – as Ghosh puts it – is the ‘undeclared capital’ (Ghosh 2006: 15) of North Bengal. It shows how Siliguri – once a large village comprising a few thousand inhabitants in the early twentieth century – turns into a city of migrants pouring in from all sides and settled in it. It is the most populous city of North Bengal – second in West Bengal next only to Kolkata. As the city expands, it gobbles up 22

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the tea gardens – once the backbone of North Bengal’s economy – and the neighbouring areas evicting in a large way the tea labour and the marginalized and further pushing them into the adjoining rural areas. The new migrants come and settle in the town, live in the secure, comfortable, sequestered and gated complexes without having to depend on such public amenities as water, electricity and so forth and most significantly without developing any stake in the city life. The occupancy rate of the new settlers is extraordinarily low, although there is no denying that any accurate figure in this regard is unavailable. They are the absentee settlers connected more to the outside world – albeit the global political economy – in a myriad of but often not-so-licit ways without being connected to the city life. Siliguri thus becomes a migrants’ city – whether of the evicted or of the absentee settlers. The chapter also points out why Siliguri’s access to global political economy is established – not through the usual neoliberal trajectory, that is to say, through the revolutionization of the means of production, through the development of telecommunications and cellular technology or unprecedented innovations in finance, accounting and management and so forth – but through circulation of labour – in this case care labour – on a global scale. The city’s road to globalization follows a rather unknown trajectory insofar as it is connected to an intricately woven global network within which labour flows and circulates constantly without necessarily being aware of it and without as it were any final point of destination. We call Siliguri a moving city, for it may be compared with a travellator that moves so fast that one jumps into it with its lure of social and economic mobility, but one does not know how to disembark from it as long as it is in a state of motion. As the groups and communities in the region are in search of a homeland and situated in a space that has been historically unstable, ethnicity and identity are constantly in a state of flux. Section II focuses on the broad theme of identity or more accurately the lack or absence of it. Chapters 3 and 4 included in this section point out how the quest for identity has an unsettling impact on the groups and communities involved in this quest. Chapter 3 points out how the Nepalis’/ Gorkhas’ search for citizenship in India has turned out to be dangerous to them, threatening to destabilize them as a collective body and pulverize their identity. Ironically their search for being recognized as citizens of India also led them to embrace different kinds of identity whether as ‘Nepalis’ or as ‘Gorkhas’ or ‘tribals’ or otherwise – each fragmenting and disintegrating them into pieces. One’s identity as a citizen of India, in other words, is scripted in the secret subtext of some form of ethnic identity and the more the Nepalis/Gorkhas seek to 23

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embrace and clutch on to it, the more they get unsettled by the search. For their existence as a collective body turns out to be incompatible with what their pursuit of identity envisages. Chapter 4 proposes to turn the table around by raising the question of how the Rajbanshis or the Kamatapuris – considered as the largest indigenous community of North Bengal – negotiate and live the state of ‘absence’ of identity without necessarily attempting to establish its presence. The chapter argues that their identity is unsettled and has an unsettling impact on themselves as a collective body. The Rajbanshis or the Kamatapuris are thus reduced to a body sans an identity – indeed a dis-identified body – and much of what we describe as Rajbanshi or Kamatapuri politics today has to do with body politics. The second part of the chapter focuses exclusively on this. Section III focuses on democratic practices and democratic politics. Do transit spaces and unsettling identities have any relevance for our understanding of democracy and democratic practice? Chapter 5 points out why the state of homelessness does not necessarily trigger a quest for homeland, why a right against displacement does not necessarily mean right to home. It shows why the quest for homeland and identity itself shrinks and constricts the democratic space and why living in a state of being what Heidegger calls ‘unhomely’ or ‘unhomelike’ opens up a kind democratic practice – different from what mainstream Democratic Theory would have us believe. While mainstream Democratic Theory seeks to implicitly peg democracy within a given territorial unit, that is to say, in some form of a home or homeland – whether a nation-state, a province, a district, a borough or a neighbourhood – with one’s right to represent and be represented, to vote and be voted to power and to settle and so forth, it privileges a kind of politics that is essentially enclosed, bounded and sedentary. The mobile being unhinged from home, homeland or any given territorial unit is also considered as unrepresentable and therefore a mere suspect, a threat to the settled order of nation-states and evidently ineligible for being a democratic subject. The chapter tends to show how the ‘unhomely’ or ‘unhomelike’ practices have the potential of letting democracy loose from its hitherto sedentary world, its striated spaces and settled identities and testing the mainstream Democratic Theory on its limits. It also argues how the critique it presents gives us an opportunity of revisiting democratic ethics and rework some of our fundamental assumptions of democracy. Chapter 6, on the other hand, seeks to wrap up the discussion by tracing how democratic politics is born in a variety of migrant practices and in the rather unusual sites. Each of 24

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the chapters is based on primary data and the dense ethnographies included in them were conducted mainly – though not exclusively – between 2012 and 2015.

Notes 1 I use the term ‘state’ with a lowercase ‘s’ to refer to the constituent states within the Indian Union and the term ‘State’ with a capital ‘S’ to refer to a sovereign State. 2 Proceedings of the First Session of Uttarbanga Sahitya Sammelan, p. 40; quoted in Ghosh (2006: 132).

References Ahmed, Akbar (1981): Nomadism as Ideological Expression: The Case of the Gomal Nomads, Newsletter of the Commission on Nomadic Peoples, International Unit of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences in Collaboration With Ford Foundation, Number 9, September, mimeo, pp. 1–14. Chakrabarty, Anup Shekhar (2013): Construing the Trends of Out-Migration in Darjeeling Hills (mimeo). Chakrabarty, Dyutis (2013): Development of North Bengal: Possibilities, Futures and Impediments (mimeo). Chatterji, Suniti Kumar (1974): Kirata-Jana-Kriti: The Indo-Mongoloids, Their Contribution to the History and Culture of India. Kolkata: The Asiatic Society. First published 1951. Chettri, Deepika (2010–2011): ‘Peoples’ Perception of the Ongoing Movement for Gorkhaland under Gorkha Jan Mukti Morcha: A Study in Kalimpong’ in The Himalayan Miscellany, Centre for Himalayan Studies, University of North Bengal, Raja Rammohanpur, Volumes 21 & 22, December 2010– 2011, pp. 21–45 Cohn, Bernard S. (1987): ‘Regions Subjective and Objective: Their Relation to the Study of Modern Indian History and Society’ in Cohn, Bernard S. (ed.), An Anthropologist Among Historians and Other Essays. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 100–135. Dasgupta, Manas (2013): Siliguri: Ateet, Bartaman, Bhavishyat (in Bengali) [Siliguri: Past, Present, Future]. Siliguri: Manas Dasgupta. Dasgupta, Ranajit (1992): Economy, Society and Politics in Bengal: Jalpaiguri 1869–1947. Bombay: Oxford University Press. Dasgupta, Srinanda, Yasin, M., & Pradip Kumar Sengupta (2013): ‘Protest Movements: Social Imperatives, Political Compulsions and Economic Preferences: The Indian Perspective’ in Chakrabarty, Manas & Pradip Kumar Sengupta (eds.), Dissenting Voices, Collective Actions and Politics of Assertions: A Pan-Indian Perspective. Kolkata: Levant. Datta Ray, Benu (2012): ‘Amar Sesh Jibaner Saltamami’ (in Bengali) [The chronicles of my closing years] in Janamat, 89, Autumn.

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Deleuze, Gilles & Felix Guattari (2010): Nomadology: The War Machine, Trans. by Brian Massumi. Seattle: Wormwood Distribution. Deuchars, Robert (2011): ‘Creating Lines of Flight and Activating Resistance: Deleuze and Guattari’s War Machine’ in AntePodium, Victoria University Wellington (mimeo). Ghosh, Anandagopal (2006): Uttarbange Namer Sandhane (in Bengali) [In search of the name of Uttarbanga (North Bengal)]. Siliguri: National Library Publishers. Ghosh, Jayati et al. (2004): West Bengal Human Development Report 2004. Goswami, Kamalesh (1420 BS): Introduction, Bidroha O Andolane Uttarbanga (in Bengali) [North Bengal in Rebellions and Movements]. Kolkata: Priya Book House, pp. 1–3. Heidegger, Martin (2000): Elucidations of Hölderlin’s Poetry, Trans. Keith Hoeller. New York: Humanity Books. Irons, William (1974): ‘Nomadism as a Political Adaptation: The Case of the Yomut Turkmen’ in American Ethnologist, Number on Uses of Ethnohistory in Ethnographic Analysis, 1(4), November, pp. 635–658. Jana, Arun K. (2012): ‘Ethnic Minorities, the Politics of Identity and the State in Contemporary West Bengal, India’ in Nepal, Padam & Anup Shekhar Chakraborty (eds.), Politics of Culture, Identity and Protest in North-east India, Volume 2. New Delhi: Authorspress, pp. 331–337. Malda (2004): http://hdr.undp.org/en/content/west-bengal-human-developmentreport-2004 accessed on 8 November 2017. Mukhopadhyay, Rajatsubhra (1987): Uttarkhand Movement: A Sociological Analysis (mimeo), Special Lecture VIII, Centre for Himalayan Studies. ——— (1995): ‘Socio-Economic Transformation of the Rajbanshis and Kamtapuri-Uttarkhand Movement in North Bengal’ in The Journal of Indian Anthropological Society, 30(5), November, pp. 223–229. Oraon, Kaku B. (2011): ‘Gorkhaland Chukti: Abodher Go Badhe Ananda’, (in Bengali) [The Gorkhaland Accord: Moron’s Pleasure in Killing a Cow] letter to the editor, in Aajkal, 22 July. Rajan, Irudaya (2011): India Migration Report 2011: Migration, Identity and Conflict. New Delhi: Routledge. Ray, Dipak (2012): Rajbanshi Samaj Aro Sanskritir Katha (in Kamatapuri) [Reflections on Raajbanshi society and culture]. Kolkata: Sopan. Ray, Dipak Kumar (2013): ‘Hajong Samaj O Sanskriti’ (in Bengali) [The Society and Culture of the Hajongs] in Kirat Bhumi, 27(2), pp. 32–46. Ray, Indrajit (1998): Road Planning For Economic Development. New Delhi: Classical Publishing Company. Ray, Subhajyoti (2002): Transformations on the Bengal Frontier: Jalpaiguri, 1765–1948. London: Routledge Curzon. Roy Choudhury, T. K. (1987): ‘Land Control: Class Structure and Class Relations in Western Duars 1871-1905’ (mimeo), Department of History, University of North Bengal.

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Sarkar, Kaushik (2011): ‘Darjeeling Chuktir Madhyame Bapan Kara Holo Bhavisyat Ashantir Beej’ (in Bengali) [Seeds of future have been sown through the Darjeeling accord] in Ganashakti, 23 July. Sarkar, Sudhanshu Kumar (2013): Uttarbange Namashudra Samaj O Sanskriti (in Bengali) [Culture and society of the Namashudras of North Bengal]. Shivmandir: National Library Publishers. Sarkar, Swatasiddha (2010): ‘The Land Question and Ethnicity in the Darjeeling Hills’ in Journal of Rural Social Sciences, 25(2), pp. 81–121. Sengupta, Arjun (2006): Report on Conditions of Work and Promotion of Livelihoods in the Unorganised Sector. New Delhi: Academic Foundation. Stein, Lother in cooperation with Wolfgang Konig & Wolf-Dieter Seiwert (1981): Recent Research on Nomadic Peoples: Contributions from German Democratic Republic, Newsletter on the Commission on Nomadic Peoples, International Unit of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences in collaboration with Ford Foundation, Number 8, May, mimeo.

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Part I TRANSIT SPACES

1 THE VIOLENT GATEWAY

In a seminar on ‘Migrant Children’s Right to Education’ organized recently in Chennai – the capital of the Indian state of Tamil Nadu – an overzealous activist while, pleading for their rights, exhorted on the audience to join him in supporting what he put across as ‘people’s inalienable right to migration’. Sceptic as I was, I found myself in an awkward position when I noticed to my utter surprise that everyone else around me in the audience was more than eager to oblige him by clapping their heart out in his support. I know for sure that what he asked for was neither abnormal nor unconstitutional and is fully in conformity with Article 19 of the Constitution of India. The Article guarantees, among other things, citizen’s right to move freely within and settle anywhere in India – subject of course to what the Constitution describes as ‘reasonable restrictions’. Yet I thought it imperative to sound to myself an important caveat that we should have a right to migrate only under conditions of freedom and one such condition is that we correspondingly enjoy our right to home whether in our point of departure or at the point of our destination – apart from feeling at home at every point as we migrate from one to the other. Our right to home, to my mind, is a precondition of our right to migrate. Unfortunately, the Constitution does not guarantee the right to home as a fundamental right. For migration without home is likely to transform hordes of people, particularly the cheap and unskilled labour engaged predominantly in construction industry, sex work, children’s trafficking, etc., into what I call a state of new nomadism. The children under reference in the aforementioned seminar are the ones of the migrant workers employed mainly in the otherwise booming realties of Chennai. In fact, contemporary Indian debate on land acquisition is partly based on this issue. A home without homeland, as Edward Said reminds us, is an oxymoron – a mere contradiction in terms (Said 2001: 177). Much in the 31

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same manner, the rights discourse developed in the wake of a series of violent riots in the Indian state of Assam or for that matter in many parts of India’s Northeast continues to view ‘homeland’ not simply as another right – but what Hannah Arendt would have called ‘a right to rights’ – that is to say, a key to one’s access to many other rights including linguistic, cultural, economic and political rights necessary for the survival of a body of people as a community with an identity of its own, distinct from those of others. The importance of homeland as a passport to the enjoyment of these rights seems undeniable. Thus to cite an instance, the debate serialized on the pages of Amar Asom – an Assamese language daily published from Guwahati – almost since the beginning of the violence that rocked Lower Assam in July 2012 – much though it may have been successful in capturing media attention – appears to have been framed in the same terms. On the one hand, the Bodo intellectuals and ideologues underline the gravity of the identity crisis that the Bodos1 have been facing over the decades thanks to the incessant immigration from across the borders. While the Assam movement (1979–1985) brought the ‘foreigners’ issue’ to the centrestage with thousands of Bodos initially joining the movement with much enthusiasm, it also hid what Kamalakanta Musahary calls ‘the secret agenda’ of exterminating the indigenous people like the Bodos, expropriating their land notified as ‘tribal belts and blocs’ and dispossessing them of the benefits of reservation by way of constantly exposing them to the persistent waves of immigration from outside (Musahary 2012: 7). In many areas, the demographic balance, as he argues, has already tilted in favour of the Bengali-speaking Muslims. The movement, according to him, was ‘a great betrayal’ and the Bodos did not take time to realize it. The Accord of 2003 discussed later provided the safeguard necessary for the protection of their identity and culture as free ‘citizens of India’. The Bodo claim to rights informed by a widely known doctrine of exclusivity of homeland has been stretched to make a plea for denying relief and rehabilitation to the displaced Bengali-speaking, Muslim ex-immigrants ‘illegally’ settled in Assam. Bangladesh is alleged to have pushed in a good number of its own citizens taking full advantage of the turmoil in Assam and North Bengal. Almost in perfect resonance with the same argument but in complete opposition to it, the Bodo claim to exclusivity of homeland has been disputed by many Muslim intellectuals, activists and a few others, who maintain that the Bengali-speaking Muslims hitherto living precariously in the riverine sandbars known locally as chars but now trying to shift to what Chakraborty (2012: 21–23) calls the ‘mainland areas’ after years of penury and hardship are by no means ‘foreigners’. 32

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Hafiz Ahmed for example argues that most of them are descendants of those who had migrated to and settled in the low-lying and riverine areas between the 1880s and the 1940s – well before India was partitioned and the passport system was introduced (Ahmed 2012: 8). Assam, according to this line of argument, is as much their (home)land as it is that of others. Sanjib Baruah finds it impossible to settle the debate on contentious homeland claims though of course he highlights the importance of ‘an open debate’ till an acceptable solution is reached.2 While open debate is always welcome, the rising tide of violence may not allow us to wait till an acceptable solution is reached and if the question that confronts us is found to be unanswerable at least in the short run we have no other way but to change the question. While contending homeland claims have been at the root of political violence in 2012 that has, according to official records, taken a toll of about 100 human lives besides rendering several lakhs3 of people homeless, many of whom still live in camps, the issue of people’s right to home is lost in this unending war over homeland. History bears ample testimony to the difficult – often impossible – process of realizing homelands, ironically by rendering millions of people claiming them homeless. Perhaps the latest in the series is the violence that hit the northern banks again in late April and early May 2014. It took a toll of 32 human lives and the National Democratic Front of Bodoland (NDFB) is blamed for the violence. The Songbijit faction of NDFB is also accused of having gunned down 14 persons and injured many in a crowded market of Kokrajhar town on 5 August 2016.4 According to an official estimate, about 400 persons have taken shelter in relief camps. At the heart of this violence was the dispute between “the Bodos and Bengali-speaking Muslims over encroachment of farmlands in Assam with suspected Bodo militias attacking Muslims, accusing them of going back on a deal to vote for a Bodo candidate in the (Assembly) election held on 24 April 2014” (Kalita 2014: 1). The connection between home and homeland is far from being easy and simple. For one thing, the earth does not leave enough space for all of us to have a homeland of our own. For another, contending homeland claims to the same tract of land is bound to trigger off conflict and violence and eventually induce a massive displacement of population. Said too had a hint of it although he considered homeland more as a revolutionary ideology having the potential of challenging the hegemony of the Great Powers in Israel-Palestine area than as a sure recipe to home for the homeless. Recent history of violence and bloodbath in Lower Assam is an obvious case in point. 33

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Being located in the gateway to Southeast Asia and farther to the countries of Central Asia, India’s Northeast and North Bengal have always been one of the world’s greatest migratory routes in history. As the internal and external borders are reorganized thanks mainly to Partition (1947), each of the administrative units seeks to settle an otherwise moving population within it and thus triggering off contest over homelands resulting more often than not in alarmingly regular cycles of violence in the region and population displacement. In this chapter, I take the point further and propose firstly to argue that contentious homeland claims in an area that has – as we have already seen in the Introduction – historically been a gateway do not displace one and all on the grounds that they are settled in what others perceive as their homeland, but discriminates between, say, the rich and the poor – the high and the low – within the community – amongst the Bodos or the Bengali-speaking Muslims alike – and it is the jetsam and the flotsam within the community who invariably have to bear the brunt of being displaced from their homestead and cultivable land. For these people, the concern is home, not homeland, and the maddening concern for homeland ironically throws them away from their eternally makeshift homes, turns them into permanent nomads – often temporarily rehabilitated and settled only to be evicted in the next round of violence if they are at all successful in surviving it. Bodoland has been a standing witness to such alarmingly regular cycles of violence since the middle of the 1980s. The Bodos and the non-Bodos living cheek by jowl as neighbours for years accuse, as the MASUM (Manabadhikar Suraksha Mancha or Forum for the Protection of Human Rights) report emphasizes, the people from outside – and not their immediate neighbours – of having instigated or directly participated in the riots and violence. MASUM for example observes: The migrated people in search of living and livelihood while trying to get settled are being attacked and ruined. They are being accused as foreign fugitives or troublemakers. The inflow of impoverished populace across the borders for better pasture is an international phenomenon and that should be dealt with, with the basic tenets of human rights and international peace. (MASUM 2012) Similarly, in a paper published in Economic and Political Weekly, Chakrabory, for instance, argues that the poorest, Bengali-speaking Muslims have been living in the riverine mid-channel sandbars for 34

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long and are now forced to migrate to “mainland areas for livelihood options” due to erosion, loss of land and abysmal living conditions particularly in recent years (Chakraborty 2012: 21–23). In simple terms, the victims – whether Bodos or the Muslims – who were already living in penury, under semi-nomadic conditions, in makeshift homes, shelters and camps with the experience of having been displaced earlier yet fondly nurturing the illusion of settlement in a home someday were uprooted and displaced again. A new category of displaced persons has surfaced – whom we call permanent nomads who are displaced perpetually whenever violence takes place regularly in the area. Secondly, the chapter also points out how the space as a gateway and hitherto ‘lived’ by the communities in common with each other gets fractured in the wake of contest over homelands and the violence associated with it and different kinds of space are reconfigured in our age of globalization. While accepting that homeland may not be a completely unrealizable chimera, it is also important to understand that people do not remain confined to and spend their entire life within homelands in our era of globalization or even before the era set in. Viewed in this light, globalization has turned every space into a ­gateway – whether real or potential. The forces and processes of globalization have contributed to the production of albeit contingent spaces of different forms and varieties with extraordinarily fleeting life spans where people of bewilderingly diverse ethnic communities are required to enter into interaction with each other and often their ethnic others. The forces and processes of globalization in other words have helped in puncturing the iron curtain of so-called homelands. Insofar as these contingent spaces are sought to be ethnicized, violence spreads out of Bodoland like wildfire, and every possible space wherever the communities meet often as a matter of chance coincidence and contingency – a city of employment in the South, a railway compartment, a moving auto rickshaw or the yard cabin of an approaching railway station, etc. – becomes a potential site of violence and riot. The world is far from being shrunk into a village; in fact globalization has both aggravated the fear of the stranger5 and forced people to return to what is earmarked as their homeland. It has also compounded the bane of nomadism if ever the ‘natives’ choose to migrate outside their so-called homeland. Thirdly, North Bengal, as we have already pointed out, stands at the gateway to India’s Northeast that farther opens to the countries of Southeast and Central Asia. Any turmoil in the neighbouring districts of Assam has its implications for this region. As the displaced persons take shelter in neighbouring districts and states, the initial reaction 35

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from the hosts and host governments is that they be accorded hospitality. But the rim of bonhomie and hospitality does not take time to wear thin as the hapless victims remain in camps for weeks and months and exceed the welcome accorded to them. The hosts in our instance are often seen to stage demonstrations with the demand of their immediate eviction. Hospitality can be extremely homely – but as I will argue here – can never substitute home. The distinction between home and hospitality becomes far too serious when the victims again face the threat of being turned into nomads and are to negotiate with at times hostile responses from the locals, particularly from neighbouring North Bengal. It seems that there is no respite from permanent nomadism. This chapter discusses each of the these arguments, preceded by a discussion on how the Bodo critique of what is called the ‘dominant Assamese nationalism’ (Baruah & Sharma 1991: 20) emerged particularly after Independence (1947) and thus unearthing perpetually the homeland paradox, the chapter concludes with a brief reference to the historically transit character of the region that made coexistence and cohabitation of a variety of tribes and ethnic communities both an imperative and a ‘lived’ reality.

The homeland paradox The term ‘Bodos’ is generic and used to refer to a number of groups like the Kacharis, the Mech-Kacharis, the Sonowal-Kacharis, Lalungs, etc. living mainly in the northern bank of the Brahmaputra valley of Assam and speaking any of the languages or dialects of the Bodo family. According to Mondal, the Bodos “migrated to India through the Patkoi Hills between India and Burma and gradually spread into the whole of modern Assam, North Bengal and parts of East Bengal” (Mondal 2011: 94). Bhattacharjee prefers to trace the emergence of a ‘distinct political consciousness’ amongst them only towards the end of the 1920s (Bhattacharjee 1996: 174). In their memorandum to the Simon Commission (1929) set up with the purpose of suggesting administrative reforms, the Bodos “like other communities shared the belief that Indians were entitled to self-government”, vociferously opposed the transfer of predominantly Bodo-inhabited district of Goalpara from Assam to Bengal on the grounds that “We, Bodos, can by no means call ourselves other than Assamese” and wanted to be recognized as a distinct nationality by demanding reservation of seats in legislative bodies.

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What is called ‘Assamese nationalism’ was always considered by Assam’s premier cultural historians including Birinchi Kumar Baruah, Bani Kanta Kakati and Parag Chaliha as an inseparable part of Indian nationalism, although Assam is often described by a few of them as ‘the last outpost’ of the Indian nation and her civilization. ‘Dominant Assamese nationalism’ asserts itself vis-à-vis such plains tribes of Assam as the Bodos, Rabhas, Rajbanshis6 and so forth by way of raising two major sets of demands: assimilation and expulsion. The demand for assimilation makes it mandatory that all the ­non-Assamese people living in Assam are to acquire the language and culture of the Assamese. The plea is so strong that even an Assamese intellectual widely acclaimed for his liberal views has argued that the immigrant other – whoever she is – should be assimilated into the Assamese culture as ‘sugar melts in milk’. Assimilation more often not is couched in an implicit plea for antecedent de-culturation. The demand for complete de-culturation was aimed precisely at making others relinquish and abandon their own language and culture as they assimilate into the ‘dominant Assamese nationalism’. Thus, to cite an instance, large-scale violence erupted in the Branhmaputra Valley when the official Language Act was passed in 1960 by the Assam Legislative Assembly making Assamese the only language for official communication in Assam. Charu Chandra Bhandari reporting on the Assam disturbances that followed it points out: In the northern part of the Darrang district and in the Uttar Lakhimpur subdivision, the special feature of the disturbances was to compel the Bengali-speaking girls and women to wear mekhla [a kind of long skirt traditionally worn by the Assamese women] or to create circumstances in which they would be compelled to wear mekhla. It is a decent dress no doubt. . . . But when one has to wear a particular costume under compulsion it becomes a different matter altogether. (Bhandari 1961: 36) While the plea for assimilation can take such an extreme and indeed bizarre form, these two demands of assimilation and expulsion are not altogether mutually exclusive. There were instances of people who faced the threat of being driven out – if not were actually driven out – in spite of the fact that they had been living in Assam for generations together and had assimilated themselves well into the so-called mainstream.

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The preparation of the Bodo critique was by no means a unilinear process and the Bodos, by all accounts, seemed to have adapted themselves ‘overwhelmingly’ to the central premises of the ‘dominant Assamese nationalism’ down to the 1960s. They were – as Mukherjee and Mukherjee have pointed out – “for a long time eager to be accommodated into the lower rungs of Hindu hierarchy” (Mukherjee & Mukherjee 1982: 277). But by the 1960s, the Bodo critique of ‘dominant Assamese nationalism’ was beginning to articulate itself. Its preparation can be traced back to the establishment of the Bodo Sahitya Sabha (Bodo Literary Society) in 1952 and the first thing it did after its establishment was to demand for recognition of the Bodo language as a medium of instruction in primary and higher secondary schools. The use of Bodo language was officially recognized at the primary level in 1963 and at higher secondary level in Bodo-concentrated areas much later – only in 1968. Similarly in 1974, Plains Tribal Council of Assam (PTCA) launched an agitation with the demand for using Roman script in place of the Assamese script and for Devanagari script two years later in 1976. PTCA launched a movement for a separate ‘Udayachal’ State for the plains tribals in 1967 and continued the movement for about 23 years. The United Tribal Nationalist Liberation Front (UTNLF) led by Binay Khungur Basumtary came into being in 1984 and raised the demand for a separate Union Territory for the plains tribals to be carved out of Assam. Whether it is PTCA or UTNLF, separate state or a Union Territory, the proposed homeland was meant not only for the Bodos but also for all the plains tribes including the Miris, Rabhas, Tiwas and others alongside the Bodos. But as All-Assam Bodo Students’ Union-Bodo People’s Action Committee (ABSU-BPAC) combine established their hegemony over the movement, the idea of a composite tribal territory gradually gave way to an exclusive Bodo homeland or Bodoland. The faint murmurs of disquiet were audible when as early as in 1979 some of the tribal families were served with ‘quit notices’ and were asked to evacuate by the enthusiasts of the Assam movement that was about to take off at that time. Assimilation and expulsion, in other words, serve as the means of realizing what Gohain calls “the Assamese Varna-Hindu dream of turning Assam into a homogeneous society” (Gohain 1989: 1373). The Assam movement – one of the longest in post-Independence India – revolved around the demand for detection, disenfranchisement and deportation of the ‘foreigners’ – mainly though not exclusively the Bangladeshis settled ‘illegally’ in Assam. The Memorandum of Settlement (1985) that brought the sixyear-long Assam movement to an end helped only in firming the grip 38

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of the ‘dominant Assamese nationalism’ in as much as it declared that “Constitutional, legislative and administrative safeguards, as may be appropriate, shall be provided to protect, preserve and promote the cultural, linguistic identity and heritage of the Assamese people” (Art. 6, italics mine). In 1985, when the Asom Gana Parishad (AGP) – a product of the Assam movement – came to power with the promise of fulfilling the demands of detection, disenfranchisement and deportation of foreigners, Upendra Brahma – the young Bodo student leader and a long-time associate of Prafulla Mahanta, who became the chief minister – was unceremoniously dropped from the cabinet. Personal chemistry between the two leaders – ‘shabby treatment’ (Barpujari 1996: 96) – along with New Delhi’s reported bickering with the AGP Government in order to destabilize and discredit the non-Congress regime played a role in aggravating the Bodo movement. Many cadres of the Special Services Bureau (SSB) – a force reportedly raised with the purpose of mitigating covert Chinese operations in the region – were, as Bhrigu Phukan (Assam’s then Minister of Home Affairs) alleged, turned into armed Bodo militants. In the words of Tilottama and Udayon Misra: “This has resulted, for the first time, in the final snapping of the age-old social and emotional bonds in the rural areas” (Misra & Misra 1996: 125). Development of the Bodo critique perhaps culminated in the final parting of ways with the conflagration of the Gohpur riots in 1989. Not a single hapless Bodo amongst those who were rendered homeless by it took shelter in any of the relief camps run by the Assam Government and fled to the adjoining areas of Arunachal Pradesh on the ground that the camps, according to them, were run by the Assamesedominated administration (Ramaseshan 1989: 101). Besides, Rabi Ram Brahma, then the General Secretary of the All-Bodo Students’ Union (ABSU), issued a stern warning that all the non-Bodos living in proposed Bodoland would be expelled if they would not vacate it on their own by 15 August 1989. As a series of clashes between the Bodos and the non-Bodos occurred in Gohpur, Mangaldoi and parts of North Lakhimpur covering three districts of Assam, a “reign of terror was established through blanket arrests of the guilty and the innocent alike in their hundreds” under the Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act (TADA). As H. K. Barpujari observes: In Kokrajhar and Udalguri subdivisions of the Darrang district majority of the houses remained vacant at night. Not only the young, but women and children had to take shelter in nearby jungles for fear of raiding by the police parties. Boros7 39

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were suspected as terrorist and in the name of encounters not even old and invalids were spared. (Barpujari 1996: 96) Even before the violent outburst of 1989, there were allegations that security forces had raped several Bodo women in the Bhumka village – an act that led to protests by both Bodo and non-Bodo women’s organizations. The AGP government tried to bring down the insurgency through the use of repressive measures with Kokrajhar – the epicentre of Bodo movement – being declared a ‘Disturbed Area’ under the Assam Disturbed Areas Act, 1955 and over 2000 ABSU activists were thrown behind the bars. Besides, the ABSU-resolution entitled ‘Divide Assam fifty-fifty’ (1987) that forms the nucleus of contemporary Bodo militancy, underscores the social and cultural distance in these terms: the attitude of the Assamese people is anti-tribal; Assamese people are deporting Assamese colonialism in tribal areas and dominating the tribals; Assamese people are following the policy of Assamese expansionism and chauvinism; Assamese people feel that Assam is only for Assamese and not for tribals; Assam Government is nothing but only an Assamese Government and not the Government of the people of Assam; Assamese people want to assimilate others. (Datta 1993: 240) This of course implies a certain reversal of the earlier trend towards ‘accommodation into Hindu hierarchy’ and seeks interestingly to bring in ‘the tribal culture’ to the heart of the demand for ‘Bodoland’. It is in the background of the rising stridency of the ‘dominant Assamese nationalism’ that the Bodo critique gained its strength. In 2004, Jadav Pegu – a Bodo scholar known for his moderate views for example – observed: “The tendency to homogenize and to pass off the state’s culture as one ‘Assamese’ culture fails to recognise its multiplicity and its essential Bodo or Mongoloid character” (Pegu 2004: 99). As the Bodo movement started gathering its momentum, the Government in its bid to find out a settlement entered into an agreement with the ABSU-BPAC leadership. This was preceded by as many as eight rounds of talks between the Government and the Bodo leadership. The Accord signed in February 1993 sought to provide the Bodos with some measure of ‘autonomy’ in areas, which were ‘contiguous’ and in which they constituted a majority of 50 percent or more of the 40

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population. Even for the sake of preserving contiguity, areas where Bodos constituted less than 50 percent would be the constituent parts of the Bodo Autonomous Council (BAC). A cursory glance at the population figures of the autochthonous Bodos living in the villages claimed by ABSU-BPAC combine shows that their percentage has been rapidly in decline right from the middle of the nineteenth century. Such factors as massive influx of outsiders, deforestation, rapid environmental degradation and land alienation are primarily responsible for this remarkable decline (Das Gupta 1989: 15–17, 23 ff.).8 In over 500 villages which they claimed as part of Bodoland Autonomous Council, they have reportedly been reduced to a minority. An Assam Government pamphlet while quoting the 1971 census figures (no census could be held in Assam in 1981) for instance shows that only at Sadiya (Jonai area), did the tribals constitute a majority (65.68) with nonBodo tribals accounting for 59.24 of the total tribal population (Govt. Of Assam 1989: 53–54). Besides being a historical gateway where borders of nation-states are drawn in modern times, the territorial jurisdiction of the Council was correspondingly subjected to at least three more conditions: One, because of security reasons Bodo-inhabited areas lying within 10 kilometers of the international border could not be handed over to the Bodo Council. Two, the reserve forests being included in the Union List could not be brought under the Council. Three, the Srirampore border gate between Assam and West Bengal and some Bodo-inhabited areas like Darrang and Tongla could not be brought under the Council. New Delhi’s Northeast policy of granting separate ethnic homelands, as Baruah tells us, was responsible for the impasse that was created in its wake (Baruah 1999: 197). While the non-Bodo tribals certainly do not want to be included as ‘Bodos’ in what is avowedly a ‘Bodo’-land,9 never before in their history has the Bodo leadership been caught in such a quandary. Unless they could decisively prove their majority within a space that they prefer to define as their homeland, they would not be entitled to whatever political autonomy they might claim over it. In its 28th Annual Conference held at Langhin Tinali, Karbi Anglong in Assam on 3–5 March 1996, ABSU disowned the Bodo Accord and revived its demand for a separate Bodoland. Unless they could prove their numerical majority in the areas, they could not bring them under BAC’s jurisdiction while historically they have been reduced to a numerical minority in many of these areas that they claim as their homeland. A section of Bodo leadership sought to resolve the bizarre circularity by taking to arms and resorted to the path of secessionist militancy. While National Democratic Front of Bodoland (NDFB) 41

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under the leadership of Ranjan Daimary insists on complete secession from the Indian Union, such moderate organizations as ABSU and Bodo Liberation Tigers (BLT) have clung to the demand of a separate Bodo state within it. Within or without – each group views partition of space as a means of establishing the Bodos as a majority in the proposed homeland. All 2,570 villages situated in a vast and contiguous area extending from the western border of Kokrajhar right up to the Majbat constituency of Darrang district were sought to be included in the Bodoland Autonomous Council area. Because of its ad hocism, the Bodo accord failed in taking off. Hiteswar Saikia, the then chief minister, demarcated the boundary by excluding 515 villages having less than 2 percent Bodos. The Government insisted that the Bodos constituted a majority only in 1,000 villages of the 2,570 notified villages. When Bodo leaders reiterated their demand for inclusion of about 1,000 contiguous villages, they were curtly told by Hiteswar Saikia – Assam’s then chief minister – that they had not constituted a majority in these villages. The Bodo leadership got the clue, went deep inside the villages and cleansed them of the non-Bodos in their bid to create a Bodo majority (Bhaumik 1998: 13). A series of riots was reportedly organized in an apparently planned manner to spark off the desired exodus. Ethnic cleansing resorted to by a section of militant Bodo leadership was therefore characterized by their potent desire of being grotesquely democratic by creating a majority of their own in order to lay hold of the villages under the jurisdiction of BAC. While the Bodos have historically undergone the irreversible process of being depleted into a minority in what they claim as their homeland, the Bodo militants are accused of further mainstreaming their land in a manner that alienates and marginalizes its non-Bodo inhabitants (like the other plains tribals such as the Rabhas, the Koch10Rajbanshis and also the Santhals, Assamese and the Bengali-speaking Muslims, amongst others). The Bodo-Muslim clashes that occurred in October 1993 had displaced about 3,568 families consisting of 18,000 persons. One of the most serious killings of innocent people was in the relief camp of Bahbari in Barpeta district on 24 July 1994 in which more than 100 immigrant Muslims were killed, hundreds of houses were torched and 70,000 persons were rendered homeless. As a result of Bodo attacks on ethnic Santhals in May 1996, more than 250,000 persons were displaced. In 1997, a majority of them returned home, but were forced to flee after renewed fighting began in 1998. With the rising crescendo of violence since the early 1990s, their target however slowly shifted from the Assamese and Koch-Rajbanshis to the Santhals and Bengali-speaking Muslims. 42

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A community that exercises ethnic cleansing as an option in order to create a majority obviously turns the democratic-majoritarian logic on its head. These acts of violence informed as they were by the strange ‘democratic’ logic of numbers eventually led the minorities to organize themselves and resist the domination of the ‘majority’ Bodos in the area. The formation of such tribal organizations as Adivasi Cobra Force and Sanmilit Janagoshthi Sangram Samiti (SJSS or the Combined Forum for Movement of the Tribal Communities) is illustrative of this point. The tribals describing themselves as adivasis (the original inhabitants) – descendants of tea workers who were brought to Assam as indentured labourers as early as a century and a half ago want to be officially recognized as a ‘Scheduled Tribe’ and to enjoy the opportunities that follow upon such recognition. Adivasi activists argue that since their ethnic kin in their place of origin are recognized as Scheduled Tribe, they should have the same status in Assam after so many years of their migration. Insofar as they seek to resist the stridency of the majority Bodos – historically reduced to a minority – the same ethnic game is played out with all its deadly implications. In a highly ethnicized scenario, such common issues as environmental degradation, social justice and human rights violations are bound to take a backseat and anyone trying to cross the ethnic line is met with dire consequences. Golap Basumatary – the founder-secretary of Bodo Women’s Justice Forum – for instance was brutally assassinated in 1996 for having tried to initiate an Assamese-Bodo dialogue. In a paper published in 1995, Bhattacharjee aptly sums up the problem in the following words: “what the situation in reality demands is that the existing political system needs to be restructured to the satisfaction of the total population and not only of a particular community or communities” (Bhattacharjee 1995: 208). The problem was addressed by way of scrapping the lame duck Bodoland Autonomous Council on 27 May 2003 and by signing a fresh Accord with the BLT leaders on 10 February 2003 that subsequently led to the creation of Bodoland Territorial Council (BTC) on 7 December. The formation of the Council was preceded by the declaration of unilateral ceasefire by the BLT in 1999. The BTC was formed with the objective of “providing Constitutional protection under the Sixth Schedule to fulfil economic, educational and linguistic aspirations and the preservation of land rights, socio-cultural and ethnic identity of the Bodos and speeding up the infrastructure of development in BTC area”. Article 4 of the Memorandum of Settlement aims to “safeguard” the interests and concerns of the “non-tribals in the BTC area” by way of ensuring their special representation in the BTC (clause 2) and promising suitable 43

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modification in the Sixth Schedule of the Constitution while securing their settlement rights and transfer and inheritance of property: The amendments to the Sixth Schedule shall include provisions in such a manner that non-tribals are not disadvantaged in relation to the rights enjoyed by them at the commencement of the BTC and their rights and privileges including land rights are fully protected. Bodo insurgency represents the classic paradox involved in the official policy of granting homeland indiscriminately to the agitating groups and communities of the region. While seeds of the present Bodo insurgency particularly since the 1980s lie in the very document that led to the ‘settlement’ of the Assam movement by assuring a homeland for the Assamese as noted earlier, its settlement in 1993 too triggered off a fresh round of homeland demands from other tribal and non-tribal communities of the area. Peeling of homelands resembles what Ziarek might call ‘inassimilable alterity’ that at one level obliges everyone within a social body to become very like the other, but at another forces one to perpetually suffer the anxiety of becoming the other and thereby decimating one’s own identity (Ziarek 2003: 151). The authorities came to realize it at great cost only in 2003 when a fresh accord was signed with the BLT and attempts to protect the rights of the non-Bodos were made for the first time within the jurisdiction of BTC. There still remain some major irritants to the Bodo peace process. A faction of the Bodos organized under NDFB is yet to close its ranks with the BLT – although they too are in a ceasefire mode with the Government of India. Besides, the adivasi demand for recognition as a Scheduled Tribe has gathered considerable strength in recent years and is likely to widen the divide between the tribals and the non-tribals.

The ‘Absconding’11 shelter-seekers12 In this section we propose to concentrate on the recent spate of violence in 2014. It is reported that a number of inmates have disappeared from the camps in 2014 – although their exact number is hardly known. While the number of disappeared persons may not exactly correspond to that of ‘illegal’ migrants – a euphemism for the ‘illegally’ entered Bengali-speaking immigrants or the ‘infiltrators’ (anuprabeshkari) from across the international borders – All-Assam Bodo Students’ Union (AABSU) maintains that the shelter-seekers who 44

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had disappeared from camps were indeed ‘illegal’ immigrants who for fear of being detected as ‘foreigners’ thanks to the identification process initiated by the official sources – escaped from the camps. Pramod Bodo of All-Assam Bodo Students’ Union (AABSU) for example points out: The Government reported that there were 4 lakh people in camps. AIUDF (All-India United Democratic Front – an organization of the minorities in Assam) estimated it to be 6 lakh persons. From then onwards we watched a discrepancy of a surplus (sic) of 2 lakh people. The disappearance of hordes of people from camps after the survey work for the citizenship and land titles began proves that the number of real shelter-seekers was not as high. The distinction between real and unreal shelter-seekers implicit in the excerpt is much too important to be wished away. The real shelterseekers are those who are not only Indian citizens but can stand the trial and successfully establish in the eye of law that they are indeed what they are in reality – the Indian citizens. Many of those who are otherwise Indian citizens may not be able to stand the proof in the absence of adequate documentary evidence and elsewhere I described them as ‘people without shadows’, for their spectral presence does not leave any mark anywhere in the world of law (Das 2010–2011: 1–11). Many of them may have lost the documents in the communal violence itself while most of them may not have acquired them at all in the first place. Pramod Bodo also cautions that if any of their names does not figure in the electoral rolls of 1971 one will not be considered eligible for rehabilitation. A communiqué issued by the Home Ministry in New Delhi for example reported many such ‘disappearances’ after forms for verification of citizenship and land titles (patta) of the camp inmates were circulated. A. M. Laskar, the District Magistrate of Dhubri, confesses that on 23 July 2012 there were 173,000 persons staying in 139 camps. After one month, the figure came down to 147,000 persons. Correspondingly, no figure of the persons who are reported as missing is available. He guesses that they might have gone towards Chirang or Kokrajhar. He also apprehends that many of them may have reported more than once in more than one camp. The Police fear that many of them have escaped because they would not pass the test of verification and provide sufficient proof. Initially about 40,000 people simply disappeared from camps once such forms were distributed 45

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for verification. Many such persons have reportedly taken shelter in neighbouring Cooch Behar and Falakata in North Bengal, Goalpara and Barpeta in Assam. About 12,000 persons are found eligible for rehabilitation after verification of land titles and citizenship claims of inmates who have duly filled up 26,431 forms. By the end of August, an estimated 186,000 persons have taken shelter in as many as 206 camps (Rakshit & Chaudhuri 2012: 5). This chapter seeks to focus firstly on the act of disappearance which is neither new nor unprecedented in the annals of the history of refugees and internally displaced persons seeking protection and asylum. The concluding chapter discusses in detail how the act of disappearance constitutes a new site of democratic practice for the people whom we call the ‘new nomads’. In the official discourse an albeit imperceptible conflation occurs between citizens and shelterseekers so much so that displacement per se is not enough for one to claim relief and rehabilitation and one needs to be a citizen in order to qualify as a shelter-seeker from the state. The conflation has its obvious implications for the distribution of relief and rehabilitation. Uttarbanga ­Sambad – the largest circulating Bengali daily in North Bengal – writes that whenever communal riots take place there starts the process of deflecting the attention away to ‘the favourite whipping boy’ (keshta Byata in Tagore’s famous poem ‘Dui Bigha Jami’ in which Keshta – the servant – is accused as the ‘thief’ whenever something in the household goes missing) of infiltration (‘Fer Asome Asanti’ 2012: 4). Secondly, many of the citizens reportedly fled away from the camps on the ground that they apparently had no proof of either citizenship or landownership although not all of them, I am sure, are ‘foreigners’ and some of them may have apprehended that they might be reclassified as ‘foreigners’ if they fail in producing adequate legal proof. Not all citizens in India are necessarily armed with the papers that might decisively establish their citizenship. Many of the shelter-seekers live in this fuzzy world. While the disappearance of these ‘nowhere’ people is a prerequisite for the persistence of nation-states and its otherwise strict citizenship and border regimes, one should not forget that their disappearing act is after all the necessary means of their own survival in a world that continues to be dominated by nation-states. The overwhelming reality of nation-states refuses to recognize these other realities – of such absconding acts and disappearances – of how the victims displaced from home and cultivable land and more often than not losing the documentary evidences if they have any of them at all at their disposal – escape the dragnet of law and surveillance by the nation-state. These other realities are no 46

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less real than the reality of nation-states. The absconding shelter-seekers mock as it were the state power and its elaborate paraphernalia of identification and enumeration. While the clash began on 20 July, by 26 August 2012 the death toll soon shot up to 86. When P. Chidambaram – the then Home Minister of the Government of India – came to visit two of the camps in Kokrajhar in Lower Assam, the camp inmates made the demand for dissolution of the Bodo Territorial Council (BTC). Muslim Students’ Union of Assam (MSUA) regards BTC as the root of all violence. Chidambaram however clarified that the Bodo Accord is a ten-year old accord (at that time) and the Bodo Peoples’ Front (BPF) that bagged 11 out of 14 seats of the BTC is still in command (‘Saranarthider Kshover Mukhe . . .’ 2012: 10). Ironically the majoritarian principle otherwise considered as the pivot of our democracy feeds into homeland politics – more often than not of an extraordinarily violent nature – and vice versa. While the Bodos are mostly concentrated in what is claimed as their homeland – without necessarily being the numerical majority in every nook and cranny of BTAD jurisdiction – the minority Muslims are scattered everywhere across Assam, the rest of India and the world. The imaginary of homeland may not have been too far from the minds of the Bengali-speaking Muslims living in the bordering parts of India and Bangladesh. A map of a separate ‘Bangalisthan’ (the land of the Bengalis) consisting of some of the bordering districts of India and Bangladesh was released some years back – although Muslim politics in Assam does not seem to revolve solely around such a homeland imaginary. By all accounts, violence and clashes revolving around contesting homeland imaginaries targeted not one and all randomly, but the most hapless and the vulnerable within the community – the Bodos and the Bengali-speaking Muslims alike. These are the people who had had the experience of being displaced earlier – often more than once. I call them the permanent nomads. Sushmita Raychaudhury – a human rights activist – visited some of the camps sheltering the Bodos and the Bengali-speaking Muslims in Lower Assam and chronicled the dismal conditions in these camps – lack of food and safe drinking water, unhygienic environment, open and inadequate toilets and so forth. Interestingly, she argues that the inmates she happened to have met were the poorest of the poor without any exception – the jetsam and the flotsam – who had only had an apology of home before being displaced and technically could not have been rendered homeless. In her words, they had to “move around from one end to another only to find the bare 47

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means of wherewithal” (Raychaudhury 2012: 6). Yousouf Momin – an over 100-year-old man for example shares her experience of having been evicted thrice in his lifetime (Datta 2012: 1). In other words, these are the people who are displaced before being ever properly emplaced in home in the first place. They are the permanent nomads. That there is simmering discontent becomes clear from a newspaper report as late as on 15 March 2013. In view of the continuing cases of abduction, humiliation and brutal murder of the ‘Bengalis’ in the area, Bijan Dey – Secretary of the BTC Bangali Yuba-Chhatra Federation (BTC Bengali Youth-Student Federation) – has expressed his sense of anxiety and accuses the BTC administration of having ‘completely failed’ in stopping this kind of incidents (Asome Bipanna Bangali 2013: 7).

Contingencies: alien spaces, moving spaces, moving through spaces While almost each community in the region has a claim to what it perceives as its homeland, the forces and processes of globalization make it imperative for people to work outside their perceived homelands in keeping with the changing demand for labour in the rest of India – if not the world. We will have occasion to discuss the process of labour circulation in detail in the next chapter. The newly emergent, burgeoning middle class of the Northeast amongst the Assamese, the Bodos and others seems now to have arrived. Many of them are employed as security guards or call-centre employees in Hyderabad or Pune, work in groups in glass factories and dairy farms of Mumbai, while many others are involved in similarly low-to-middle ranking jobs in the rest of India including such cities as Chennai, Chandigarh and Delhi. It is difficult – if not impossible – to ascertain their exact number. In a recent study based on the NSSO data, it is found that the number of households with migrants per thousand households is disproportionately higher in the states of Sikkim, Arunachal Pradesh, Manipur and Nagaland than what it is in the so-called mainland Indian states. The same study also notes that it is not the poor and the unemployed, but the ‘upper quintiles’ and the ‘relatively rich’, who migrate out of the region (Remesh 2013: 39–40). In the words of McDuie-Ra, unlike the immigrants in most of the ‘developing’ countries of the Global South in which the migrants are constantly pushed out, India ‘pulls’ the immigrants from the Northeast towards ‘its centre’, to the cities and metropolises that have become the face of new globalized India (McDuie-Ra 2012: 67). 48

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Migrants outside their homeland become easy targets of attack everywhere. Sanjib Baruah argues that as the first-generation middle class from the Northeast comes out they become objects of racial profiling – if not direct hate attacks (Baruah 2005: 165–176). In other words, this represents a paradox. At one level, geographical mobility of some of the communities from the Northeast has increased exponentially in recent years thanks to globalization and the rising demand for labour in other cities and metropolises. But at another level, as they move out and announce their arrival by becoming publicly visible, they become objects of hate attacks. They are catapulted as it were into unfamiliar terrains and alien spaces. These cities may be their work spaces, but never become their home. The newly emergent national, regional and global networks, as Hardt and Negri argue, produce both identity and difference – not only homogenizations but also heterogenizations albeit within a global ‘imperial order’ (Hardt & Negri 2000: 45). The low-to-middle ranking labour from the Northeast may have become part of the world labour market – ‘imperial order’ as they call it – but they are also not a part of it.13 Compared to other immigrants, those from the Northeast, according to the study cited above, opt for ‘permanent stay’ in Delhi (Remesh 2013: 45). They live as communities concentrated in some select areas without much of interaction with others. Most of them come with someone or two of their acquaintances (like family members, relatives, friends or someone from the same community) already living in the city and a good proportion of their income is spent on outfits, food, travelling and organizing frequent gatherings of friends and community members. They are also seen to stay together and wherever they do not stay, they prefer to stay in a locality with greater concentration of people of their own regional community, frequent the same restaurants and meet in the same joints (Remesh 2013: 46–50 ff.). As Remesh observes: “This pattern of staying in groups inter alia has led to the emergence of migrant neighbourhoods with high concentration of population from the region” (Remesh 2013: 5). Unlike the Bodos, the Muslims – and not necessarily Bengali-speaking Muslims – are present everywhere in India albeit as a minority in the country as a whole with varying degrees of numerical strength in its different parts. The Bengali-speaking Muslims – by all accounts – may not connect easily with the Muslims outside, but in this case the religious identity of the predominantly non-Bengali Muslims living in the rest of India – in these cities and metropolises – seemed to have played a role in building solidarity with them. Thus what is called the ‘Muslim reaction’ outside the Northeast cut across their linguistic, regional 49

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or Bengali identity and that is why it spread across the rest of India – if not outside – like wildfire. R. K. Singh – the then home secretary of the Government of India – hinted at the involvement of the ‘external forces’ in the violence in Lower Assam (‘Asome Sangharsher Mule . . .’ 2012: 8). On 11 August 2012, a ‘Muslim protest’ – as Wikipedia puts it – against the riots in Assam and attacks on Muslims (known as the Rohingiyas) in Burma/Myanmar – was held at Azad Maidan in Mumbai. The protest was organized by Raza Academy and was attended by two other groups, Sunni Jamaitul Ulma and Jamate Raza-e-Mustafa. It ended in rampant violence; two were killed and 54 others injured, including 45 policemen. The police claimed that “at least five woman police constables were molested by mob”.14 There were also unconfirmed reports that a few of the rioters had stolen police weapons and fired in the air and at the police, but no casualties were reported. Some photographers were also reportedly injured during the violence. The police later claimed that provocative pamphlets were distributed during the protest, and they were investigating their source.15 A bulk SMS was reportedly sent in the old city of Hyderabad near the Charminar area on 10 August 2012. It may not be important to know whether this was actually sent or not, which is clearly not our task – but what is most important is that the message had reportedly gone around that unless the people from the Northeast left Bengaluru by 20 August they would have to face dire consequences. There were cases of hate attacks and targeted reprisals in some of the Southern states. Tracing the source of the rumour is like peeling an onion. As a police officer is reported to have said: “It’s always someone who saw the message, or ‘my friend’s friend’ who was harassed. Our probe will fix responsibility for this mess”. The government blocked as many as 250 websites as well after they were taken aback by the suddenness of violence. Investigators traced the source of hate messages to radical Islamist groups such as Popular Front of India, HuJI, Manita Neeti Pasarai and Karnataka Forum for Dignity. The SMS campaign was designed to create panic among people from the Northeast, forcing them to flee. The result of the rumour was a massive return migration. According to an estimate, 15,000 people including students and employees left Bengaluru by 17 August 2012 and the Divisional Railway Manager informed that during 16–17 August, a record of 9,718 tickets were sold from Bengaluru to Northeastern destinations while on an average only 300 tickets are sold per day. Pratyahik Khabor notes that about 30,000 people left the state of Karnataka

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by 17 August 2012 (‘Karnatak, Andhra Chharchhen Uttar-Purber Bahu Manush’ 2012: 1). People from the South in general and from Hyderabad, Bengaluru and Pune in particular started returning to the Northeast (‘Dakshin Theke Ghare Ferar . . .’ 2012: 1). Special trains were organized by the railway authorities to bring them back. While xenophobia is not uncommon in Assam and other parts of the Northeast, this is for the first time that “the Assamese16 have been facing opposition, and have been forced to return from other states” (Sen 2012: 4). Earlier too it happened but on a much smaller scale when for instance trainloads of Assamese youth were attacked in Bihar in protest against the reported attack on the young job-seekers from that state for railway recruitment in Guwahati supposedly organized by the All-Assam Students’ Union (AASU) in 2006. This is for the first time that Muslim politics vis-à-vis the Northeast transcended the homeland imaginaries and eventually got inserted into the more powerful global imaginary of Islamic Ummah or ‘Universal Brotherhood’ of the Muslims cutting across the bounds of homeland, state, language and ethnicity with the ultimate objective of making the entire world their homeland. Neither the ‘Assamese’ nor the ‘Bodos’ had ever had the experience of having to face it in the past on such a huge scale. In other words, the contesting homeland imaginaries threaten to engulf what I prefer to call the alien spaces outside the hitherto common site of the Northeast. In one such special train coming from Bengaluru to Guwahati (no. 12509) on the night of 18–19 August, a band of people was reportedly involved in rioting and looting a section of passengers as soon as the train left New Jalpaiguri railway station in North Bengal and was about to enter Belakoba – the only station between New Jalpaiguri and Jalpaiguri. Some of the passengers were thrown out of the moving train while few others jumped off on their own to save their lives. Four of them lost their lives in the process while many others got severely injured (‘Asomgami Bisesh Traine . . . 2012: 1). The train quietly trudged through the greater part of its journey till it reached North Bengal when violence broke out and the death toll eventually mounted to seven. Interestingly the approach to Belakoba where the incident happened is predominantly a Rajbanshi-dominated area and it will not be out of place to note that a section of Bodos traces their common lineage to the Rajbanshis and vice versa. The search for common origin has acquired certain momentum in North Bengal, particularly in the last few years.17 The compartment of the moving train in this instance represents a moving space with the constantly changing

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ethnic composition of passengers as they get up and down from it. The constantly changing ethnic configuration of the space inside and that of the spaces outside that the train travels through – the moving space and the movement through the spaces – are not one and the same – although as will be seen later – are intimately connected in this case. Significantly, violence broke out as the train had entered North Bengal. As we came to know from the fellow travellers who spoke to us on condition of anonymity, those who lost their lives were never unsafe till the train approached the region and became vulnerable only after it was passing through the gateway of North Bengal, the site of contesting homeland imaginaries. Space inside the compartment took on its particular ethnic character inasmuch as the train passed through the region and not before it. It is argued that moving spaces are governed by what David Singh Grewal calls ‘network power’ (the power that establishes the preponderance of certain standards and protocols and people of diverse cultural backgrounds participating in such spaces) and ‘hyperspaces’ as they are called (like international airports and interstate highways or a moving railway compartment etc.) are required to observe these standards and protocols (Grewal 2008). The moving railway compartment in this instance does not represent such a networked space – quite the contrary, it gets ethnically constituted insofar as it approaches Assam and the Northeast. The moving space of a railway compartment and the track it passes through are thus contingently constituted as ethnic without having any fixed or lasting ethnic character. The forces and processes of globalization could hardly make ethnicity redundant as in this instance; they have only made it extremely transient, momentary and contingent. The story, however, does not end here. There is the space at the end where the victims’ bodies are supposed to reach and the final rites are to be performed. There is a homeland too waiting for the deceased. As soon as the news of death of Atiqur Rahman, Saibur Rahman Barbhuyan, Hossain Ahmed Laskar, Arshad Hossain, Saiful Islam, Iqbal Hossain and another person whose identity could not be immediately known reached their areas in Hailakandi (the Bengali-dominated district in Assam’s Barak valley), the local people felt enraged and there was simmering discontent in the district (‘Hailakandite Teebra Uttejana’ 2012: 1). A bandh (strike) was observed in solidarity with those who lost their lives in North Bengal. The incident only helped in reinforcing the contest over homeland imaginaries and sparked off a chain of reactions within the Northeast. As the ‘Assamese’ have been targeted outside Assam, Jiten Dutta – a leader of the pro-talks faction of the United Liberation Front of Assam 52

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(ULFA), the largest militant organization in Assam – issued a veiled threat: We are watching the situation . . . if these attacks are not stopped immediately we will be forced to act immediately, we will be forced to act against companies [of the security forces deployed in Assam] from these states where the attacks are taking place. (quoted in ‘Tit-for-tat ULFA Threat’ 2012: 4) The faction also vowed to take up arms if the ‘foreigners’ were not thrown out of Assam. Prabal Neog of the pro-talks faction accused the anti-talks faction of remaining silent on the question for they had become “an instrument in the hands of ISI” or the Inter Services Intelligence Directorate of Pakistan (‘Alochanapanthi ULFAo ‘Bideshi’ . . . 2012: 5). On the other hand, Paresh Baruah – the leader of the anti-talks faction – issued a stern statement on 26 August 2012 warning that they would organize retaliatory attacks on the ‘Indians’ if the attack on the Assamese out of Assam continued unabated. He also alleged that 14 Assamese had already lost their lives in the recent spate of attacks on the people of the Northeast outside the region (‘Ebare Bharatiyader Upar . . .’ 2012: 8). All this aptly shows that there is little agreement on what constitutes the site of the contesting homeland imaginaries: while the response of the radical Islamist organizations has started taking on a pan-Indian if not global character, that of such insurgent organizations as ULFA with both its factions is to keep it confined to the region itself. All these spaces – alien, moving and travelled – come into being only contingently – whether in response to the rising demand for labour (like soft skills, command over English, amiability, simplicity and trustworthiness) that the people from the Northeast are stereotyped to supply in plenty in the age of globalization or in keeping with the extremely unpredictable ethnic composition of passengers within a particular railway compartment at any given point of time and the spaces the train travels through – and none of them has any enduring character. Each has its only limited life span as often as the demand for labour albeit violently fluctuates in our age of globalization and the train moves through spaces admittedly unknown to the passengers. As per our textbook expectation, these contingencies should have ‘flattened’ the space in a way that identities defined in either/or terms become a thing of the past (Kearney 1995: 558). While globalization 53

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has rendered all of these spaces contingent in a hitherto unprecedented manner with its premium on time – with the speed, fastness and mobility that it accompanies – such contingencies, because of their very nature, do not rule out possibilities of ethnicization of space particularly after interethnic riots break out and ethnic relations turn violent. ‘Simultaneous coexistence of social relations’ having their association with ethnicity and group identity – being inherently dynamic – seldom allows the space to remain flat (Massey n.d.: 81).

Hospitality sans home Many of the ‘absconding’ shelter-seekers reportedly fled to adjoining parts of North Bengal. The bonhomie between Assam and West Bengal – the sending and receiving states – was celebrated in many quarters including newspapers, intellectuals and politicians of West Bengal. Many of the displaced persons took shelter in the camps located in the neighbouring areas of West Bengal. Mamata Banerjee – the Chief Minister of West Bengal – for example declares: “One has to act with heart, only words will not do. One owes moral responsibility to another who is in danger. . . . If I have two handfuls of rice, I can (easily) give half of it to another. We have political responsibility as much as we have social responsibility” (‘Asome Uttap Kamchhe . . . 2012: 8). Thus, according to an estimate prepared in early August 2012, 1,300 persons reside in Jasodanga, 10 families in Rahimabad and 61 persons in Madarihat – all in North Bengal. The chief minister of West Bengal is quoted as saying this while addressing a gathering in Bardhaman: We will not let anyone organize a communal riot in Bengal should anyone ever try to do it. Those who have been hit by the riots in Assam are our brothers and sisters. The government of (West) Bengal will provide all sorts of help to them. (Bhattacharya 2012: 1) Gautam Deb – the then minister in charge of the Development of North Bengal – visited the Mosinpara Masjid camp of Shamuktala area under Alipurduar Block II situated close to Assam and accommodating more than 1,500 persons. He addressed the refugees (saranarthi) as “our guests”. The victims belong to as many as 12 villages under Gosaingaon subdivision in the district of Kokrajhar. More than 500 internally displaced persons have taken shelter in No. 5 Ward of Siliguri Municipal Corporation (‘Sab hariye ekhan . . .’ 2012: 3). According to the Minority Cell of the Congress Party (Siliguri Plains), 54

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over 12,000 persons displaced by the recent violence in Assam have taken shelter in various parts of North Bengal. This is the story of Astar Momin that Uttarbanga Sambad graphically chronicled in its issue on 8 August 2012 and we followed up subsequently. He is an inhabitant of Sherfanguri of Lower Assam displaced by the present spate of violence. His present address is the Mominpar Masjid of Jasodanga that has been conveniently converted into a camp. One expects, as the story goes, that only those who do not have any other means of survival will take shelter in the relief camp. Incidentally, although the number of inmates was 984 at the beginning, it rose up to 1,244 by the first week of August, notwithstanding that many people left the camp between these two periods (‘Asome Sena Satarkita’ 2012: 7). But Momin is an exception to this. He gets relief from the camp. Meanwhile he seeks also to buy a shop in Shamuktala market against Rs. 3 lakhs. He has reportedly paid an advance of Rs. 20,000 and promises to pay the rest in the next 90 days. On hearing that the information has been disclosed, he feels embarrassed and asks for the return of the money (‘Saranarthi Sibir Theke Tin . . .’ 2012: 7). Uttarbanga Sambad further adds: Many people want to become permanent residents (Sthayee Basinda) from relief camps. Three of the inmates of the Shamuktala have already started constructing house in Pukuriya village under Shamuktala Gram Panchayat. (‘Saranarthider Sthayee basinda . . .’ 2012: 7) The sheen of hospitality vanishes in no time and the ‘guests’ are seen to exceed their welcome. The excess, according to Derrida, is built into the concept of hospitality. As he puts it: [T]o be hospitable is to let oneself be overtaken [surpendre], to be ready to not be ready, if such is possible, to not even let oneself be overtaken, to be surprised, in a fashion almost violent, violated and raped [violee], stolen [vole] (the whole question of violence, violation/rape and of expropriation and de-propriation is waiting for us), precisely where one is not ready to receive – and not only not yet ready, but not ready, unprepared in a mode that is not even that of the ‘not yet’. (Derrida 2002: 361) It took little time for the locals to feel the real brunt of their ‘guests’. As many as 91 internally displaced persons took shelter in the makeshift 55

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camp of Madarihat Higher Secondary School. The NGOs and other relief organizations came to visit them frequently. The presence of so many refugees in the school is itself a source of disturbance to the locals. Toilets are not sufficient to accommodate them. Mid-day meals are cooked for the students in unhygienic conditions. The guardians alleged that they were given the assurance that the refugees would be evacuated within seven days while more than one month had elapsed and there was no sign of the preparation for their return. The guardians submitted a memorandum to the block development officer (BDO) (‘Madarihate School Khali . . .’ 2012: 3). When some of the inmates were caught drunk and committing nuisance by the locals, the guardians threatened to lock the school (‘Saranarthi Sibir Na Sarale . . .’ 2012: 5). This is almost an historical trend that whenever violence strikes in Lower Assam thousands of people are forced to leave the state and take shelter in neighbouring North Bengal. Such districts as Jalpaiguri and Cooch Behar have to bear the brunt of forced migration victims from Assam. Chattopadhyay notes that many of them refuse to return. He reports “the arrival of new ‘guests’ in the predominantly minority areas” and he concludes that no one can predict what would be the impact of growing ‘pressure of infiltration’ on these districts (Chattopadhyay 2012: 7). Hospitality can be extremely homely – but can never be home, for it continuously “disrupts the state of being at home” (Derrida 2002: 364). No hospitality can take away from the guest his identity as a stranger.

The lived space Amidst the clash between the two powerful homeland imaginaries – ‘Bodoland’ and ‘Bangalisthan’, the space loses what Edward Soja calls its ‘lived’ character (Soja 1989: 27). The space in question not only represents a clash – no less fierce than the one of civilizations that Huntington so grimly predicts in which one homeland imaginary is engaged in the impossible war of wiping out the other – but also complicity, most importantly, it represents an elaboration of the political economy of an intricate division of labour that has developed particularly during the last few decades. Space is not simply a given materiality – nor the impossible act of translating the contending imaginaries into practice – but is how the inhabitants ‘directly live’ within it and ‘use’ it for their everyday living. Notwithstanding creation of tribal belts and blocks apparently in order to prevent

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alienation of tribal land, Bodos and Bengali Muslims were mutually dependent on each other in a predominantly agricultural economy. Bodo landowners employed Bengali labourers to work on their fields because of their relative unfamiliarity with the superior techniques of wet rice cultivation. Many Bodos interviewed by Smitana Saikia (2016) in the course of her study have reportedly employed farmhands from Muslim villages for decades. Bodos and Bengalis jointly set up Linguistic Minority Rights Committee (LMRC) to counteract the chauvinist agenda of the Assamese elite. Akhil Ranjan Dutta, for example, reminds us: The common Muslims who have been living in present day BTAD for decades together are mostly hard working peasants. There have also been migrations of Bengali origin Muslims (sic) to the BTAD [Bodoland Territorial Autonomous District], particularly to Kokrajhar from the Char areas of the neighboring districts who are displaced every year by flood and erosion. There may be post-1971 migrants among these Bengali origin Muslims. However, all these migrant labourers cannot be labeled as Bangladeshis. The economy in BTAD has evolved a dynamic of interdependence between the Bodos and the Muslim peasants. Most of the migrant Muslim settlers work as cultivators in land owned by the Bodos and also as domestic help with them. This has happened in the historical process of the emergence of a middle class and also with the increase of organized political activism within the Bodo community. When large number of the youths is involved in political activism or gets themselves involved in petty business, it is natural that it invites migrant labourers to work in the paddy fields. Many of the Bodo families have started informal leasing out of land to these migrant labourers. Once number of such leasing out increases more and more migrant labourers enter in these Bodo villages. Under such changing situation there has evolved a unique pattern of villages in some areas inside BTAD where adjacent to the Bodo villages the migrant Muslim labourers have settled down and gradually evolved into villages. The Bodos in such villages even indulge in advance sale of fruits of their homestead gardens to these Muslim settlers. The Muslim peasants also work as petty marketers in such villages. (Dutta 2012 mimeo)

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The Bodos and the lower middle classes amongst them – according to this account – have been withdrawing themselves fast from the agriculture-centric occupation and moving to the organized and other private sectors not only in Assam but in other relatively globalized cities of India as mentioned earlier. It has brought about substantial changes in landholding pattern and land relations in the region. The agricultural land has been leased out to the immigrants through some very informal contractual system. As the Bodos withdraw, the immigrant Muslims pour in. “The gap”, as Mahanta argues, “is being filled up by immigrant Muslims” (Mahanta 2013: 56). If the recent past history bears the scar that it suffers as a result of the unending series of clashes between the Bodos and the Muslims, between the Bodos and the Adivasis and so forth, it refuses to recognize the political economy of such ‘dynamic interdependence’ between them. Dutta and Sengupta (2011) in their study point out how each single instance of violence contributes to the further disruption of inter-community relations in Bodoland. We are in desperate need of a historian who will rewrite the history of this space in order to tell us that it has also been a ‘lived’ space of the people – of people who have historically ‘lived’ in it in common with others and have been turned into permanent nomads only in the recent decades. In an ironic spin to Edward Said’s famous adage, one can say while home without homeland is possible, homeland is no recipe for one’s home. Alarmingly regular cycles of violence erupt in the region – routinely subjecting thousands of people – most of whom are already homeless – to a state of perpetual homelessness – all in the name of homeland! As the historical gateway is relentlessly sought to be converted into homeland, it only turns increasingly violent – into a violent gateway.

Notes 1 Bodos are described as a tribal community with many of their subgroups living mostly in Lower Assam along the Northern Banks of the river Brahmaputra. We will have occasion to define them later. 2 www.outlookindia.com/article.aspx?282264 (accessed on 30 September 2012). 3 One lakh is an Indian unit that is equal to 100,000. 4 See Kalita (2016). 5 Benedict Anderson calls it a ‘spectre of comparison’, which is aided by the forces and processes of globalization. As people are called upon to meet each other in spaces outside their perceived homelands thanks to globalization, they are likely to compare themselves with each other and consequently become aware of their distinctive identity and culture. See Anderson (1998).

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6 Unlike in Assam, in North Bengal they are usually spelt as ‘Rajbanshis’ without the ‘g’ both in official records and in popular parlance. 7 ‘Bodos’ are also alternatively spelt as ‘Boros’. 8 A survey on land transfer conducted by B. N. Bordoloi on eight districts in the plains spreading across ten developmental blocks points out that between 1971 and 1987, the number of tribal population whose land has been alienated rose by 48 percent (Bordoloi 1991: 98–100). 9 These figures have however been disputed by ABSU. In a survey conducted by it in 1990, the Scheduled Tribes are said to account for 70 percent of the total population in the northern bank – of which 51 percent are Bodos (quoted in T. Pulopillil 1997: 4). 10 In Assam, the tribal prefix ‘Koch’ is common while in North Bengal – as we will see in Chapter 4 – the Rajbanshi/Kamatapuri movement has deliberately sought to stay away from its tribal prefix and affiliation. 11 The word for ‘absconding’ used in Bengali is ferar in order to describe a criminal who flees away in order to escape the due process of law or from prison. The term was used freely in the context mentioned later mainly by the journalists. 12 Although ‘refugee’ literally means one who seeks refuge, in Bengali the same term ‘refugee’ is used widely without any necessary concern for International Law. I use the rather unconventional term ‘shelter-seeker’ (the literal translation of the Bengali term saranarthi) to describe those who seek shelter after losing their homestead and means of livelihood and in this case as a result of the conflict and violence. 13 Besides, Duncan McDuie-Ra’s work (2012), two reports are especially significant in this context of discrimination and hate attacks. See North East Committee (2014) and National Commission for Women (2013). 14 “Mumbai violence: Woman cops molested by rioters”. DNA India. 12 August 2012. www.dnaindia.com/mumbai/report_mumbai-violence-woman-copsmolested-by-rioters_1726932 accessed on 12 August 2012. 15 “Police probing if violence was a ‘big conspiracy’ ”. The Indian Express. 12 August 2012. www.indianexpress.com/news/police-probing-if-violencewas-a-big-conspiracy/987151/0 accessed on 12 August 2012. 16 The term ‘Assamese’ is used perhaps in a generic reference to anyone from the Northeast. 17 Suniti Kumar Chatterji, sometime back, includes Garos, Mrungs, Kacharis. Rabhas, Meches and Koches amongst others in the ubiquitous category of Bodo speakers (Chatterji 1974: 46). While the Rajbanshis of North Bengal sought to distance themselves from the Koches and declared them as Varna Hindus (Kshtriyas) during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries on the ground that the Koches are “different from and inferior to” the Rajbanshis (Barman, Upendra Natha n.d.: 33), the Rajbanshis of Assam prefer to retain their tribal status and identify them as Koch-Rajbanshis (see Chapter 4). However, in both cases their generic Koch origin is traced to their Bodo ancestry. Dipak Ray however argues that it is the other way around, for, it is the Bodos who belong to the generic category of the Koches (Ray 2012: 15) but agrees that ‘Koches and Rajbanshis are the same community (jati) (Ray 2012: 7). Ghosh-Dastidar argues that “anthropologically Koch-Rajbanshis are kith and kin to the Bodos” (Ghosh-Dastidar

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2011: 238). The sudden surge of these writings on Bodo ancestry of the Rajbanshis of North Bengal particularly in the last few years gives credence to the attempts at building Bodo-Rajbanshi solidarity in this gateway region.

References Ahmed, Hafiz (2012): ‘Dr. Nani Gopal Mahantar Ekpakshiya Bisleshan’ (in Assemese) [The prejudiced analysis of Dr. Nani Gopal Mahanta] in Amar Asom, 29 July. Anderson, Benedict (1998): The Spectre of Comparisons: Nationalism, Southeast Asia, and the World. London: Verso. Anonymous (2012): ‘Alochanapanthi ULFAo “Bideshi” Hatao Andolane’ (in Bengali) [The pro-talks faction of ULFA is also in the movement for driving out the ‘foreigners’] in Anandabazar Patrika, 3 September. ——— (2012): ‘Asome Sangharsher Mule bairer Haat’ (in Bengali) [At the root of the conflict in Assam, there is foreign hand] in Sambad Pratidin, 7 August. ——— (2012): ‘Asome Sena Satarkita’ (in Bengali) [Army alerted in Assam] in Uttarbanga Sambad, 9 August. ——— (2012): ‘Asome Uttap Kamchhe, Kramasha Swabhabik Hochchhe Rail Pariseba’ (in Bengali) [Heat is decreasing in Assam, railway service is becoming gradually normal] in The Ananda Bazar Patrika, 27 July. ——— (2012): ‘Asomgami Bisesh Traine Dushkriti Hana’ (in Bengali) [Miscreants’ attack on the special train going to Asom] in Uttarbanga Sambad (Siliguri), 20 August. ——— (2012): ‘Dakshin Theke Ghare Ferar Dhal Abyahata’ Iin Bengali) [The returning to home from the South is continuing unabated] in Uttarbanga Sambad (Siliguri), 18 August. ——— (2012): ‘Ebare Bharatiyader Upar Akramaner Hunshiari Dilo Nishiddha ULFA Goshthi’ (in Bengali) [Now the banned ULFA group has issued the threat of attacking the Indians] in Uttarbanga Sambad, 27 August. ——— (2012): ‘Fer Asome Asanti’ (in Bengali) [Turbulence in Assam again] in Uttarbanga Sambad (Siliguri), 9 August. ——— (2012): ‘Hailakandite Teebra Uttejana’ (in Bengali) [Intense excitement in Hailakandi] in Dainik Statesman, 21 August. ——— (2012): ‘Karnatak, Andhra Chharchhen Uttar-Purber Manush’ (in Bengali) [People of the Northeast have been leaning Karnataka, Andhra] in Pratyahik Khabar (Siliguri), 17 August. ——— (2012): ‘Madarihate School Khali Karar Dabi Abhibhakder’ (in Bengali) [The guardians’ demand for evacuating Madarihat School] in Uttarbanga Sambad, 5 September. ——— (2012): ‘Sab Hariye Ekhan Oder Thikana Hoyechhe Siliguri’ (in Bengali) [After losing everything their address is now Siliguri] in Pratyahik Khabar (Siliguri), 29 July.

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——— (2012): ‘Saranarthi Sibir Na Sarale School Tala Marar Humki’ (in Bengali) [Threat of locking the school if the refugee camp is not shifted] in Uttarbanga Sambad, 11 September. ——— (2012): ‘Saranarthider Kshover Mukhe Chidambaramer Sangi’ (in Bengali) [The companion of Chidambaram faces the wrath of the shelterseekers] in Ananda Bazar Patrika, 1 August. ——— (2012): ‘Saranarthider Sthayee Basinda Haoar Cheshta’ (in Bengali) [The refugees’ attempt to become permanent residents] in Uttarbanga Sambad, 10 August. ——— (2012): ‘Saranarthi Sibir Theke Tin lakhe Jami Kenar Cheshta’ (in Bengali) [Bid to buy land against three lakhs while living in the relief camp] in Uttarbanga Sambad, 8 August. ——— (2012): ‘Tit-for-tat ULFA Threat’ in The Telegraph, 17 August. ——— (2013): ‘Asome Bipanna Bangali’ (in Bengali) [Bengalis are in Danger in Assam] in Uttarer Saradin (Siliguri), 15 March. Barman, Upendra Nath (n.d.): Rajbanshi Kshatriya Jatir itihas (in Bengali) [The History of the Rajbanshi Kshatriya Community]. Kolkata: Bijoy Kumar Barman. Barpujari, Heramba Kanta (1996): North-East India: Problems, Policies and Prospects. Guwahati: Spectrum. Baruah, A. K. & Manorama Sharma (1991): ‘Nationality Question in Assam: Some Conceptual Issues’ in Misra, U. (ed.), Nation-Building and Development in Northeast India. Guwahati: Purbanchal Prakash. Baruah, Sanjib (1999): India Against Itself: Assam and The Politics of Nationality. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ——— (2005): ‘India and its Northeast: A New Politics of Race’ in IIC Quarterly, 32(2 & 3), Winter. pp. 165–176. Bhandari, Charu Chandra (1961): Some Thoughts on Assam Disturbances. Rajghat: A. B. Sarva Seva Sangh. Bhattacharjee, Chandana (1995): ‘Bodoland Movement: Issues and Lessons’ in P. S. Dutta (ed.), North-East and the Indian Government: Paradoxes of a Periphery. New Delhi: Vikas. ——— (1996): Ethnicity and Autonomy Movement: Case of Bodo-Kacharis of Assam. New Delhi: Vikas. Bhattacharya, Bipun (2012): ‘Dangar Chesta Chalchhe’ (in Bengali) [The attempts at inciting riots are on] in Pratyahik Khabar (Siliguri), 29 July. Bhaumik, Subir (1998): ‘Flower Garden or Fluid Corridor? Internal Displacement in North East India’ in Refugee Watch (Calcutta), 1, January. Bordoloi, B. N. (1991): Transfer and Alienation of Tribal Land in Assam. Guwahati: Tribal Research Institute. Chakraborty, Gorky (2012): ‘The “Ubiquitous” Bangladeshis’ in Economic and Political Weekly, XLVII (35), September 01. pp. 21–23. Chatterji, Suniti Kumar (1974): Kirata-Jana-Kriti: The Indo-Mongoloids, Their Contribution to the History and Culture of India. Kolkata: The Asiatic Society. First published 1951.

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Chattopadhyay, Biswadeb (2012): ‘Asome Asantir Jere Saranarthider Anuprabese Chap Badchhe Jalpaiguri-Cooch Behare’ (in Bengali) [Pressure has been increasing on Jalpaiguri and Cooch Behar as a result of infiltration of the refugees] in Dainik Statesman, 16 September. Das, Samir Kumar (2010–2011): ‘People without Shadows’: Ethnographic Reflections on Identity and Justice in Contemporary India’ in Peace Prints: South Asian Journal of Peacebuilding (New Delhi: WISCOMP), 4(1), Autumn 2010–2011. pp. 1–11. Das Gupta, Barun (1989): ‘Bodo Agitation: Background and Prospects’ in Mainstream, 24 June, 15–17, 23. Datta, Anup (2012): ‘Atanka Kateni, Ekhani Asome Firte Chaichhen Na’ (in Bengali) [The fear has not gone away, (they) do not want to return to Assam] in Bartaman (Siliguri), 5 September. Datta, P. S. (ed.) (1993): Autonomy Movements in Assam: Documents. New Delhi: Omsons. Derrida, Jacques (2002): Acts of Religion, edited with an Introduction by Gil Anidjar. New York: Routledge. pp. 356–420. Dutta, Akhil Ranjan (2012): Ethnic Council in a Multiethnic Setting: BTAD Violence in Perspective (mimeo). Dutta, Anuradha & Urmimala Sengupta (2011): Disturbing Silence: A Look Into Conflict Profile of BTAD. New Delhi: Akansha. Ghosh-Dastidar, Barnali (2011): ‘Bodo: Pratibasi Bandhur Bhasha’ (in Bengali) [Bodo: The friendly language of the neighbours], in Hollong: 51st Annual Conference of the Bodo Sahitya Sabha at Chekmari. Kokrajhar: Reception Committee, Bodo Sahitya Sabha. pp. 237–240. Gohain, Hiren (1989): ‘Bodo Stir in Perspective’ in Economic and Political Weekly, XXXIV(25), 24 January. p. 1377. Government of Assam (1989): A Brief Note on the Situation arising Out of the Agitation Launched by ABSU (UB Group). Guwahati: Government of Assam, March. Grewal, David Singh (2008): Network Power: The Social Dynamics of Globalization. New York: Yale University Press. Hardt, Michael & Antonio Negri (2000): Empire. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Kalita, Prabin (2014): ‘Bodos, Muslims flee homes in violence-hit parts of Assam’ in The Times of India (Kolkata), 4 May. p. 1. ——— (2016): ‘Gunman kills 13 in IS-style attack on Assam market’ in The Times of India, 6 August. pp. 1, 12. Kearney, M. (1995): ‘The Local and the Global: Anthropology of Globalization and Transnationalism’ in Annual Review of Anthropology, 24. pp. 547–565. Mahanta, Nani Gopal (2013): ‘Politics of Space and Violence in Bodoland’ in Economic and Political Weekly, XLVIII(23), June 8. pp. 49–58. Massey, Doreen (n.d.): Politics and Space/Time (mimeo). MASUM [Manabadhikar Suraksha Mancha] (2012): Report on Kokrajhar Riot (mimeo).

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McDuie-Ra, Duncan (2012): Northeast Migrants in Delhi: Race, Refuge and Retail. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Misra, Tilottama & Udayon Misra (1996): ‘Movements for Autonomy in India’s North-East’ in Sathyamurthy, T. V. (ed.), Region, Religion and Culture in Contemporary India, Vol 3. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Mondal, Satyendra Nath (2011): History & Culture of the Bodos, edited by Bonny Narzary. Jalpaiguri: Satyendra Nath Mondal. Mukherjee, D. P. & S. P. Mukherjee (1982): ‘Contemporary Cultural and Political Movements among the Bodos of Assam’ in Singh, K. S. (ed.), Tribal Movements in India, Vol 1. New Delhi: Manohar. Musahary, Kamalakanta (2012): ‘Asanta Bodobhumi: Neeti Jetiya Himsar Karak Hai’ (in Assamese) [Turbulent Bodoland: When policy becomes the reason of violence] in Amar Asom, 2 August 2012. National Commission for Women (2013): Report on the Discrimination and Challenges Which Women from the NER Face in Metro Cities Across India. Publication Data not available. North East Committee Under the Chairmanship of M. P. Bezbaruah (2014): Report of the Committee under the Chairmanship of M. P. Bezbaruah to Look into the Concerns of the People of the North East Living in Other Parts of the Country. Publication Data not available. Pegu, Jadav (2004): Reclaiming Identity: A Discourse on Bodo History. Kokrajhar: Jwngsar. Pulopillil, T. (1997): ‘The Bodos: An Introduction’ in Pulopillil, J. & J. Aluckal (eds.), The Bodos: Children of Bhullumbutter. Guwahati: Spectrum. Rakshit, Rajibaksha & Rajib Chaudhuri (2012): ‘’Ferar’ saranarthider Ghire Rajneeti Suru’ (in Bengali) [political bickering begins on the issue of ‘absconding’ shelter-seekers] in The Ananda Bazaar Patrika (Siliguri), 17 September. Ramaseshan, Radhika (1989): ‘Carnage in Gohpur’ in Sunday, 27 August–2 September. Ray, Dipak (2012): ‘Bhasha Hamak Bhashe Niya Jai’ (in Kamatapuri) [Language flows us away] in Ray, Bachchamohan, Nareshchandra Ray, Dipak Kumar Ray & Niranjan Adhikari (eds.), Ujani, 19(1), October. pp. 6–8. Raychaudhury, Sushmita (2012): ‘Dangadeerna Kokrajharer Saranarthi Sibire’ (in Bengali) [In the refugee camps of the riot-torn Kokrajhar] in Pratyahik Khabar, 2 September. Remesh, Babu P. (2013): ‘City-bound Out-Migration from the (sic) North East India: A Case Study of Delhi’ in Social Change and Development: Journal of OKD Institute of Social Change and Development, X(I), January 2013. pp. 37–59. Said, Edward W. (2001): Reflections on Exile and Other Literary and Cultural Essays. New Delhi: Penguin. Saikia, Smitana (2016): Making Peace Durable: A Comparative Analysis of Ethnic Conflict in India’s North East (Bodoland and Mizoram), (mimeo).

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Sen, Sumanta (2012): ‘Asome Danga Ekhono Puropuri Thameni, Er Anya Bastab Dik-o Rayechhe Ja Upekshaniya Nai’ (in Bengali) [The riots in Assam have not completely stopped, these have other real sides which cannot be ignored] in Uttarbanga Sambad, 28 August. Soja, Edward (1989): Postmodern Geographies: The Reassertion of Space in Critical Social Theory. London: Verso. Ziarek, E. (2003): ‘The Uncanny Style of Kristeva’s Nationalism’ in Lechte, J. & Mary Zournazi (eds.), The Kristeva Critical Reader. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

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2 THE MOVING CITY

This chapter, based on a series of ethnographic studies conducted mainly during 2012–2014, seeks to (a) trace the transformation of Siliguri (North Bengal) from a city of migrants into a transit town, (b) find out how both labour and capital are ethnically configured in the new urban space that has emerged as a result of this transformation and (c) how the city is inserted into the global political economy in a way that unlike the other metropolitan centres of India reflects its borderline location. Siliguri emerged as a migrants’ town. However, the nature and profile of migration have changed considerably over the years. While it was, by all accounts, only a large village at the beginning of the twentieth century with a few thousand people as its population, it was with the influx of the migrants from across the neighbouring countries after India was partitioned in 1947 that Siliguri turned into the second largest city in West Bengal after Kolkata. By 1946, Siliguri – a town of a little over 5,000 people, mostly the indigenous Rajbanshis – changed into the most populous city of North Bengal – thanks to the influx of Partition refugees from erstwhile East Pakistan. Much of the rapid increase in population of North Bengal – most importantly Siliguri – as a Planning Commission document notes, is “not the result of natural growth alone but because of significant migration” (Institute of Applied Manpower Research 2002: 10). The growth rate of population in Siliguri town has been phenomenal, to say the least – always higher than the West Bengal average at least between 1931 and 2011: The phenomenal rise in population particularly during the decade of 1981–1991, by all accounts, puts pressure on the land as much as it shoots up population density. The increase in population density is also matched by a corresponding rise in the number of urban slums as the city could hardly spread beyond its existing limits. In 1975, there 65

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were 36 slums while in 2003–2004 the number reached 156. According to the 1991 census, 21.57 percent of Siliguri’s population lives in slums and “a majority of them (80 percent) are migrants” (Ghosh et al., 1995: 193). According to the 2001 Census, one-third of the residents in Siliguri are slum-dwellers. According to a survey, nearly 11 percent of the migrants in the sample of slum-dwellers immigrated with their family after being evicted from their homes primarily for economic reasons: 33 percent reported political disturbance as the cause of their migration while 49 percent are economic migrants who came to Siliguri in search of better jobs (Ghosh et al., 1995: 210). The highest percentage of migrants came from Bangladesh. The relatively poorer states of Bihar, Jharkhand and Odisha (formerly Orissa) have accounted for as much migration as those from neighbouring Bangladesh (Ghosh et al., 1995: 213). Waves of migration from East Pakistan/Bangladesh and the neighbouring states of the Northeast since the days of partition (1947) caused – primarily though not exclusively – by political instability and ethnic violence brought, in the post-Independence era, thousands of uprooted people to Siliguri. Masses of repatriated Burmese (now Myanmarese) also made Siliguri their home after their influx in 1967. Another study on slum-dwellers conducted about the same time roughly endorses the same ethnic composition of the migrant population of Siliguri mentioned earlier (Saha & Bhattacharya 1993: 26–27). Siliguri as a result has become a city of migrants and, as Chatterjee puts it, “a cosmopolitan town in letter and spirit” (Chatterjee 1997: 48). Siliguri is said to have “accommodated the bulk of the migrants” (Ghosh et al., 1995: 189), not always with grace. According to a sample survey conducted on the immigrants back in 1997, 60 percent come from East Bengal/Pakistan/Bangladesh, while 17 percent come from Bihar and 8 percent happen to be the Marwaris mainly controlling the wholesale trade – hitherto the mainstay of the city’s economy. The last 15 percent come from various parts of South Bengal or Assam (Dasgupta 1997: 6–9). All this suggests that Siliguri has historically been one of the most favoured destinations of the people on the move in the region, for it serves as a ‘link’, as a Government document (Government of West Bengal quoted in Munshi 2006: 6) emphasizes. Munshi quotes from a Government of West Bengal document published in 1994: [T]he area [foothill region of Darjeeling-Himalayas] has always been bridge-builder between North Bihar and Assam

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with its present road and rail transport nodes around a newly enlarged old rail head facing the Himalayas of Siliguri. The staging point between Jalpaiguri and Darjeeling after 1947 Bengal partition, became a case of urban capture. Its broad gauge rail terminal named New Jalpaiguri in deference to the much older town close by to the South was aligned to take the sweep of the North Bihar-Assam rail link built in the late 1940s: its proximity to the roads up to [the] Teesta to Kalimpong and Tibet and to Sikkim, as well as to the Duars and Terai (and hence to the Morong tract of Nepal) led to the alignment of the National Highway from Bihar to Assam and improvement of roads into Darjeeling hills. At present Siliguri is the major urban centre of the region and the centre of the Terai, Duars Tea industry with satellite military encampments across the neck of Nepal to Bhutan border on the North. (Govt. of West Bengal 1994 quoted in Munshi 2006: 7–8) Siliguri thus grew mainly as an entrepot – a trading centre for marketing tea and timber to the outside world since the colonial times. Insofar as Partition (1947) made entire North Bengal a landlocked region, severing its connection with sea, the town acquired unprecedented strategic importance with Bangladesh, Nepal, Bhutan surrounding it and China overlooking the region from a distance. As it grew into a vibrant trading centre, it became connected with South Bengal first by the Farakka barrage that became operational in 1975 and then with the development of broad gauge railway connectivity by 1964.

From a city of migrants to a town in transit Refugees and migrants from across the borders and adjoining states of India came here to stay with their clearly traceable lines of movement connecting the two points of departure and destination. The immigration, however, took a toll on the autochthonous and indigenous people living in the city. As Swaraj Basu observes: “Whatever might have been their (the migrants’) actual origin, there is no dispute about the fact that the Rajbanshis were the early settlers in north Bengal” (Basu 2003: 15). The jots or estates owned earlier by and named after the big Rajbanshi zamindars (landlords) and few Muslim landlords rapidly transformed and renamed into paras (neighbourhoods) consisting mainly of the newly settled immigrants.

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Where did the Rajbanshis go? The following is an excerpt from an otherwise long, albeit telling, story – dispatched by one of the bestknown journalists – from the region: The incident happened about 30 years ago. This journalist is to go to the Hill Cart Road (in Siliguri) from his home very early in a winter morning. There is Collegepara (the name of a neighbourhood) on the way. He proceeds towards a rickshaw that is standing in front of the gate of a huge building in the dense fog and sees an elderly Rajbanshi couple lighting up a candle and bowing in front of the gate. There is no doubt that they feel mortally scared as they see the journalist. They are accompanied by a young Rajbanshi rickshawpuller. He mentions his name as Santu Ray. He points out that once upon a time the land where the building is located today belonged to them. They had their home (basatbari) right here. His grandfather sold off this land to one Mr. Ghosh with Rs.50 per cottah. His grandfather and grandmother believe that their household deity (ishtadebata) still lives here. Earlier Mr. Ghosh would allow them to go inside and make their ritual offerings (puja). Since he does not allow it any longer, his grandfather and grandmother come to this place very early in the morning on this particular day every year, before anyone wakes up, light up the candle and walk past silently after making their offerings. (Nag 2004: 32) The long excerpt at one level highlights that land for a family like the one mentioned is not just a commodity that can be traded, bought and sold at one’s will but is over and above a home – the abode of the ishtadebata – the household deity. While land is alienated due to reverses of fortune much in the same way in which the Rajbanshis – one of the dominant indigenous communities of North Bengal – lost their land over the past couple of centuries to the Bengali settlers immigrating mainly from the South, the family’s connection with it is still considered as living and inseparable and it continues to maintain a vibrant and living relationship with it. The family in this instance sums up the history of land alienation and dispossession of the Rajbanshi community for more than the last 200 years. It finds it difficult to make both ends meet now and, as a result, Santu – the grandson – has to supplement the family income by working as a rickshaw-puller. Land alienation in the face of growing Bengali encroachment has been 68

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a common fate of many of the Rajbanshi families and their community. Indeed, the alienation has become so complete that they are now relegated into the state of penury. Rapid immigration from outside and the subsequent settlement of the Bengalis in the region, mining and extraction of natural resources and most importantly the phenomenal expansion of tea gardens in the 1980s in their combination led to slow dispossession of the Rajbanshis (Hazarika 2002: 15–20). That they come to make their offerings to their household deity defying the cold and fog of the early winter morning before anyone wakes up, speaks of the living and inseparable nature of this connection. The inseparability of connection does not depend so much on one’s actual landownership – that by its very nature can be traded, bought, sold, possessed, donated, inherited and alienated depending on one’s will and capacity. At another level, this long story is also reflective of the fraternal cohabitation of two communities up to a point albeit with their acutely incompatible discourses on space. Mr. Ghosh had had no problem in allowing Santu’s grandparents to enter his home and make their offerings till the other day. He did not consider it as a threat to his entitlement, possession and use till that time. But after a while, such allowance came to an end and on one occasion Mr. Ghosh reportedly accosted them and turned them away. At a time when everything is privatized and commodified – and most certainly land, its ownership, title and use are defined in mutually exclusive terms – the former landowners are not allowed to come back and perform the rite if they have already sold their land and were paid up on terms apparently agreeable to them. The poor Rajbanshis have now to find out secret ways of negotiating with their beliefs and practices and of performing their household rites. Today they have to make their offerings secretly with a sense of guilt defying early morning mist and cold – before the world wakes up. Santu’s sons and daughters, his grandchildren however refuse to perform it secretly – but declare it in public insofar as such organizations as Kamatapur Peoples’ Party (KPP), Kamatapur Liberation Organization (KLO), Greater Cooch Behar Peoples’ Association and Greater Cooch Behar Democratic Party established during the last three decades, as we will see in Chapters 4 and 6 ask for a separate homeland for the Rajbanshis. As late as in early September 2012, the three organizations viz. Greater Cooch Behar Democratic Party, Kamatapur Peoples’ Party and Koch-Rajbanshi Students’ Union of Assam came together and formed Separate State Demand Committee and the proposed state is to comprise six districts of North Bengal and parts of the state of Assam. They do not want to start any agitation 69

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immediately – however they make a demand for protection of adivasi land. The quest for homeland begins at the time when possibilities of coexistence are exhausted and persistent denials harden the rivalling claims to recover the lost land. Santu’s grandchildren are unlike their quiet ancestors. We will have occasion to return to the contest over homelands in Chapter 5. Early studies in urban anthropology in India point to how villages and village resources played an important role in the growth of such cities as Bangalore (now Bengaluru) and Bombay (now Mumbai) and “how urban migrants have extended the resources of the village to include the city and how the strength of regnant social patterns and values – the integrity of the village is maintained, despite the ecological imbalance, by defining the city as a new part of the village” (Rowe 1973: 242). Viewed in that sense, these cities in India could never completely sever their deeply entrenched village ties. Today’s Siliguri, on the other hand, has effectively cut off the thread of this continuity as landownership passed predominantly to the newly settled immigrants and Rajbanshis – the earliest inhabitants of this place – are effectively dispossessed of their land. As the population grows and the city expands, it gobbles up the surrounding tea gardens and neighbouring areas evicting in a large way the tea labour and the marginalized and further pushing them into the adjoining rural areas. Urban-to-rural migration has been one of the distinctive features of Siliguri’s urbanization. Administratively, these areas become part of Siliguri town by way of being reclassified as ‘Added Areas’. Such ‘Added Areas’ consist of Dabgram, Bhaktinagar, Fulbari, Matigara, Bagdogra and Sukna. The Outline Plan of Siliguri also notes with concern that it has around it “many undeclared urban pockets experiencing fast urbanization”. Population growth in Siliguri particularly in recent years over and above the natural growth has a direct link with the crisis the tea industry has been facing, particularly in the Dooars and the Terai regions since the late-1980s. Tea industry, by all accounts, was profitable in the pre-globalization era – even in the 1980s. According to an estimate of 1984, respective rates of profit for sugar, tobacco, textiles and tea were 9.7, 8, 7 and 33 percent, respectively. The profitability of tea industry attracted new investments and new areas were brought under tea plantation even in the 1990s. North Dinajpur records the highest with 30,000 acres being added to the total area under plantation. Next to follow were Jalpaiguri with 15,000 acres and Darjeeling with 10,000 acres. In total, about 60,000 acres were freshly brought under tea cultivation by fair means or foul – whether by grabbing tribal land 70

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and land under Teesta Barrage area or the fenced land of the border areas or by simply getting land ‘vested’ by manipulating land records. Partha Sen cites the example of Kachugach village where tribals have been forcibly evicted from their land: Kachugach village is situated in Kuorgaon mouza under Islampur police station. Immediately after the partition about one hundred tribals named (sic) Dhanesh Kisku, Rengta Hembram, Thakur Hasda, Subal Hasda, Lio Kisku etc. came from East Bengal, occupied about 60/70 acres of vest land and some retained land (JL No 29, Khata No 79, 579, 144, 796, 140, 529 etc). But during the survey settlement their names were not mentioned – neither in 13 nor 23 Column. On the contrary names of Samir-ud-din, Jabbar Ali, Sk. Muhammad, Hazrat Ali etc were mentioned. On receiving complaint the Tribal Welfare Department tried to reach an amicable settlement on 01.12.88 at Kachugach Primary School. In presence of the JLRO and KGO it was decided other than retained land, vested land should be distributed to the tribals. But the decision was not carried out. Ultimately Samir-ud-din, Jabbar Ali with the tacit support of the pradhan of Govindapur Panchayat sold the land to a tea planter. In this way the tribals were evicted. It is learned from Adibasi Krisi Jami Raksha Committee [Committee for the Protection of the Land of the Tribals] that near about 4,500 acres of tribal land in North Dinajpur have been illegally occupied by the Tea Planters. In Malda district a vast amount of tribal land has been illegally transferred to non-tribals. (Sen 2011: 18) The scenario started changing completely since the 1980s and, with the turn of the new millennium, tea industry has hit an unprecedented crisis. As many as 72 tea gardens in the Dooars today are considered sick. Six of the tea gardens in the Dooars have closed down and many others are struggling to stay alive. About 3,000 permanent workers lost their jobs (Gupta & Bhattacharya 2014: 4). The five recently closed gardens in Alipurduar account for nearly 15,000 workers and their 45,000 dependents (Bhattacharya & Gupta 2014: 5). Tea – once considered as the backbone of North Bengal’s economy – has long ceased to be a viable industry thanks to the competition faced from such countries as Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, Kenya and others; the lack of fresh investment that is required for the introduction of new 71

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technology and re-plantation; and the accumulating liabilities the company owners have incurred over the years and maybe a host of many other factors (Dasgupta 2003: 177–204). Of the approximately 150 tea estates located in the district of Jalpaiguri, only 25 have their head office in the district. The agency houses have already established their head office in Kolkata. The crisis of the tea industry came as a boon to the land sharks in the era of globalization as land kept hitherto under tea plantation is rapidly turned into money earning realties (Dasgupta 2006b: 169–171). As tea industry faces crisis, the land hitherto under tea cultivation in the neighbourhoods and villages surrounding the city provides the hunting ground for the land dealers, promoters, developers and the land mafia. Now that the city of Siliguri has been expanding phenomenally and swallowing up the outskirts like a gigantic shark, the erstwhile tea gardens on the fringe have to make room for high rises, swanky shopping malls, huge housing complexes, vertical skyscrapers etc. Ponzy schemes have become another method of siphoning away money from tea gardens. The Bundapani Tea Estate in Alipurduar changed hands and then closed down in 2013. This Tea Garden has its own problems. Till 2010, the annual yield of the garden would average between 700,000 kg and 900,000 kg. In 2010, the garden changed hands and was taken over by a company in Siliguri. It closed down in 2013. As Gupta and Bhattacharya write: “The owners had other interests and were collecting deposits from people. In 2013, the Ponzi bubble burst in the state and the owners lost all interest” (Gupta & Bhattacharya 2014: 4). Siliguri lacks the industrial fundamentals that could have enabled the city to absorb the population that continuously pours in it whether from inside the region thanks to the crisis tea industry faces or from without – for a variety of reasons. The city’s urbanization is not matched by any corresponding industrialization. The erstwhile five districts of North Bengal (Malda, undivided West Dinajpur, Darjeeling, Jalpaiguri and Cooch Behar) contain 17 percent of the total population of West Bengal. Siliguri, as per the 1991 census, had only 5.3 percent of the total industrial workers of North Bengal while North Bengal accounts for only 1.2 percent of total fixed capital and only 3.2 percent of the total value added in the state. According to an estimate, about 95 percent of the industrial workforce still lives in South Bengal while only 5 percent employed mostly in small industries is located in the 5 districts of North Bengal. The pace of industrialization in Siliguri is slow and tardy. The total number of industrial units actually fell from 174 in 1971 to 162 in 1985. Lack of industrialization has made Siliguri “a 72

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market town” (Ghosh et al., 1995: 193). It has become a centre for wholesale trade since 1960. There are three retail shops per 100 people – compared to 0.21 in Delhi – the highest in West Bengal.

‘Chandmoni Capitalism’ Uttarayon Housing Complex perhaps is the first realty that SiliguriJalpaiguri Development Authority (SJDA) developed as a new township on Private-Public Partnership (PPP) basis with Bengal-Ambuja Group – besides the other two. Insofar as the tea gardens became increasingly non-viable, land kept hitherto under tea plantation is rapidly turned into money-earning realties and the gardens on the fringe of the city were the first to bear the brunt. Chandmoni Tea Estate is the classic example. The mechanism of primitive accumulation in this case was simple. To start with, the workforce was casualized so that there were only few permanent workers left who would require to be compensated after the company would go for liquidation. The Company, as Dasgupta points out, forced ‘voluntary retirement’ on the tea labour. What Dasgupta calls ‘Chandmoni capitalism’ is the story of how tea labour is casualized, expropriated, evicted, pauperized, massacred, cut down from below the ranks of subsistence and thus pushed into hunger, penury and death through rampant use of violence, force and coercion. While describing the process of primitive accumulation, Marx wrote: “In actual history, it is notorious that conquest, enslavement, robbery, murder, briefly force, play(s) the great part” (Marx 1938/1946: 737) in capital accumulation. While labour is deprived of its freedom, force and violence become instrumental in evicting people without absorbing them into what Marx calls “the new industrial workforce”. Contemporary writings particularly by Anjan Chakraborty and Anup Dhar and Vinay Gidwani1 amongst others point out that capitalism under conditions of globalization does not replace primitive accumulation, but is sustained by it. Several reports on Chandmoni, for example, indicate how tea labour was given false promise of land (2.5 cottahs per household) and Rs.75,000 for house building in addition to their gratuity – all reportedly in writing – duped, tricked and finally evicted from their homes through direct exercise of force (Dasgupta 2012: 25–28). A Chronology paper prepared by the Anti-Eviction Committee and the Mazdoor Morcha, for example, reflects on the direct use of violence in January–February 2003 while forcing the workers to give way (Anti-Eviction Committee & the Mazdoor Morcha n.d.). Two temporary workers of the tea garden – Ram 73

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Bhagat and Ranjit Mandal lost their lives under a barrage of police firing on 26 June 2002. Three more sustained bullet injuries. When rules are flouted and rights are violated, tea garden entrepreneurs create what Dasgupta calls “a state within a state” (Dasgupta 2006a) – a law unto themselves. The Chandmoni Tea Estate Anti-Eviction Joint Action Committee raised the demand of a judicial inquiry into the land deal whereby land is said to have been undersold and acquired, flouting all rules and promises and the death of two tea garden workers in police firing while protesting against the acquisition of their plot of land as late as in November 2011 (‘Demand to probe . . .’ 2011). It is important to note in this context that such gross violations of rule happened more at the instance of the State and urban ‘informalities of this nature that reflect the State’s collusion in the act of rule violation’, according to Roy, are not to be understood “as the object of state regulation but rather as produced by the state itself” (Roy 2005: 149). Today’s city of Siliguri stands as a stark reminder of the polarity between the new settlers who can afford to own houses as prime property in the plush housing complexes and those who have been rendered homeless while making way to the changing landscape of the city. Siliguri has thus two sets of immigrants pitted as it were against each other. While elaborating on the vision, the company brochure entitled Uttarayon – The Township tells us: “We believe a strong, stable and secure home is the answer to many problems we face today” (Uttarayon – The Township, Brochure). But the answer of “a strong, stable and secure home” eluded all those who were evicted from Chandmoni Tea Estate. The fortunate few erstwhile labourers of Chandmoni Tea Estate who could be absorbed in the newly set up Uttaorayan Housing Complex on the same land as sweepers, guards, chowkidars, housemaids and caretakers and are allowed to stay inside of what once used to be a thriving tea garden complain of being constantly ‘watched’ and kept under surveillance by the employers (Biswas n.d. mimeo: 37). Although they were not evicted themselves, staying put in the same place after the ‘death’ of the tea garden implies a loss of home at home in this instance. Home, as they understand it, is not simply a plot of land, a hut, a building or a house where one lives with a family, but a space ‘invested with hope’ that makes one feel at home (we will have occasion to discuss it in detail in Chapter 5). The report also points out how most of the tea workers were casualized and never rehabilitated and some of the permanent ones were taken to a distant tea garden of Subalbhita and were ‘torn from their social fabric’.

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Most of the people who were evicted have now taken shelter in the bustees (slums) in the prime public (khas) land on the opposite side of the road. Once promised 2.5 cottahs of land per household and money for house building, they now live a life of penury and starvation. Again, the prime public land that they presently occupy has already attracted the attention of realtors and land sharks. These exworkers are now facing another round of displacement – this time with the new promise of rehabilitating them into the low-cost housing to be constructed under the Jawaharlal Nehru Urban Renewal Mission (Dasgupta 2012: 116–118). As the city extends itself beyond its present limits, the death knell of a number of large and small tea gardens is being sounded – in Dagapur, Mohorgaon-Gulma, Matigara, Nischindapur, etc. – all located on the fringes of Siliguri.

Ethnic and spatial configuration of the new labour Where does the tea labour go once the tea gardens are closed? Many of them travel from Chandmoni to Bhutan and other places in search of work and some of them work in the vicinity mainly as stone gatherers from dry riverbeds, limestone crushers, dolomite miners and so forth. Others try to find work in the still surviving tea gardens. The mobility of tea labour is severely constricted insofar as it consists mostly of cheap and unskilled labour with no history of having gone outside the garden. Tea labour is historically known for its relative immobility. Those who do not move out collect stones from the dry bed of the nearby Balason River and other hill rivers and sell them off to the contractors. The stone crushers are paid Rupees 500 per 50 cft of sand for crushing stone, housewives doubling as stone crushers and often children as young as six years old are engaged in stone crushing. Around 3,000 individuals are engaged in stone crushing and collecting sand. Their hands get coarse and many of them suffer from diseases. Budhia Oraon of Redbank Tea Estate broke his spine while handling boulders from the riverbed and has remained paralyzed since December 2013. They get work under the MGNREGA, but the money is delayed by several months. Even in July 2014 when we visited them, they had not gotten the money as of March 2014. Those who are below 58 years of age also receive Rs.1,500 per month under the FAWLOIUS (Financial Assistance for Workers of Locked Out Industrial Units Scheme). Our ethnographies conducted in 2014 suggest that the Balason river sand collection belt around Matigara interestingly is both spatially and ethnically segregated. Below the river bridge in Matigara on both

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sides work the Hindus, while the Muslims occupy the lower banks farther down the bridge. The Adivasis and the Nepalis, on the other hand, occupy the upstream of the river such as Sishabari. The women are trafficked almost on a regular basis from the gardens. According to an estimate, about 180 women are permanently missing from the tea gardens of the Dooars between 2011 and 2013.2 According to another estimate made in 2010, 3,589 non-adult boys and girls left 12 tea gardens of the Dooars (Indong, Grasmore, Redbank, Chulsa, Naya Saili, Vernabari, Dheklapara, Radharani, Rahimabad, Raimatang and Satali): 2,444 of them are boys and 1,145 are girls. West Bengal tops the list in terms of the incidents of women’s trafficking as per the statistics of the National Crime Records Bureau. According to a source, 669 women per thousand living in tea gardens are trafficked out every year – most of whom are from the Dooars (Roy 2014: 11). Extreme poverty also forces parents to sell their children as slave labour. Sudip Chakrabarty (2013) estimates that about 675 girls and women are trafficked into the brothels from the tea gardens of neighbouring district of Jalpaiguri every year. Many children are pushed out of their homes often by their own parents who are unable to feed them and they end up as ‘railway children’ for whom the platform becomes the ‘home’ in such stations as Siliguri, New Jalpaiguri, Jalpaiguri, Malbazar and so forth. Once restored, parents ‘in most cases’ refuse to take the children back (Roy 2013: 48). According to the same study, the railway children cannot escape the prying eyes of the traffickers for long. They become easy prey to the traffickers sooner rather than later (Roy 2013: 48). Those who are left out in the closed tea gardens (for they are neither trafficked nor sold off) are subjected to starvation and slow death. Trade union leaders who we have interviewed maintain that nearly 90 workers and family members have died in Dheklapara Tea Estate in the last decade, according to the locals, 10 of whom died during the last two years. This is the Tea Estate that has remained closed for the longest period. According to Bhattacharya and Gupta, “nearly 100 people have reportedly died in closed tea gardens since January this year (i.e. 2014)” and “over the past decade and a half, more than 1000 garden workers and their family members have died in the sprawling but decaying tea estates of the Dooars” (Bhattacharya & Gupta 2014: 5). It seems that both capital and labour markets have strong ethnic underpinnings in North Bengal. While loaders and porters – traditionally the main source of urban labour in Siliguri – were mainly the Nepalis and the Biharis, the retail and wholesale trade, for example, are 76

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governed by strong kinship networks predominantly of the Marwaris which make it difficult for the outsiders to make any entry. According to a survey conducted in 1997, a meagre 20 percent of those involved in wholesale trade are returnees from East Pakistan/Bangladesh and as high as 70 percent of them are Hindi-speaking people coming mostly from the Hindi belt of North India. The last 10 percent have migrated from Assam and South Bengal. Of the 70 percent Hindi-speaking wholesalers, 37 percent are Marwaris, 9 percent Biharis and 12 percent are from Punjab (Dasgupta 1997: 6–9). The wholesalers, as one recent survey pointed out, are tied together by strong kinship bonds, which make it practically impossible for others to freshly enter into the business. Family and kinship-based network of the wholesalers serves as a potent source of financial support for those who are part of it. As our study points out: Some of the wholesalers have some sort of “kinship” with some of the traders of Siliguri. Traders get easy finance from the families or relations. In other words, the finance normally comes from traders’ own funds. A number of indigenous bankers are also working in the town. But it is difficult to get the figures about the nature of operation and the rate of interest. The names of firms, like Jetmal Bhojraj, Jayalal, Narasighdas and Lalchand Kalooram are heard but it is difficult to establish and study the nature of local credit and banking system. (Dasgupta 2014: 35) Insofar as the new, relatively rich migrants arrive from outside and settle in the gated complexes, there is also the corresponding demand for informal labour: for care, for domestic labour, for housemaids and ayahs, for waste disposal, for washermen, semi-skilled technicians and electricians, plumbers, other service providers and, alongside this, the illegal poachers, limestone miners from the riverbed etc. – the last two being controlled by the middlemen who work as their recruiters and agents. They come from nearby areas and we may describe this newly emergent space of labour supply as the ‘rural rim’ that supplies cheap labour and service to the city’s new rich and acts as a buffer between the city and the villages. Based on the NSS data (mainly 61st Round), Mahadevia and Sarkar point out how self-employment as a percentage of total employment grows throughout India in the wake of globalization initiated since 1991 and more rapidly in the ­non-metros like Siliguri (Mahadevia & Sarkar 2012: 44–87). 77

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Most of the informal labourers are poorly paid. The loaders of the Siliguri wholesale market provide an example. More often than not, the wholesale businessmen take advantage of their poverty and the unorganized nature. Although there was an agreement between the businessmen and the loaders that there would be a hike from Rs.3.20 to Rs.5 per sack in loading and from Rs.2.65 to Rs.3.22 per sack in unloading from 22 July 2014, the employers in reality were not paying them the revised wage. The vegetable Mandi (the wholesale trade centre) as a result went on strike on 28 July 2014 (‘Malik O Muteder . . .’ 2014: 9). By contrast, the nouveau riche of Siliguri consisting mainly of the planters, wholesale traders, army and government officers, captains of NGOs, people deeply connected with cross-border and often notso-licit trade and so forth who remain within the comfort zone of their plush and gated apartments and bungalows live their lives without having to depend on the urban amenities usually provided by the government, municipal corporation or other public agencies (like the Siliguri Municipal Corporation or State Electricity Board). These are, as Benedict Anderson calls, ‘sacred spaces’ which have effectively severed their connection with the outside world with the effect that the people from outside the gated communities are kept at arm’s length (Anderson 2003 mimeo).3 The city has ceased to be the melting pot with clearly drawn lines keeping the urban poor from the rich.

Nobody’s city: absentee settlers and the evicted tea labour For those who depend on the municipal facilities of the city, the living conditions, as Roy and Saha point out in their paper published in 2011, are “dismal” (2011: 683–694). Thus, to cite an instance, about 80,000 man days – according to a recently made estimate – are lost every year in Siliguri as a result of overcrowding in the roads and traffic jam in the city. While commenting on the pathetic state of the Siliguri Municipal Corporation, Bhattacharya likens Siliguri to an ‘an orphanage’: I do not know when the Corporation will return to its prime. But I have realized this much that its service has gone awry. I see posters in the roadsides and elsewhere asking people to save Siliguri. How will we save Siliguri? Through party politics, discussion and storytelling? Siliguri remains very much in Siliguri. (Bhattacharya 2014: 9) 78

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On the other hand, those who do not have to depend on these facilities and live within the gated communities are mostly absent from the city. More than 70 percent of the privately owned apartments and villas in a housing complex, according to our estimate, remain vacant for most of the year (over 200 days). A recently conducted doctoral study reveals that the city suffers from poor living conditions precisely because people “living” here do not have a sense of belonging to it and the “lack of genuine belongingness may grind Siliguri down” (Das 2012: 345). If Siliguri is likened to a ‘new type of temporary city’ as it is by Sen (Sen in Lal ed. 2013: 149), it is because the nouveau riche have not developed any stake in the city life and the poor care labour that pours in discover that the city has no space for them. Their life is marked by what Ayona Datta, albeit in a different context, of Delhi calls “continual living in a sense of transience” (Datta 2012: 3). They live an urban life literally under its shadow distant – yet not too far – from the regulated, legal and ‘cultured’ life of the urban citizens – perennially waiting for gaining an access to it without any success. Their wait is expectant, yet endless. They are truly the permanent nomads. The new immigrants settle in and own the landed property without being part of the urban social milieu. They become absentee settlers – who settle while remaining cut off from the city life. The luxurious Uttarayon Housing Complex in Matigara on one side of the national highway and the makeshift shanties and slums on the other mark as it were two distinct time zones hastily compressed into a single urban space without sharing anything between them and thereby starkly ‘institutionalising power and inequality’ of the emerging urban landscape (Banerjee-Guha n.d.: 69 mimeo). The city of Siliguri fast loses the potential of being anyone’s home and is itself, as we will argue later, an unstable space. To borrow a comment that Hansen has made about the general trend of urbanization all over India particularly in Kolkata, “the city is moving on, away from those who lay political claim to it” (Hansen 2013: 25).

Which road to globalization? Siliguri indeed is a global city – but not in the way other metropolitan centres like Bengaluru or New Delhi are. The city is inserted into the global capitalist network in a very distinct way. Its link is established – not through the usual route of revolutionization of telecommunications and cellular technology, exponential growth of service sector, software and IT-enabled industries, etc. – the well-known markers of the neoliberal era – but through the development of a network and 79

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circulation of labour that, although is irreducibly transnational, stands only in a precarious relation to the regime of nation-states and their world of laws. The city, for all practical purposes, has become the heart of a thriving ‘border economy’ functioning relatively independently from the national economies of India and the neighbouring countries. While any accurate estimate is impossible, a good percentage of Siliguri’s population remains in transit having their links with other places outside the city or even the country. Take migration of women’s labour, sex trade and trafficking as an instance. The Department of Economics, University of North Bengal, has conducted a pilot study (2012) on the state of sex trade and women’s trafficking in the region. From Darjeeling in the North, through Jalpaiguri and Cooch Behar in the middle towards Dakshin (South) Dinajpur and Malda in the South, large numbers of women are already reported to be working for a long time outside the region. The respondents also reported that the bulk of such informal labour migration is made in the general category of wage-work, although the precise nature of work being performed may vary widely. Despite large number of rural women who left the region to seek work outside, only the respondents from Cooch Behar and Belakoba in Jalpaiguri and Joypur in Dakshin Dinajpur reported that these women workers pay regular visits to their villages. In sharp contrast, many rural women, who left their villages in Darjeeling, Uttar Dinajpur and Malda to work outside, rarely visit their villages after they migrate. While the factor that may have prevented them is the relative distance of their place of destination and the high cost of keeping in touch, it appears, as the study puts it, that “at least some of these rural women may have been trafficked” (University of North Bengal 2012 mimeo). We are living at a time when the conventionally drawn distinction between labour migration of women, sex work and trafficking seems to have disappeared and all these categories are as it were rolled into one. In North Bengal, the maximum number of ‘victims’ who could be rescued is reportedly from the districts of Darjeeling, Jalpaiguri, Uttar and Dakshin Dinajpur. It is evident that the victims are primarily from the deprived sections of the society, namely the SCs, the STs and the Muslims. It is important to note that most of the victims migrate from those tea gardens which are either closed or are sick and on the verge of facing closure. Two of the well-known channels that cut across North Bengal have their hubs in Cooch Behar and Siliguri. The trafficked victims from Assam and other parts of the Northeast enter through the corridor from Tufanganj to Cooch Behar, while the victims of the cross-border 80

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trade enter the channel through the corridor between Naxalbari and Siliguri. Again, the NHRC (National Human Rights Commission of India) investigations (2002–2003) reveal that the two hubs are interlinked. The inter-linkage between Cooch Behar and Siliguri – which also services the cross-border flow through Dinhata, Mekhliganj and Rajganj in Jalpaiguri from several points in Northern Bangladesh – has developed a northward connection to the Dooars tea regions from where women are being increasingly trafficked. For the Madarihat-Kalchini tea region, the channel operates through Alipurduar, and trafficking flows from the Mal-Metiali-Dhupguri (Banarhat) tea region, entering it at Maynaguri. Since all these points are interlinked by National Highways, the role of truckers in shifting the victims is self-evident. Most transits along this channel involve short hauls and drops, where the victims may be picked up at one point and dropped off at the next by the truckers in course of the same night. Such short movements not only make trafficking invisible, never allowing the route to be known, but keep the traffickers including the local contacts known to each other only up to a point. The study also emphasized that the use of short-hops and multiple transits adds to the operational cost of harbouring and hiding the victims. Therefore, the large interstate trafficking flows, as reported by the NHRC study (2002–2003), takes place through rail route ferrying large number of victims through the length and breadth of the country. One such bimodal flow through rail and road occurs in Siliguri area, from where two large westward flows to northern and western India take place via the North Bihar and Malda-Jharkhand corridors. Between Siliguri and Malda, additional feeder channels merge together while accelerating the flow from contiguous parts of north Bihar and Bangladesh. Some of these channels pass through Islampur, Kishanganj (in Bihar) and Dalkhola on the Bengal-Purnea road and Raiganj, which interlinks the cross-border corridor operating through Balurghat and other parts of Dakshin Dinajpur with the main transit corridor. After these flows merge and get unified, they pass through Malda, leaving West Bengal across the border at Farakka. While women disappear from the villages in trickles, their journey, as the same study informs us, never ends. They circulate continuously within this global network of sex economy at a furious pace so much so that it becomes difficult to document them and track their identity. The incredibly fast pace of sex trafficking effectively takes away from the victim her identity and reduces her to a state of nameless existence. The missing girl from the village gradually fades out of our 81

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memory – although in most cases remittances reach home without fail, particularly during the initial months and years of her disappearance. The study also highlights that in almost all cases, these women are unwelcome back to their homes. Thus, the network operates without anyone being identified with it. Harishchandrapur is connected to Malda town as much as Malda town is connected to Siliguri, to Kathmandu, to Mumbai, Bangkok and Copenhagen – all sex havens of the globalized world.4 The list is endless with tens of intermediate points without any final destination. Each point in the journey serves as a node that opens up multiple pathways. The new global political economy of sex trade reconfigures the space not by redistributing people within it on any stable basis and regulating their movement by drawing borders on it, but through what Foucault calls “a network that connects points and intersects with its own skein” (Foucault 1986: 22). This understanding of space as “a moment in the intersection of configured social relations” (Martin & Miller 2003: 146) contributes to the disarticulation of the migrants’ identities and makes them nameless and faceless within a gigantic network of circulation. While the global sex economy operates as a network with its supply chain linked up with the remotest of villages, the agents and their accomplices, the local and the global contacts, the victims and their families, their handlers and middlemen, the clients – although part of the same grand network – retain their mutual anonymity and do not come to know each other. Hausner describes it as ‘mobile sex industry’ (Hausner n.d.: 110–111) in which the fast pace of mobility does not allow mutual identification and recognition and prevents any stable human bonding from growing and developing. It is important to make a distinction between smuggling in Siliguri on one hand and the city’s integration into the global political economy as it happens today. Smuggling by its very nature stands in a rather complicated relationship with the international borders. The smuggler, although violating the state border, takes advantage of the differential pricing and tax regimes that exist on its two sides. Smuggling presupposes that the border is in existence in order that it can be violated to one’s advantage. It, as Harris points out, still signifies “the domination by one institution – the state” (Harris in Shaw 2007: 4). On the other hand, for the traffickers today, the border is an aberration, an anathema – an avoidable nuisance – that they wish they could do without. The condition, according to Saskia Sassen, marks the “beginning of the formation of transnational urban systems” (Sassen 2005: 27–28 ff.).

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Siliguri’s entry into the global political economy, in sum, is not the result of any macro-economic reform initiated by the Indian state or the international economic community, but occurs through the parallel trajectory of global circulation of goods and services which move independently of the state’s will or as Saskia Sassen puts it “crossborder criminal networks” (Sassen 2005: 32).

NGO Bonapartism? Involuntary migration – whether inward or outward – makes the issue of social justice both relevant and invisible. Relevant – because the city contains within itself a growing asymmetry for it has not only shut the doors to those who needed to depend on it most for their life, livelihood and home, but has opened them to those who remain virtually absent from the city – the absentee settlers and the evicted tea labour. Invisible – because being deeply and albeit imperceptibly embedded in the global political economy, as we have noted earlier, those who are at the wrong end of the spectrum also find it difficult – if not impossible – to seek justice and articulate their rights claims. The latter are deprived of their ‘right to the city’. It is surprising that North Bengal in general and Siliguri in particular is yet to report any single incident of protest against the injustice the mobile and trafficked women have been subjected to, during the period of our ethnography. The problem indeed cuts both ways. On the one hand, the perpetually mobile space and the churning of population that it induces seem to disperse the victims and hold them from becoming justice-seekers. The more mobile the victims are, the more they are likely to slip out of the public discourse. David Chandler argues that when individuals like the trafficked women in our instance are thrown out of their traditional surroundings, let loose from their hitherto known identity groups and communities and suddenly become ‘atomised’, it becomes imperative that our rights claims and political articulations correspondingly expand beyond the territorial confines. On the other hand, similar solidarities and representative structures are yet to develop at the global level. As he puts it: [T]he more socially atomised we are as individuals – the more we confront the world without mediation through social and political collectivities – the more we appear to live in a ‘globalised world’. (Chandler 2009: 15–16)

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Much of the dissent that bursts out on occasions, if at all, seems to be sporadic, ‘rootless’ and momentary. This is perhaps the reason why the conclave against trafficking of women held in June 2015 in London and led by Angelina Jolie did not send any ripple in places badly affected by the problem like Nepal and North Bengal. In the absence of any headway, these protests become nothing more than awarenessraising events and in Chandler’s words mere ‘ends-in-themselves’: Space is no longer relevant once deterritorialised activists can travel from the US or UK to protest for the freedom of Tibet at the opening of the Beijing Olympic Games or can demonstrate their solidarity – with Palestinian women, Indian farmers protesting against dam constructions, or the Zapatistas in the Chiapas – in their local college or shopping centre. Time is no longer relevant once the goal of political protest becomes increasingly an end in itself in the form of raising awareness. The wearing of a pin or ribbon as an expression of solidarity makes the action itself valuable regardless of its consequences. With the decline of representational forms of politics – which involved winning people over to ideas or political platforms rather than just expressing one’s own awareness – political practice becomes much more immediate and unmediated. The deterritorialisation of politics is a one-sided expression of politics without the territorial grounding, which imposes the need to engage and be accountable to others. Deterritorialised politics, without social bonds, can easily result in political action revolving around personal expressions rather than external engagement. (Chandler 2009: 17) On the other hand, the victims do not want to be seen as such for fear of the shame and social stigma that the trafficking and sex work bring with them. Uttarbanga Sambad brings out the story of what it calls ‘the asocial act’ of busloads of women coming from the neighbouring town of Islampur situated on the Indian side of the IndoBangladesh border reach Siliguri by late evening and leave for their home before sunrise to earn their livelihood by entertaining their clients (‘Badchhe Asamajik Kaj . . .’ 2014: 2). Siliguri is the town where both the women and their clients enjoy this anonymity. It may be kept in mind that Susan Dewey’s ethnographic account, for instance, shows how these women are in need of this anonymity as they have no way to return home if they are caught in the work. In most cases, they do 84

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not let their home know the nature of their work and their workplace (Dewey 2008: 131–262). Borrowing Dewey’s words, we may say that this city is marked by ‘social invisibility’. The children who are thrown out of their home and take shelter in railway stations are not welcome back home – as a recent study has found out. Most of the railway children are the offspring of ‘disturbed’ – if not ‘broken’ – homes and, because they are highly vulnerable to trafficking and sexual abuse, their recovery and restoration to parental home becomes all the more difficult (Roy 2013, page number not mentioned). By contrast, the fight for justice, particularly on the issue of children and female victims of forced migration, is more often than not reduced to NGO activism without any visible reverberation in the larger society. Our study shows that the movements against trafficking have been sporadic and fleeting and led only by a handful of NGOs without any sustained support from the victims – let alone the people. Borrowing from Marx’s Eighteenth Brumaire we may say that they are the ones who ‘cannot represent themselves and always need to be represented’. The rising activism of the NGOs marks what may be described as NGO Bonapartism. John Harris’s study on Bengaluru and Chennai similarly points out how the middle-class activism in the name of representing the urban poor and the underclass pursue what he calls ‘the track of exclusion’ of the classes they claim to represent (Harris 2007: 19). The Chandmoni protest, mentioned earlier, serves as an example. The tea garden labour that had hitherto lived as one labouring community got fragmented as the tea garden ‘died’ – with some being absorbed as employees in the same housing complex that replaced the tea garden, while there were some living in the nearby land and many were sent off to the far-off Subalbhita tea garden. The protest by some of the radical groups also subsided with time. What Appadurai calls “the lateral reach of . . . [the NGOs] – their efforts to build international networks or coalitions of some durability with their counterparts across national boundaries” (Appadurai 2001: 42) may appear to be hollow within – without its roots amongst those whom they seek to represent. The moving city Today it is the space that moves, not the migrant who traditionally is known to have journeyed along a fixed linear track connecting her place of birth or place of last residence to the place of destination, from rural hinterland to an urban area. Migration in the age of globalization is more in the nature of churning of population where the 85

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space has become what Deleuze and Guattari call ‘flat’ and ‘smooth’. The city of Siliguri looks more like a gateway to a fast moving travellator – which moves so fast that one leaps into it with the lure of instant and fast social mobility, but does not know how to disembark from it as long as it is in a constant state of motion. The striated space of the world dominated by the nation-states and their boundaries seems to have become a thing of the past. Frederic Jameson in his Postmodernism or, the Cultural Logic of Capitalism argues that cities in the West have been passing through a great transformation. Traditional cities used to offer possibilities of a “practical reconquest of a sense of place” (Jameson 1991: 51) while cities of our time – the ‘postmodern cities’ as he calls them – because of the sheer vastness and depthlessness of their architecture (he cites in particular the example of Los Angeles) elude and invade our sensory perception, overwhelm and ‘subdue’ our ability to comprehend and cognitively map them with the effect that they remain finally unrepresentable to us. Siliguri represents a combination of both traditional and postmodern cities – but only in a different sense. For one thing, the more the city gets slowly and almost imperceptibly inserted into the global and transnational political economy and its space becomes unstable, the more it becomes imperative on the part of its inhabitants to identify them with the city as its own as a homeland. Indeed, this is what explains its pivotal attraction as a homeland in the imaginary of many an ethnic community that lives here but continues to feel unsettled and threatened by the instability of that space. Chapter 5 explains why Siliguri becomes a site of contesting homeland claims in spite of – or maybe because of – its volatile and unstable nature. Siliguri’s slow insertion into the ever-expanding global network simultaneously takes away from us our ability to comprehend and make sense of not so much the city per se as it happens in Los Angeles, but its connectedness and nodes – the deep and intricate mechanisms of the network of which it is only a small part – in its totality. You never know whether one who jumps into death and commits suicide from the terrace of a high rise is your next-door neighbour, or if it is the ‘girl next door’ who is the one who suffered bullet injury while entertaining her guests inside a hotel at night. Such reports are not rare in the city. The network has taken away from us our known markers of identification, and constantly pushes our sensory perception to its limits. Familiar faces now become unfamiliar while ever-unfamiliar faces keep adding up to the cityscape and its anonymity. A renowned, octogenarian, litterateur based in Siliguri once told me: “This is not 86

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the city where I grew up and my ancestors used to live. I do not know anyone in the city. I feel like being under siege.” He – the octogenarian litterateur – was of course sounding like a nomad at home. The metaphor of permanent nomadism helps us understand that migration is a circular flow taking place within a network that remains invisible – if not unknowable. It does not occur on a space along a line drawn on it – neatly connecting any two points of departure and destination respectively, both known to us. At a time when the constitution of space has become highly contingent, any two points or more on earth have the potential of being connected in bewilderingly complex ways, through a myriad of crooked lines, with all possible mediations and connections – all at the same point of time. Possibilities are limitless, but each only transient. Aparna Rao and Michael J. Casimir, while introducing a collection of essays entitled Nomadism in South Asia: An Introduction (2008) – a book that by their admission is “the first attempt to present as comprehensively as possible information, theoretically informed discussions and conclusions” (2008: 27) on the theme, propose to view nomadism as “primarily a resource-extraction strategy” (Rao & Casimir 2008: 5). Insofar as nature offers resources unevenly across spaces and geographic regions, nomads migrate in order to enhance the probability of their access to resources once these are exhausted at one place. While unevenness in the offering and distribution of resources, according to this line of argument, are naturally given, the gigantic network has the capacity of mitigating nature’s unevenness by adjusting and calibrating the supply and demand chains of migrant labour, sex trade and women’s trafficking. Today nomadism remains – although network has replaced nature. What I call permanent nomadism presupposes violent instability of spaces and vice versa. This is no destabilization of space as it happens during earthquakes, for no space on earth is stable today – whether it is Los Angeles or Siliguri. They are unstable in ways that are only specific to them. Each city has its own story of instability and nomadism to tell – if only we have the patience to hear it.

Notes 1 Vinay Gidwani, for instance, argues:   The deeper I delved, the more dissatisfied I became with existing theories of capitalist accumulation and labour relations. These theories inevitably failed to register capital’s “para-sitic” existence: how it draws its force by attempting to divert or attach itself to other kinds of energy or logic – cultural, political, nonhuman – whose contributions, like those of history’s

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subalterns, are erased from conventional accounts. It was apparent that the axiomatic medium of our social existence – “capitalism” – also begged a critical genealogy. This book, therefore, is also an investigation – but a provisional one – into how multiple elements combine to produce the complex whole we know as “capitalism” (Gidwani 2008: xix). 2 The figure is provided by Soumen Nag while commenting on the proposal in the Review Workshop on ‘Urban India’ organized by the Calcutta Research Group on 1–2 August 2014 in Kolkata. 3 John Harriss notes a “shift in the design of middle class housing towards intensely privatised gated communities and condominiums, in place of the old more open housing colonies” and calls this ‘a distinct dualism’ (Harris 2007: 4). Unlike Bangalore (now Bengaluru) as Harriss argues, Siliguri’s insertion into global capitalist network is not through the ‘corporate economies’. 4 Europe, by all accounts, has started feeling the brunt of this ‘undocumented’ labour migration. P. Taran’s fairly recent report on such migration meant for the use of the policy makers of the European Union, for instance, highlights the need for a policy on this issue. While arguing that “Migration today is essentially a labor issue” (Taran 2011: 502), Taran observes:   The flow of low-skilled migrants is channelled by clandestine means precisely because of non-existence of legal migration categories that would allow for their legal entry in destination countries. Once they are in host countries they remain confined to jobs in unstructured or informal sectors, in irregular work and under exploitative conditions of employment. . . . Historical experience shows that regulation providing for protection of migrant workers cannot be left over to market mechanisms. When highly competitive and now globalized market pressures are brought to bear in the absence of protection and appropriate regulation, migration is usually characterized by abuse and exploitation of migrant workers, marginalization and social exclusion of migrant and immigrant origin population, fear of loss of jobs blamed on immigration, increasing anti-immigrant sentiments and, ultimately, communal violence (Taran 2011: 505).

References Anderson, Benedict (2003): Sacred Space, Private Property: Migration within Nation-State (mimeo). Anonymous (2004): ‘Chandmoni Tea uprooted for Siliguri’s first township’ in Business Standard, 5 January. ——— (2011): ‘Demand to probe tea land deal’ in The Telegraph, 18 November. ——— ‘Malik O Muteder Bachashay Bandha Mandi’ (in Bengali) [The wholesale market is closed as a result of altercation between the owners and the loaders] in Uttarbanga Sambad (Siliguri), 29 July 2013, p. 9. ——— (2014): ‘Badchhe Asamajik Kaj’ (in Bengali) [The asocial activities are on the rise] in Uttarbanga Sambad, 24 January, p. 2. Anti-Eviction Committee & the Mazdoor Morcha (n.d.): Chandmani Movement: 1997 December to 2001 July. Siliguri: Anti-Eviction Committee & the Mazdoor Morcha.

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Appadurai, Arjun (2001): ‘Deep Democracy: Urban Governmentality and the Horizon of Politics’ in Environment and Urbanization, 13(2), October, pp. 23–43. Banerjee-Guha, Swapna (Year of publication not mentioned): Homeless in Neo-Liberal Cities: View from Mumbai, mimeo, pp. 62–74. Basu, Swaraj (2003): Dynamics of a Caste Movement: The Rajbanshis of North Bengal, 1910–1947. New Delhi: Manohar. Bhattacharya, Gourishankar (2014): ‘Amar Sahar Amar Chokhe: Siliguri Ekhan Jeman Khusi Chalchhe’ (in Bengali) [My city in my eyes: Siliguri goes as it likes] in Uttarbanga Sambad (Siliguri), 26 August, p. 9. Bhattacharya, Pinak Priya & Jayanta Gupta (2014): ‘Hunger Deaths Stalk Dooars Tea Gardens’ in The Times of India (Kolkata), 29 July, p. 5. Biswas, Saswati (n.d.): Development Project and Project-Affected Women: A Study of Former Women Workers of Chandmoni Tea Estate (mimeo). Siliguri: University of North Bengal. Chakrabarty, Sudip (2013): ‘Tea, Tragedy and the Child Trafficking in the Terai Dooars’ in Economic and Political Weekly, XLVIII(39), September. Chandler, David (2009): Hollow Hegemony: Rethinking Global Politics, Power and Resistance. London: Pluto Press. Chatterjee, Siba Prasad (1997): Known Yet Unknown Darjeeling/Siliguri: Facts and Figures. Siliguri: Kashi Nath Dey. Das, Chinmayakar (2012): People, Governance and Development: A Study of Siliguri Municipal Corporation, unpublished Ph.D. thesis, Department of Political Science, University of North Bengal. Dasgupta, Manas (1997): ‘Siliguri Saharer Arthanaitik Bhitti’ (in Bengali) [The Economic Foundation of Siliguri Town] in Siliguri: Aaj O Agamikaal, 2, 18 January. ——— (2003): Biswayan Bharat O Uttarbanga. Kolkata: Deep Prakashan. ——— (2006a): ‘Cha Bagane Kichhu malik “Rashtrer Madhye Rastra” Toiri Kare’ (in Bengali) [Some entrepreneurs create ‘state within state’ in tea gardens] in Uttarbanga Sambad, 28 January. ——— (2006b): Uttarbange Cha Silpe Bartaman Samasya. Kolkata: Boiwala. Dasgupta, Subhendu (2012): A-Unnayaner 35 Kahon (in Bengali). Kolkata: Monfakira. Datta, Ayona (2012): The Illegal City: Space, Law and Gender in a Delhi Squatter Settlement. Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate. Dewey, Susan (2008): Hollow Bodies: Institutional Responses to Sex Trafficking in Armenia, Bosnia and India. Quicksilver Dr., Sterling: Kumarian Press. Foucault, Michel (1986): ‘Of Other Spaces’ in Diacritics, Spring, p. 22. Ghosh, Archana, S. Sami Ahmad & Shipra Maitra (1995): Basic Services for the Urban Poor: A Study of Baroda, Bhilwara, Sambalpur and Siliguri. New Delhi: Institute of Social Sciences/Concept. Gidwani, Vinay (2008): Capital, Interrupted: Agrarian Development and the Politics of Work in India. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

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Government of West Bengal (1994): ‘Introducing West Bengal quoted ‘in Sunil Munshi, ‘Urbanisation in the Eastern Himalayas’ in Datta, Karubaki (ed.), Urbanisation in the Eastern Himalayas: Emergence and Issues. New Delhi: Serials Publication 2006, pp. 3–10. Gupta, Jayanta & Pinak Priya Bhattacharya (2014): ‘Hunger Stalks Tea Belt’ in Times of India (Kolkata), 7 July, p. 4 Hansen, Thomas Blom (2013): ‘Strangers, Neighbours, and Political Order in the South Asian City’ in Jodhka, Surinder Singh (ed.), Interrogating India’s Modernity: Democracy, Identity and Citizenship. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 20–39. Harris, John (2007): ‘A Great Transformation: Understanding India’s Political Economy’, Working Papers, October. Harris, Nigel (2007): ‘Globalisation and the Management of Indian Cities’ in Shaw, Annapurna (ed.), Indian Cities in Transition. Hyderabad: Orient Longman, pp. 1–28. Hausner, Sondra (n.d.): Border Town in the Terai: Sites of Migration (mimeo), pp. 107–123. Hazarika, Sujata Dutta (2002): ‘Unrest and Displacement: Rajbanshis in North Bengal’ in Refugee Watch, No. 17, December, pp. 23–28. Institute of Applied Manpower Research (2002): Report on Comparative Backwardness of North Bengal Region, A Study sponsored by Planning Commission, Government of India. New Delhi: Institute of Applied Manpower Research. Jameson, Fredric (1991): Postmodernism or, the Cultural Logic of Capitalism. Durham: Duke University Press. Mahadevia, Darshini & Sandip Sarkar (2012): Oxford Handbook of Urban Inequalities. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Martin, Deborah G. & Byron Miller (2003): ‘Space and Contentious Politics’ in Mobilization: An International Journal, 8(2), pp. 143–156. Marx, Karl (1938/1946): Capital: A Critique of Political Economy, trans. by Samuel Moore and Edward Aveling, edited by Frederick Engels. Moscow: Progress Nag, Soumen (2004): Prasanga Gorkhaland: Sikkim Bhutan Nepal Tibbat. Kolkata: Saptarshi. Rao, Amirta & Michael Casimir eds. (2008): Nomadism in South Asia. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Rowe, William I. (1973): ‘Caste, Kinship and Association in Urban India’ in Southall, Aidan (ed.), Urban Anthropology: Cross-Cultural Studies of Urbanization. New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 210–247. Roy, Ananya (2005): ‘Urban Informality: Toward an Epistemology of Planning’ in Journal of the American Planning Association, 72(2), 147–158. Roy, Basu Tamal & Sanjoy Saha (2011): ‘A Study on Factors Related to Urban Growth of a Municipal Corporation and Emerging Challenges: A Case of Siliguri Municipal Corporation, West Bengal, India’ in Journal of Geography and Regional Planning, 4(14), 18 November, pp. 683–694.

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Roy, Kshiroda (2014): Dooars-er Cha Bagicha: Sramik O Abhibasi Samasya, (in Bengali) [Tea Gardens of the Dooars: The Problem of the Labour and the Migrants], unpublished M. Phil Term Paper, Department of Political Science, University of Calcutta, pp. 1–22. Roy, Pinaki (2013): ‘A Baseline Study for Railway Children conducted at intervention sites at NJP Station: Korok and Sahid Bandana Government homes and with families of vulnerable children’, Supported by Railway Children, UK, 6–17 April 2013. Saha, Sumana & Mousumi Bhattacharya (1993): Urban Basic Services: The Experience of Siliguri (Report of a Research Project Sponsored by ILGUS and UNICEF). Darjeeling: Department of Sociology and Social Anthropology, University of North Bengal. Sen, Jai (2013): ‘The Unintended City’ in Lal, Vinay (ed.), The Oxford Anthology of the Modern City: Making and Unmaking the City: Politics, Culture and Life Forms. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 145–154. Sen, Partha (2011): ‘Separatism in North Bengal: Adding to Tribal Woes’ in Frontier, 43(40), April, pp. 17–23. Siliguri Municipal Corporation (2001): Report on Siliguri (mimeo). Taran, P. (2011): ‘EU Migration Policy, International Law and External Relations: Are Interests Defying Standards?’ in Maes, M., M. C. Foblets & Ph. De Bruyeker (eds.), External Dimensions of EU Migration and Asylum Law and Policy. Brylant/Katholieke Universitat Leuven. University of North Bengal (2012): Incidence of Child marriage, Dowry and Trafficking Offences against Women and Children: A Pilot Study in the Districts of North Bengal (mimeo). Darjeeling: Department of Economics, University of North Bengal. Uttarayon – The Township, (Brochure)

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Part II UNSETTLING IDENTITIES

3 THE DANGEROUS JOURNEY TO CITIZENSHIP

Is there any way to identify an Indian citizen from her look or physical appearance? How does one distinguish an ‘Indian’ from a ‘foreigner’? Can we make out from what one looks like? What does an ‘Indian’ look like? Cherrie L. Changte in one of her poems with the same title, has the answer: “You look at me, and you see/My eyes, my language, my faith./You dissect my past, analyse my present/Predict my future and build my profile./I am a curiosity, an ‘ethnic’ specimen” (Changte 2011: 76). In a vivid illustration, not too long back, one of my friends – an editor of a Manipur-based English-language daily and a well-known face from the region – was intercepted at the Indira Gandhi International Airport in New Delhi by the security personnel as he was asked to show his foreign passport at the time of boarding the aircraft while returning home. The burly security guard remained insistent even after my friend hurriedly presented his voter I-card not knowing how he could handle the awkward situation. He had not thought it necessary to carry his passport while travelling to Delhi. Carrying a passport is not mandatory on domestic flights – if any one of the necessary documents of photo identification is available with an Indian passenger. Bewildered as he was, he could immediately realize that his Indian citizenship – although according to him should have been a settled fact the day he was born to his Indian parents (jus soli) within the territory of India (jus sanguinnis) and was subsequently issued Indian passport on this ground – needs more than the official piece of parchment for clinching proof and visible demonstration. He must above all else look like an ‘Indian’. His ‘flat nose’, ‘slopey eyes’, ‘yellow complexion’ are enough to generate suspicion about his Indian citizenship and make him vulnerable to hate speech and hate attack. As he felt fearful and helpless and could do little – if at all – to do away with what in the above citation is described as his ‘ethnic specimen’, he could – much to his consternation – make out that the discourse 95

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of citizenship not only brings secretly into circulation what Sanjib Baruah calls a ‘visual regime’ (Baruah 2005a: 165–176), but makes it obligatory on one’s part to fit into it beyond any doubt and confusion, if one were to qualify at all as an Indian citizen. Thus, it is not without reason that people from the Northeast are referred with such hate and derogatory terms as ‘chinkis’, ‘bahadurs’, ‘junglees’, etc. in the streets and lanes of New Delhi and other metropolitan cities. My friend was lucky as a few phone calls saved him on that day from the plight that dozens of others coming from the Northeast have to face while being routinely discriminated against, beaten, abused, harmed, raped or even killed in such metropolitan cities as New Delhi, Bengaluru, Hyderabad, Chennai and so forth – the new face of globalizing India.1 If the distinction between the Northeast and the so-called mainland points to an ever-widening racial divide, it also at the same time shows how citizenship does not “transcend one’s familial, tribal, ethnic, and racial identities or affiliations, but forces one to transfer them to the nation” and how race is secretly ‘codified’ in the nation (Isin 2012: 460–462 ff.). Michael Mann in his monumental work on the history of citizenship in Europe points out how ‘citizenship’ at the time of the emergence of the modern state was confined to ‘the middle classes’ and how “extreme nationalists could entwine with citizen classes and religions to identify those outside national citizenship but wanting in – the working class and regional, linguistic, and religious minorities – as enemies of the nation-state” (Mann 1993: 735). While race continues to remain at the heart of citizenship, citizenship ironically builds on its claim of having ‘abstracted’ itself from such ‘familial, tribal, ethnic and racial identities and affiliations’. Individual citizens irrespective of their identities and affiliations are supposed to be identical to one another in the eye of the state. Since they are identical, they are also substitutable in at least two mutually related senses: First, one’s residence in any particular part of India is only incidental to one’s citizenship status. For citizens enjoy, according to the Constitution of India, the right to ‘freedom of movement and settlement’ in any part of the Indian Territory. Thus, viewed from the perspective of the Indian state it does not matter whether an Assamese lives in West Bengal or a Bengali in Assam or for that matter, in any other part of India. Myron Weiner in his book entitled Sons of the Soil (1976) in fact urges the ‘government and its citizens’ to become “creative and imaginative enough to forgo shortterm benefits (accrued from the nativist, sons-of-the-soil movements) for long-term gains (like formation of a nation and a national market)”. Citizenship as a norm is thus based on the utilitarian calculus 96

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between short-term benefits and long-term gains. Second, substitutability of citizens also entails that they can directly transact with the state as free and equal rights-bearing citizens without the mediation of the particular ethnicity or community they belong to. In the premodern era, the subject’s relationship with the monarch, for instance, was always mediated and graded through such factors as family, caste, clan, ethnicity, group, vassalage or community. By contrast, these factors are rendered irrelevant by the principle of legal equality of citizens guaranteed by Article 14 of the Constitution of India. The citizens are ‘anonymous’ to each other insofar as these factors are effectively bracketed out of the legal realm.2 Within the political community each citizen is supposed to transact with the other only as a rights-bearing citizen. For instance, a contract executed between two members of the same clan is supposed to be governed not by their closeness as members of the clan and kinship norms, but by the explicitly stated terms of the document executed by them at their own will and mandated by the state.3 The rhetoric of abstract citizenship also promises to be infinitely expansive insofar as it continuously pushes the horizon of rights beyond its limits throughout the history – although the process is seldom unidirectional and expansion of its horizon often faces reversals in history. While remaining fully aware of the reversals that the process has suffered at different times, T. H. Marshall however observes in his landmark essay written in 1949: Citizenship is a status bestowed on individuals who are full members of a community. All those who process the status are equal in respect to the rights and duties with which the status is endowed. There is no universal principle that determines what those rights and duties shall be, but societies in which citizenship is a developing institution create an image of an ideal citizenship against which achievement can be measured and towards which aspiration can be directed. The urge forward along the path thus plotted is urge towards full measure of equality an enrichment of the stuff of which the status is made and an increase in the number of those on whom status is bestowed. (Marshall 2009: 149–150) This chapter, however, argues that the coming into being of such an abstract citizen is an aporia – although a powerful albeit impossible one that instantly catches the popular imagination – and does not by 97

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any means imply prior exhaustion of all other forms of belonging and membership as mentioned earlier.

Citizenship: from spiralling fear to racial practice If the encounter with the security personnel at the airport made my friend feel fearful and helpless at least for the moment, no less fearful are the millions of citizens who think that they might lose their land, identity and culture thanks to the almost incessant immigration from across the borders. One fear leads to the other and is fed by it. As the abstract and potentially expansive notion of citizenship gets shrunk and takes on a narrow racist course, xenophobia and fear from the strangers and aliens run wide and deep in the body politic. According to Balibar, the shrinking space of citizenship also assumes a ‘popular’ and ‘democratic’ character and – as he puts it – “communicates directly with the logic of naturalization and racization of the social” (Balibar 1991: 20). Today, the popular fear of being overwhelmed by the ‘aliens’ and ‘strangers’ is nowhere more sharply illustrated in any other part of India than in the district of Darjeeling. Darjeeling is the northernmost district of North Bengal. According to Kar – the leader and ideologue of Bangla Bhasha Banchao Committee (Save Bengali Language Committee) based in Siliguri – Census figures are “clear and true evidences of overwhelming growth of foreign Nepali nationals in Darjeeling district” (Kar 2009: 51). Between 1951 and 2001, the population of India has gone up by 184.19 percent while the Nepali/ Gorkha4 population in Darjeeling has gone up by 775.16 percent.5 It is difficult, he maintains, to accept that this was due to the natural growth of population unless accounted for by the immigration from outside. He believes that “command and control of administration in the hills had virtually gone into the hands of muscled men of the proactive outfits of a foreign community” and accuses the Government of “continued appeasement” (Kar 2009: 51). The Committee raises the question of whether the ethnic Nepalis of Darjeeling could be called ‘Indians’. It prepared a four-page memorandum and submitted it to the Election Commission asking for their immediate disenfranchisement (‘Just Who Belongs to the Land?’ 2007: 7). The matter in fact came to a head in Meghalaya much earlier. During 1972–1985, the Government of Meghalaya detected as many as 11,556 Bangladeshis. As far as the Nepalis are concerned, 6,683 ‘foreigners’ among them were detected during 1980–1985, of whom 6,481 were expelled from Meghalaya. The figure of such nationals shot up to 4,477 in 1985. In January 1986, the number of Nepali 98

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nationals detected was 325; during February–March 1986, 7,000 to 10,000 more Nepalis were pushed out of Meghalaya according to various reports available to us.6 The situation was so grave that the Nepali-speaking labourers of Shillong held a meeting in September 1985 and formed an organization called Shillong Mazdoor Sangathan (Shillong Workers’ Organization) under the leadership of Ram Bahadur Sunar and Ram Prasad Dhakal. The Sangathan alleged that the Nepali labourers in Shillong were being subjected to harassment by the police because of their linguistic and cultural affinity with the Nepali foreigners. As hundreds of Nepalis were hounded out from Meghalaya, Assam and a few other Northeastern states particularly in the early 1980s, many of them made their way to Darjeeling. If the Assam movement (1979–1985) – as we have noted in Chapter 1 – sums up the fear shared by the ‘natives’ of being swamped by the immigrants from across the borders, the Gorkhaland movement (in its two phases of 1986–1988 and 2007–2011) of North Bengal – immediately following it – reflects the desperation of the opposite kind – that of the ‘Gorkhas’ who – while announcing them as citizens of India as distinct from the Nepali citizens – were facing the threat of being reclassified as ‘foreigners’ in India, which they consider as their own land. These two movements are illustrative of two sides of the same spiralling fear underlying India’s evolving citizenship regime. The Assam movement reflects the intense fear sparked off by what was perceived at that time as the process of rapid enfranchisement of ‘foreigners’ migrating – mostly though not exclusively – from Bangladesh and Nepal and surreptitiously melting into the vast and anonymous crowd of ‘Indian citizens’ thereby threatening the language and culture of the Assamese – the ‘sons of the soil’ of Assam. The Gorkhaland movement, on the other hand, underlines the all-pervading fear on the part of those who perceive themselves as citizens – of being branded as ‘foreigners’ in no time and evicted from India on the basis of this allegation.7 The moral basis of citizenship is thus slowly replaced by what Jayal calls – albeit in a different context – their ‘architectonic aspiration’ (Jayal 2013: 98) for overcoming the deep fear that otherwise grips them. If race is what informs and undergirds citizenship, the only way to secure it is to ‘racialize’ oneself by deliberately taking on those features that have come to effectively define its essence and thus fitting into what Baruah calls its implicitly laid out ‘visual regime’. A good deal of research particularly in the changed European context seems to have viewed citizenship as what Mezzadra calls a ‘challenge’ to its abstract, albeit ‘formal-institutional definition’ (Mezzadra n.d.: 41 mimeo). 99

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Balibar too points out how citizenship in Europe has become “a site of competition” where “extreme violence crosses a singular productivity and cultural creativity which could acquire an essential democratic function” of undermining and making “political difference” to the dominant racial stereotype of citizenship (Balibar 2006: 5). Citizenship as everyday practice, according to them, is fraught with multiple possibilities and thus helps in defusing and dispersing its essentially racist underpinnings. Little does this otherwise powerful stream of radical scholarship appreciate that fear not only prompts one to stand up and ‘challenge’, but extreme fear often creates in the minds of the decitizenized the forbidden desire of becoming like the ‘enemy’ and ‘identifying’ with him. To cite an analogy that Freud has made famous in his Interpretation of Dreams “The more tyrannically the father ruled in the . . . family, the more surely must the son, as his appointed successor, have assumed the position of an enemy, and the greater must have been his impatience to attain to supremacy” (Freud 1931: 83). This drive towards secret identification has encouraged the Nepalis of Darjeeling to constantly experiment with a wide variety of practices whether by trying to become part of the same visual regime much in the same way as the rest of Indian citizens form its parts or by carefully distancing them from it and thus identifying them as aliens, as Nepalis – and not Indians – that resonates with the spatial imaginary of ‘Greater Nepal’ by including Darjeeling as one of Nepal’s historically integral parts. Everyday racial practices of citizenship therefore oscillate between the twin extremes of intimacy and exit. Since both are implicated in each other, they hardly come in chronological succession. This chapter is accordingly divided into two main sections reflecting on intimacy and exit respectively. While these two sections are preceded by a brief discussion on the history of making of the Nepali/Gorkha discourse, the chapter concludes by underlining the impossible theme of recovering home/land that marks the contemporary Nepalese literature. While all these experiments at one level hold out the promise of protecting them against their imminent statelessness, at another they threaten to disintegrate and dismember their community as a single, homogeneous, collective body almost at every instance. Insofar as the search takes on a racial course, it does not take time to develop cracks and schisms from within. Their search for citizenship is necessary yet dangerous – both seductive and fatal at the same time. Necessary because of the lurking fear of statelessness, dangerous because

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of its potential of disintegrating their identity as a community that is ironically inherent to the search itself. The politics of the Nepalis in Darjeeling is thus caught in what looks like an irresolvable dilemma.

The early makings of the discourse Although the flight of the Nepalis from several Northeastern states served as the immediate trigger, “the first recorded instance of the demand for separation of Darjeeling region from Bengal”, according to Chakrabarti, “can be traced to the year 1907, barely forty years after the formation of the district of Darjeeling” (Chakrabarti 1988: 4). A deputation of Hillmen’s Association of Darjeeling under the leadership of Sardar Bahadur Ladenla and Kharga Bahadur Chetri met the then secretary of State for India – Lord Chelmsford – and presented a proposal for administrative separation of Darjeeling from Bengal. The deputation observed that “the intimate connection with the plains of Bengal is of recent origin” (historically, this tract of land was connected with Sikkim and Bhutan) the language was also quite different. The hilly terrain is the natural habitat of Mongoloid people – quite distinct from the rest of Bengal. The same demand for separation was subsequently voiced by a variety of organizations claiming to represent the Nepalis almost at regular intervals. In March 1920, Darjeeling Planters’ Association, European Association and Hillmen’s Association in a joint meeting resolved that the part of Jalpaiguri that was included in Darjeeling, thanks to annexation from Bhutan in 1865, should accordingly be excluded from Bengal, when the reform scheme (i.e. 1919 Act) would be introduced in India. On the eve of the visit of Simon Commission, Hillmen’s Association of Kalimpong and Darjeeling along with Gorkha Officers’ Association submitted a memorandum entitled ‘Gurkhas Settled and Domiciled in India’ to Sir Samuel Hoare, the then secretary of State for India. While welcoming reforms, the memorandum did not directly call for severing Darjeeling’s association with the Province of Bengal. It seems that they were not prepared to sacrifice the privileges of Scheduled District status of Darjeeling within the Province. On the eve of the passing of the Government of India Act (1935), attempts were however made to protect the status of the district as a Scheduled Area and segregate it from the then Bengal Province. In 1934 again, the Hillmen’s Association submitted a memorandum where the immediate and primary demand for special safeguards for the hill people and preferential treatment for them was made.

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The 1940s witnessed a new turn of events in the history of the district with the formation of All-India Gorkha League in Darjeeling town on 15 May 1943. The objective as pointed out by Dambar Singh Gurung – one of its key leaders – was to secure the future of the Gorkhas in case India became Independent. They demanded protection of Nepali language and citizenship rights of the Indian Gorkhas. The agitation during the pre-Independence days was marked by what Chakrabarti calls “the concern of the hill people for their identity as distinct from (sic) the plainsmen” (Chakrabarti 1988: 19). It is significant to note that the reasons shown behind the separation of Darjeeling from Bengal were part historical, part racial and part linguistic. Political trends during this period also reflected the signs of gradual transformation of the hill people of Darjeeling into an almost homogeneous group. The idea of ‘Gorkha’ embraced a majority of various sections of hill dwellers and Nepali language had become an accepted medium of communication amongst them. All these contributed to the creation of a politically more articulate, more organized movement in Darjeeling. While the issue of minority rights was debated in the Constituent Assembly, the Gorkha League renewed its effort to extract a special treatment for the district of Darjeeling. These demands found a more systematic expression in the Gorkha League memorandum dated 29 April 1952 to Jawaharlal Nehru, the then prime minister of India. Except autonomy, the other important demand was the recognition of Nepali as a major language of India. The language demand brought various hill groups and tribes closer together and accelerated the pace of integration of hill people and the growth of Gorkha identity. The differences between 1951 and 1961 censuses of India demonstrate this point beyond any doubt that an increasing number of people have been returning Nepali as their mother tongue in place of their respective tribal dialects. This implies exclusion of the dialects of various hill tribes like Gurung, Magar, Tamang, Rai, etc. who till then did not record themselves in the census as Nepali- or Gorkhali-speaking people. The Nepali Bhasha Samiti (Nepali Language Association) was set up on 31 January 1972 to press for the recognition of Nepali after a move by 74 members of parliament for Constitutional recognition of Nepali had failed in the preceding year. The Samiti in June 1972 assumed the name All-India Nepali Bhasha Samiti. The deliberations of the States’ Reorganization Commission (SRC) and post-SRC days reinforced the idea of administrative autonomy in Darjeeling politics. In 1955, the Gorkha League repeated its proposal that it had made in 1952 of establishing a centrally administered unit or a separate state comprising Darjeeling, Jalpaiguri and Cooch Behar 102

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districts or their merger with Assam. The Communist Party of India in continuation of its 1951 programme also pleaded in favour of regional autonomy.

Intimacy Intimacy marks the attempts on their part at closing ranks with the socalled Indians by way of acquiring the same racial features and traits that are believed to have characterized them in history and invested them with the citizenship status. It consists first of all in their selfdescription as ‘Gorkhas’ as distinguished from the Nepalis who are usually taken as ‘foreigners’ from Nepal, second in identifying themselves as ‘tribes’ in order to secure their Scheduled Tribe status so that the cloud over their citizenship identity could be effectively removed and finally in positing their composite identity so that it does not get dismembered in face of severe atrocities from the state and non-state actors. These three attempts were often simultaneously made and therefore should not be taken as neat and precise chronological stages in the recent past history. Gorkha versus Nepali If the demand for separation during the pre-Independence era was couched in the principle of difference from the plains of Bengal, politics of the Nepalis in the post-Independence years is marked by the duality of difference from the Bengalis of the plains and their racial akinness to the so-called mainland India. Alarmed at the deportation of the Nepalis from Meghalaya and the other parts of the Northeast, Subash Ghishing – the supremo of Gorkha National Liberation Front (GNLF) that led the movement in its first phase in the early 1980s – argued in one of his much-quoted speeches delivered on 7 May 1986 at Chakbazar, Darjeeling: If the Nepalis of Meghalaya are driven out on the ground of being foreigners, then the Nepalis of Darjeeling may be driven out in future in the same way. Who will come forward to save them? The Government of West Bengal is there for the Bengalis. Therefore, when the Bengalis are ousted . . . after being branded as foreigners, the Government of West Bengal calls a bandh; but when Nepalis are driven out from Meghalaya, the Government of West Bengal did not call any bandh. Had there been a state for the Nepalis today, it would have 103

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come forward to alleviate their plight. There is Bihar for the Biharis, Punjab for the Punjabis, Gujarat for the Gujaratis and West Bengal for the Bengalis. Then why won’t there be Gorkhasthan for the Gorkhas? (quoted in Nag 2005: 258) He also argues that language has been at the heart of states reorganization in India although it is not officially recognized. In an interview given to Manoj Rawat he points out: In India, everyone has a State. Bengalis have their State in (West) Bengal. Whoever lives here has a State. In Bihar Biharis have a State. These are political States. In Nagaland similarly Nagas have a State. If language no longer remains as the basis of States formation, everyone will lose one’s State. What will happen if Bengal’s name is erased? Will Bengal-Jyoti Basu [the then Chief Minister] accept? (reproduced in Baid ed. 1988: 8) GNLF was not the first to realize the necessity of having a state of their own in order to establish and secure Indian citizenship. The Pranta Parishad though failed in organizing a mass movement was constituted in 1980 and submitted its first petition on 13 April 1980 making the demand for separate Gorkhaland for the first time. The Parishad, however, is not a political party. In its convention held at Sukhiapokhri on 9 August 1981 it declared the formation of a separate state of Gorkhaland outside West Bengal. In an undated pamphlet, the Kalimpong committee of Parishad emphasized that “the state is the only means whereby the Nepalis can decide their own fate” and “the perpetual neglect of Nepalis would never cease unless a Nepali state within Indian Union is constituted”. Gorkhaland movement, however, started gathering its steam since 1980 although Subash Ghising – its supremo – first raised the demand for a separate Gorkhaland on 22 April 1979. The movement in the sense of mass mobilization began on 13 April 1986. According to official estimate, 283 persons have lost their lives between 1986 and September 1988 and over 700 people have been seriously injured. It is difficult to assess the extent of the loss of property. Houses of about 1,200 supporters belonging to GNLF were destroyed while the corresponding figure for the CPIM supporters has been 5,000 (Samanta 2000: 4). According to unofficial estimate, 200 Left workers lost their lives during this period. Between 1986 and 1988, about 1,200 people 104

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lost their lives. An estimated 30,000 supporters were forced to leave the hills. The GNLF leadership too did not take time to realize that the problem could not be settled without securing a state of their own8 and if they were to be awarded a separate state, they must not only have a language of their own, but also decisively prove that theirs (Nepali) is an ‘Indian’ language. For, although States’ Reorganization Commission never officially gave credence to the principle of linguistic states, states were indeed reorganized on that basis. As a first step, GNLF demanded the inclusion of the Nepali (Gorkha or Gorkhali) language in the Eighth Schedule of the Constitution of India. Morarji Desai – the then Prime Minister of India – during his visit to Darjeeling in 1979 dismissed it on the ground that Nepali, according to him, was a ‘foreign language spoken in a foreign country’. He reportedly observed that those who wanted to include Nepali in the Constitution of India could go to Nepal and stay there. Lt. Col. M. S. Subba narrates an eyewitness’s account in the following terms: On one fateful day, one of the delegations on ‘Nepali’ language had called on him which appeared to have not done its homework properly. As reported to the writer by a knowledgeable source, the leader of the delegation and a good number of the members introduced themselves as ‘Nepali’ to the Prime Minister. The latter showed them cold shoulder and said, “If you are Nepalese then why don’t you go to Nepal (and) redress your grievances!” or words to that effect. . . . In plain and simple words – Nepalese are subjects of Nepal, foreigners in new Delhi where they have no locus standi hence cannot demand redressal of any grievance as Indians. (Subba in Dumi Rai n.d.: 65–66) Again, Buta Singh – once the home minister of the India – reiterated that Nepali was a dialect of Hindi and the inclusion of Hindi in the Constitution, according to him, implied the inclusion of Nepali as well. The Indo-Nepal Friendship Treaty of 1950 is believed to be at the root of their fear. It confers on the citizens of Nepal the blanket right to migrate to and settle in India and to buy and sell even landed property at their will with the proviso that the same rights will be honoured by Nepal insofar as the Indian citizens migrating to and settling in Nepal are concerned. These rights in simple terms are supposed to be enjoyed on a reciprocal basis. In a speech delivered in Kurseong (West 105

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Bengal) during the heyday of the movement on 2 June 1985, Subash Ghising asserted: The word ‘reciprocal’ is very humiliating for us. This word indicates that all Nepalis who have come to India after 1950 are infiltrators. As a result of this treaty (1950), we, the Nepalis can live in India. We can earn by living in India and we can return to India after going to Nepal and if we do not like to live in India we can go back to Nepal. As a result we are not Indian citizens. (quoted in Nag 2005: 219–225) The GNLF pamphlet entitled ‘The Fate of Indian Gorkhas is Burning’ criticizes the Indo-Nepal Treaty of 1950 in the following terms: [T]he savage and hypocritic (sic) treaty of 1950 which has seriously damaged the fate and fortune of Indian Gorkhas in a single big basket of illusion, and it has further clearly pointed out the whole Indian Gorkhas and the Nepal (sic) citizens as foreigners or immigrants, in the soil of Indian territory. . . . The act of visionless, merciless treaty (that) became a curse and a permanent political blockade to the ill fated Indian Gorkhas who are here in present India for centuries, with their own language, culture, tradition and historical homeland. And it further resulted that the whole Indian Gorkhas became destitute all over India and they have not only their historical homeland but also lost their national identity, as to whether they are Indian or people of . . . Nepal is still unknown to them. (GNLF 1983) Thus the treaty, as Beski puts it, left the Gorkhas in “an uncomfortable liminal space” (Beski 2014: 138). This also led Ghising to make a distinction between the Gorkhas (Indian citizens of Nepali origin) and the Nepalese (Nepali citizens of Nepal) and attribute the distinction to their altogether distinct ethnic origins. At first sight, his argument may be dismissed as unhistorical at its best9 and bizarre at its worst. But the threat they were facing was nevertheless very real as hundreds of examples of expulsion from different states of the Northeast bear out. Like the Nepali citizens of Nepal, the Indian citizens of Nepali origin suffer from the “common disability that they may all be harassed on the suspicion that they are illegal migrants from Nepal” (Misra 106

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1986: 15). For Ghising, the value of this argument lies not so much in being truthful to history, but – as Foucault puts it – in “discovering the exteriority of accidents, the minute deviations – or conversely, the complete reversals – the errors, the false appraisals, and the faulty calculations that give birth to these things that continue to exist and have value” (Foucault 1977: 146). The genealogy is of value to the people for whom it is intended. A document that by its own admission seeks to serve as “a source of confidence to all the Gorkhaland supporters” warns that the failure in appreciating this distinction would ‘trap’ the ‘Gorkha Indian citizens’ to the chakravyuh as “Gorkhas are ‘trapped’ as stateless in the country” (Bomjan 2000: 15–16). In an interview Ghising points out that the Gorkhas have been living in India for centuries and it will be an ‘insult’ if they are branded as ‘foreigners’ (reproduced in Baid 1988: 44). The fear from a ‘foreigner’, ‘stranger’ or an ‘outsider’ is often so overwhelming that it not only reinforces the self-other binary within the nation-state, but continuously prompts the self to rediscover the other within and thus to close in on and shrink within itself. As a result, the outsider may remain an outsider, but is never out. The presence of the other is integral to the articulation of citizenship. As Anupama Roy and Ujjwal Kumar Singh point out: [The] lesson of otherness is inextricably and inherently inscribed into the code of citizenship in the modern state. . . . The outsider is present discursively and constitutively in delineations of citizenship, as a constant referent, indispensable for the identification of the citizen and ironically, like its “virtual” image, it is inextricably intertwined with the “objective” citizen, without being able to reproduce itself. (Roy & Singh 2009: 40)10 The GNLF response will have to be read against this background of constantly shrinking denotation of citizenship. Lt. Col. M. S. Subba – one of the key leaders who remained at the forefront of the struggle – for instance warns the Gorkhas in the following terms: for those who are still shy or reluctant to call themselves ‘Gorkhas’ may have to think fast and as well make it a habit lest they be branded as people from across the Indo-Nepal border as had happened in Assam and other North Eastern States in the recent past. We have harmed enough by 107

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steadfastly calling ourselves ‘Nepali’ so far than making any political or literary triumph in real sense. (Subba in Dumi Rai n.d.: 65) Gorkhali or Nepali spoken in India is claimed to be an ‘autonomous’ language – autonomous from the one spoken in Nepal and this, according to the Gorkhaland ideologues, reflects its Indian origin and character. The GNLF ideologues argue – rightly or wrongly – that since Gorkhali is written in Devanagari script and Devanagari script has its origins in India, it is an Indian language and hence deserves to be included in the Eighth Schedule of the Constitution of India. Inclusion of their language in the Eighth Schedule would have lent to their language Constitutional recognition and vindicate their Indian identity. As P. B. Subba writes: “As matter of their birthright (janmasiddha adhikar), they now claim their right to citizenship and their mother tongue, their grammar and language” (P. B. Subba in Dumi Rai ed. n.d.: 19). If Morarji Desai brands Nepali as a foreign language, then the Left Front then in power in West Bengal during the Gorkhaland movement is partly to be blamed for its overtly aggressive pro-Bengali policy that abolished English from the primary level of school education in West Bengal and this policy, according to Debnath, amounted to “idiotic Bengali-ization which only widened the gulf between the Bengalis and the Nepalis” (Debnath 2007: 34). The process of ‘inventing’ Gorkha identity11 was neither simple, nor unproblematic. More often than not it involved exercise of force and coercion. For instance, Gorkha Janmukti Morcha (GJM) issued a directive asking everyone to wear ‘Gorkha national dress’ – dyra sural for men and choli chaobandi for women.12 It also gave a call for burning Western clothes. GJM activists started changing the number plates of the motor vehicles, where, in place of WB (West Bengal), they compelled people to write GL (Gorkhaland) and at the same time collected Gorkhaland tax from vehicle owners, the most serious part of this is that the government vehicles too were not exempted (Kar 2009: 63). GJM called for boycotting of payment of income tax, electricity and telephone bills. Gorkhaland Police (GLP) – the self-proclaimed police force of GJM – was raised to strictly enforce these diktats and is reported to have harassed the couples sitting in the Mall. Anyone refusing to join the procession called by the Morcha ran the risk of having her face ‘blackened’ by the party activists (Chakrabarty 2010, 11 September: 1–2). Two drivers were assaulted for not having the number plates of their vehicles ‘registered’ with GJM. On 14 October 2008, the faces of common people of Darjeeling were tarred for 108

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not wearing the ‘Gorkha national dress’. Ghosh describes it as ‘parallel administration’ (Ghosh 2008: 23). The tribal turn While ‘Gorkha nationalism’ usually traces its genealogy to the King Prithvi Narayan Shah’s (1723–1775) campaign of unifying various clans and tribes warring under the Malla Confederacy and bringing them under some form of Hindu rule, at the root of the erstwhile Gorkhaland movement in the first decade of the new millennium however was the strong desire of reconstructing the tribal origins of the Gorkhas with consequences that only reintroduced the divisions within the community. In 1988, Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council (DGHC) was set up ending a fairly long agitation in the hills that occasionally turned violent. DGHC came with a bang, but went away with a whimper. Ghising in an interview given to Uttarbanga Sambad on 2 May 2010 argues: (The formation of DGHC has, the author) firmly established the identity of the Nepalis inhabiting in India as the ‘Gorkha’ nation. As a result, the Nepalis of Nagaland, Mizoram, Meghalaya and Assam do not have to be hounded and displaced there. As we could successfully obtain the ‘Gorkha’ identity, over one crore of Nepali-speaking people have secured their recognition as dignified Indian citizens. (Quoted in Pradhan 2010: 3) When in 1987 asked by Tapas Mukhopadhyay – a journalist from The Ananda Bazaar Patrika – whether he would settle for some form of administrative autonomy, Ghising replied that the provision of administrative autonomy is reserved only for the tribes as per the Indian Constitution and “we are not tribals” (Bandyopadhyay 1987: 16). Ironically by the first decade of the new millennium, as GNLF was increasingly becoming unpopular and a new, more militant leadership was tightening its grip over the movement, Ghising veered towards his agenda of tribalizing the Gorkhas. Deepika Chettri explains the transition: The twenty-one year rule of the DGHC marred by several malpractices of the ruling councilors, massive scale of corrupt practices in the distribution and allocation of development projects, the highhandedness of the GNLF party insiders 109

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and monopolistic attitude of the office bearers of the DGHC administration had become almost routine and it in itself became the most noticeable picture of the then autonomous authority. (Chettri 2010–2011: 21–22) The central allegations against GNLF were these: misappropriation and embezzlement of funds by the leaders and absence of democracy in the functioning of DGHC and also within the GNLF. For example, the Gorkhaland Sanjukta Morcha (GSM or Gorkhaland Joint Front) – a Front comprising Akhil Bharatiya Gorkha League (ABGL), Communist Party of Revolutionary Marxists (CPRM), Pranta Parishad, National Union of Plantation Workers and several prominent citizens in 2000 alleged: The GNLF in connivance with the CPI (M) (the party that was leading the ruling Left Front in West Bengal) tried their level best to create total confusion in the national level so far as the movement of hill people is concerned but above all the people at large were deprived from (sic) the basis (sic) fundamental rights. Since the year 1996 the people of the region have no role to play in the formation of new parliament due to the boycott call given by party in power. The left front government at the insistence of GNLF has withheld the elections of Panchayat Samiti. (Gorkhaland Sanjukta Morcha 2000: 131) It further alleged: In order to maintain their political hegemony over the region these two ruling parties have grossly violated legal, democratic and constitutional rights of the people and are thus being deprived of various developmental works. This is one of the glaring examples of how during these twelve years of DGHC rule the state Government as well as DGHC thwarted the decentralization of planning and development process of the region. During this whole period the intelligentsia and pro people political parties had to remain isolated. (Gorkhaland Sanjukta Morcha 2000: 131) As Subash Ghising was facing criticism from various quarters, he tendered his resignation on 10 March 2008 and shifted the gears by 110

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intensifying his demand for converting DGHC into an autonomous body under the Sixth Schedule. But for that to happen, an area is required to comprise at least 60 percent tribal population as per the Constitutional provisions, whereas tribal population constitutes only 38 percent of the total population in Darjeeling.13 While insisting on DGHC’s rechristening under the Sixth Schedule, he started identifying the Nepalis as ‘tribal’. This brought about a new wedge between the existing non-Nepali tribal groups and the Brahmins and Kshatriyas amongst the community who would not like to be described as tribals and the Nepalis (Mukherjee 2011: 4). Ghising, as Mukhopadhyay points out, “came out with his own theories of origin of various Nepali ethnic groups . . . he also asked his community to return to animism and start observing their traditional customs and rituals” (Mukhopadhyay in Debnath 2007: 229). He also called a two-day bandh on 6–7 November 2007 demanding the Sixth Schedule status for the DGHC. If this could bring about bizarre results, it also exacerbated the tribalnon-tribal rift amongst the Gorkhas. In 2005 another tripartite accord was signed with the objective of investing DGHC with greater power and bringing it under Sixth Schedule. Before that could take off, a more militant leadership took over and the accord became a source of discord. The Lawyers of Darjeeling District Court formed a Legal Awareness Forum under the chairmanship of Amar Lama and submitted a memorandum opposing the conferment of Sixth Schedule status to the Parliamentary Standing Committee led by Ms. Sushma Swaraj. All-India Gorkha League, Communist Party of Revolutionary Marxists, Gorkha Janmukti Morcha and Gorkha Rashtriya Congress jointly prepared a memorandum and submitted it to the same Committee – opposing the Sixth schedule status. Besides, rallies and demonstrations were organized in different parts of the district with the demand for the formation of a separate state. Ghising – the caretaker administrator of the erstwhile DGHC – had issued a diktat on 17 September 2005 that only ‘shilas’ (stones) could be worshipped, not images of Durga during the Bengali Hindu festival of Durga puja. This was to ‘prove’ the tribal character of the people of Darjeeling. According to him, clay images could not be worshipped and only a stone should be placed in the pandals as the Darjeeling hills is ‘tribal’ in character. The largest Durga puja pandal in the hills, jointly organized by the DHHC and the Darjeeling Municipality at Chowrasta had no idol, but a chunk of 101-kilogram stone. In 2000, Ghising had introduced the worship of 18-armed Durga instead of the conventional image of the Goddess with ten arms. This reflected 111

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Ghising’s attempt at proving the ‘distinctive character’ of the Darjeeling Hills. Though the worship of the ‘shilas’ at pandals reportedly dampened the enthusiasm of the celebration of the Goddess’ advent on earth, puja organizers, by and large, thought it imperative to carry out Ghising’s ‘orders’ reportedly out of fear. In 2005, on Ghising’s instruction a rally was held with people turning out in tribal clothing. This, according to him, ‘proved’ that the Darjeeling Hills was inhabited by the tribes. Ghising had advised the hill people to wear traditional attire, drink only traditional brew and stop worshipping idols. Accordingly, Hindu idols of Biswakarma, Durga and Saraswati were not worshipped in the hills in 2004. Ghising, who banned worship of idols in the Darjeeling hills in 2005 citing ‘tribal traditions’, evidently under pressure gave permission to four Durga Puja committees the next year to install clay images “considering the sentiment and emotion of the people of non-Gorkha communities”. The overpowering desire of embracing tribal identity finally had to reconcile itself with the compulsions of the multiethnic situation in the hills. The All-Nepalese Scheduled Caste Association (ANSCA) approached the National Commission for the Scheduled Castes seeking redress to the caste atrocities in the hills. The organization played a crucial role in opposing Ghishing’s Sixth Schedule proposition. According to the ANSCA leaders, Ghising tried to do away with the Constitutionally guaranteed reservation for the Scheduled Castes in lieu of the Scheduled Tribes. One of their leaders says: “He asked us to get converted to the tribal status to avail ourselves of the . . . advantages obtainable under the Schedule. We rejected the diktat outright, not just for the question of economic advantages but for the preservation of our caste tradition”. A senior leader of the ANSCA Central Committee said that this had exposed the chinks of the Nepalese society in the Darjeeling Hills: “Ours is a society which can boast of a unique trait where Brahmins do not preside over the religious functions for the lower caste households. This stands in sharp contrast to the Manu-envisaged caste structure prevailing in both India and Nepal”. This is a fact that the Scheduled Caste people in the Hills do not require the services of the caste Brahmins in the religious spheres as they have a class of priests of their own who cater to the requirements of their community. According to Harka Bahadur Chetri, this tradition has been continuing in the Hills for long: “This is, however, difficult to say whether the caste rigidity on the part of the Brahmins prodded the lower strata of the society to opt for such a practice or the caste pride of the people, placed at the bottom line of the Varna structure, moved them to part with the convention”.

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These differences came into sharp focus when Ghising ventured to impose the tribal status on the Buddhists amongst the Gorkhas. He targeted the Tamang community in particular when a section of the community was reluctant to part with its hoary Buddhist tradition. The resentment was however widespread as a large section of the populace belonging to both the upper castes and Scheduled Castes rejected Ghising’s stricture of tribalizing the Nepalis and forcing them into a uniform identity straitjacket. Bharatiya Gorkha Janajati Manyata Samiti (The Committee for the Recognition of Indian Gorkhas as Tribe) raised the demand for classification of all Nepalis as Scheduled Tribes. The demand caught the collective imagination of the people of the hills where employment opportunities are only limited and the Gorkha Janmukti Morcha too insists that ten Gorkha communities including Rai, Yaksha, Gurung, Bhujel, Newar, Jogi, Sunwar-Mukhia, Mangar, Khas and Thami be granted ST status by the Central Government. It may be noted at this point that originally Bhutia, Lepcha, Sherpa and Yolmo were classified as STs while Tamang and Limbu were added to the list in 2002. According to Jana, “the agreement of December 2005 produced the phenomenon of Bimal Gurung and the Gorkha Jan Mukti Morcha” (Jana in Kumar 2011). Bimal Gurung – the GJM supremo – was a popular Councillor of Darjeeling Municipal Corporation and a close aide of Subash Ghising for long and was expelled from the party only on 3 October 2007 for being involved in ‘anti-party activities’. Shortly after his expulsion, he announced that the Hills should accept nothing but Gorkhaland and formed Gorkha Janmukti Morcha (GJM) with Roshan Giri and Ghising was exterminated from the hills. Gurung is once quoted as saying that he would commit suicide by shooting into his head if a separate state of Darjeeling is not formed by March 2010 (quoted in Chattopadhyay 2011: 4): In the last about 20 years of Council’s existence, the situation in Darjeeling hills reached point of no return. Many of the tea gardens were closed and entire cinchona production has been literally discontinued. In Dooars for the first time tea workers are dying ‘hunger deaths’. Most traditional means of livelihood have been uprooted. There were reports of several incidents of hunger deaths, suicides, trafficking of minor girls and large scale migration to urban areas. . . . The DGHC has never made any development plans except the one in 1989. There was blatant violation of institutional norms and rules

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of accountancy leading to the total deterioration of development in the hills. (GJMM 2008: 17) The travails of a composite identity Knowing that the tribal turn proved fatal to them, the movement in its new incarnation sought to create a new, composite solidarity – again with disastrous consequences. The ‘invention’ of Gorkhali or Gorkha Bhasha never went down well amongst the rank and file. Back in 1992 on 20 August when a public meeting was going on at Gitangay Dara in Darjeeling in celebration of the inclusion of the Nepali language in the Eighth Schedule of the Constitution of India, “a convoy of six vehicles belonging to GNLF” reportedly stopped in front of the venue and started shouting slogans like “Nepali language is foreign language, the protagonists of Nepali language go to Nepal. Nobody will use Nepali language”. This created a ‘tense situation’ as the people assembled there shouted the slogan like “Nepali Bhasha Zindabad, Nepali Bhasha amar rahosh, Nepali Bhasha birodhi go back” (Long live Nepali language, Nepali language be deathless, those who are opposed to Nepali language go back). Finally the situation was diffused by the police who were posted there in numbers (Bomjan 2008: 72). Chakrabarty quotes a GJM Ideologue who is reported to have told him: Gorkhas do not refer to any determinate community. We consider all inhabitants of Darjeeling as Gorkha – whether one is Tibetan, Bengali, Bihari, Nepali or Bhotiya. The Gorkha (in this sense) does not belong to any ethnic community or linguistic group. (Chakrabarty 2010, 11 September: 2) In the beginning of the Gorkhaland movement there was an effort to widen the denotation of the word ‘Gorkha’ or ‘Gorkhali’ and include in it the Lepchas and Bhutias. Slogans like “Lepcha, Bhutia, Nepali – Hami Sabai Gorkhali” (Lepcha, Bhutia, Nepali – we are all Gorkhali) were raised. While the existing data do not lead us to any definitive conclusion, a survey conducted over 20 opinion leaders, however, points out that people of each and every background see a change in the mode of the agitation compared to the one initiated under Ghising’s leadership. The agitation in its second phase, they argue, is less

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violent with “active involvement of several ethnic communities as one single body” (Chettri 2010–2011: 26). The survey reports: The GJM agitation took within its fold not only the Nepali speaking population of the region but also the non-Nepali linguistic groups who had been the residents of Darjeeling Hills for several generations [like the Marwaris, the Bengalis and the Biharis as well as Tibetans and the Bhutiyas]. (Chettri 2010–2011: 30) A special cell within GJM was formed to look closely into the interest of the minorities within the same ‘Gorkha Janmukti Minority Forum’ (excluding the Lepchas) exercising autonomy but only within the broad principles of the party. Many Lepcha Mulbasis (original inhabitants) organized through the Indian Nationalist Association of Darjeeling based in Ghoom expressed surprise at their newfound inclusion. As a commentator observes: “few Lepcha-Bhutias seemed convinced about it until some of their officers and employees serving in the plains of Bengal were taunted, being mistaken as Gorkhas. They really once wondered if the term ‘Gorkha’ included them too” (Subba 1992: 66). The call for incorporating them into the fold of the Gorkhas has only aggravated the fear of some of these smaller communities who eventually started viewing Gorkhali as yet another device for expanding ‘political and cultural hegemony’ of the dominant language and culture (Majumdar 2001: 21). The languages of smaller communities without any recognized script have been facing a crisis of extinction. The optimism of course was exaggerated as subsequent events would suggest. The most interesting fact is, although they have no problem with the Gorkha community coming ahead with a separate state, the Lepchas object to the name of the state being made ‘Gorkhaland’. One of them, according to the same survey, feels that the name ‘Gorkha-Adivasi Pradesh’ (The Gorkha-Adivasi Province) which the GJM chief had once proposed would have been the best for them as they belong to the Adivasi (literally original inhabitants) community. Since originally the entire region, according to them, once belonged only to them and they vociferously resist their incorporation into the Gorkha community, most of them feel that the name Gorkhaland is a direct insult to their existence as the oldest surviving community in the region. As one puts it, ‘a suitable name is to be given to the region in question if and when it ever attains statehood’.

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Later the Lepchas have retreated from this stand claiming that they do not support the statehood demand and feel that Gorkhaland has no statutory provision for safeguarding their interest and identity. They had been peacefully agitating in Kalimpong, making repeated representations to the Centre highlighting their minority status and even marched to Kolkata in August–September 2010 with the demand for the institution of separate Lepcha Development Council and recognition of Lepcha language among others. On 12 February 2013 the State Backward Classes Department issued a resolution for the establishment of Mayel Lyang Lepcha Development Board for the Lepchas outside the GTA jurisdiction. Bimal Gurung – the GJM leader – argued that establishment of the Board would only introduce divisiveness amongst the hill communities. Take another example of the minuscule community of Thamis of Darjeeling Hills and Sikkim. Today their total population is estimated to be around 5,000 in Darjeeling and approximately around 453 persons in Sikkim (Nepal & Thami 2011: 61). What the Thami community in Darjeeling Hills and Sikkim has been facing, according to a survey, is that they show “a tendency of assimilation with (sic) the Nepali/Gorkhali culture around them” (Nepal & Thami 2011: 65). This is evident in their religious rituals and cultural practices. The pressure for assimilation took them from animism (Bonpo) to Hinduism. For instance, today it is reported that 80 percent of the Thamis in Darjeeling Hills belong to Bonpo, but 20 percent fall within the Hindu religious denomination. More often than not, they identify themselves as “both caste and tribe” (Nepal & Thami 2011: 66). They speak Nepali which is the lingua franca of the region; in the educational institutions they are either instructed in English or Nepali. Hence the young generation has nearly forgotten their mother tongue and the majority speak the Nepali language (Nepal & Thami 2011: 66). In the immediate aftermath of the Mandal Commission (that recommended for reservation for the Other Backward Classes), realizing that the mainstream political parties and institutions would not vouch for Thami community, they formed the Thami Welfare Association in 1992. The Association joined the race with other ethnic and community associations for their political recognition as a Scheduled Tribe. The Thami Samaj made a representation to the leader of the Opposition to recognize the community as Tribe in December 1992. To their surprise, they were recognized as Other Backward Class (OBC) by the Government of West Bengal. On 18 July 2012, a tripartite accord was signed among the Government of West Bengal, Government of India and Gorkha Janmukti 116

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Morcha paving the way to the formation of Gorkha Territorial Administration (GTA). According to the agreement, GTA would have the power to decide on 59 items and it would get much more money than what DGHC used to get. A high-powered Committee under the chairmanship of Justice Shyamal Sen was constituted to recommend on GJM’s demand for inclusion of 198 mouzas (revenue unit) of Siliguri, Terai and the Dooars in the GTA and “to look into the question of identification of additional areas in Siliguri, Terai and Dooars that may be transferred to the new body, having regard to their compactness, contiguity, homogeneity, ground level situation and other relevant factors”. The Committee recommended inclusion of only 5 mouzas. While GJM refused to accept the recommendation, the State Government set up a Fact Verification Committee in order to verify the recommendations of Justice Shyamal Sen Committee. Besides, a section of Adivasi Vikas Parishad (AVP) is opposed to the idea of bringing the Dooars under the ambit of GTA. Kaku Baba Oraon of Adivasi Cultural Society, Gayaganga Tea Estate argues: We the adivasis belong to India. We have laid railway tracks, set up tea gardens and constructed roads. In the (State Legislative) Assembly, we are the decider of 15 Vidhan Sabha constituencies and they decide on 3 such constituencies. They have dual citizenship – of Nepal and India. This cannot continue. (Oraon 2011: 4) Whatever sporadic reports we have come across on the interethnic relations in the Dooars seems to point to an acute ethnic polarization that has happened particularly in recent years over the issue of bringing as many as 198 mouzas in the district of Jalpaiguri under the proposed Gorkhaland Territorial Administration (GTA). While the GJM insists on inserting them into the new dispensation, the AVP dominated by the adivasis vociferously opposes the demand on the ground that they are the numerical majority in most of these mouzas and they are not the Gorkhas as much as the Gorkhas are not indigenous to the area. The homeland claims made by contending ethnic groups over these mouzas of Dooars appear to be mutually exclusive and have been responsible for creating what today stands as an unmitigable ethnic divide in the region. It almost reaches a flashpoint as soon as Justice Shyamal Sen Committee report is published. The Terai-Dooars Committee of Akhil Bharatiya Adivasi Vikash Parishad has been demanding the introduction of Hindi – not Nepali – as the medium of instruction in the higher secondary and degree level 117

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institutions. Besides, the organization keeps demanding the establishment of Hindi-medium higher secondary schools and colleges to cater to the educational aspirations of the adivasi student community. The Terai-Dooars branch of the Akhil Bharatiya Adivasi Vikash Parishad (ABAVP) called a fortnight-long closure of the educational institutions spread across the region in 2009. One of its factions joining hands with GJMM asks for renaming the proposed land as ‘Gorkha-Adivasi Pradesh’ and not ‘Gorkhaland’. The Government of West Bengal however signed a memorandum with the dissident faction and set up separate Gorkhaland and Adivasi Territorial Administration (GATA) immediately after the establishment of GTA in July 2011. Another faction of ABAVP led by John Barla makes an advocacy for Gorkha Adivasi Territorial Administration (GATA) – a composite body of the adivasis and the Gorkhas to administer the entire area of Darjeeliing Hills, the Dooars and the Terai. The drive towards creation of a composite identity only contributed to the sharpening of ethnic lines amongst the Nepalis. Or was there an assimilationist urge that informed the drive towards inclusion? According to Jana, “the most daunting opposition which the GJMM faces is from the Akhil Bharatiya Adivasi Vikas Parishad in the Dooars and Terai” (Jana in Kumar 2011: 180). The Parishad strongly rejects the claim and resists being part of the proposed state of Gorkhaland; instead it demands that the Dooars and the Terai may be granted autonomy by bringing them under the Sixth Schedule of the Constitution of India which could ensure the development of the tribals in the region. The opposition and counter-mobilization had led to the conflict between the Gorkhas and the adivasis in the region. The Parishad submitted a 16-Point Charter of demands to the Chief Minister and launched strikes and dharnas, hunger strikes and roadblocks, etc. Since the majority of the adivasis are migrant tea garden workers, they also demand a hike in the wages of tea garden workers from Rs. 62.50 to Rs. 250 per day. The other demands include distribution of land (patta) deeds among tea plantation workers, inclusion of the National Highway 31C in the four-lane project, etc. Several Gorkha organizations have been making the demand for Gorkhaland with differently proposed territorial jurisdictions. The leaders of Gorkhaland movement are seldom one in accord on what the exact territorial jurisdiction of the proposed State should be. Gorkha Parishad in the month of June 2013 organized a seminar in the Dooars and accused the GJM leadership of driving a wedge between the Gorkhas and the Bengalis while making the demand for integration of the hills with the Dooars. Any solution to the otherwise tangled 118

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problem lies in creating a composite state which will include both the Gorkhas and the Bengalis. On the other hand, Bharat Dong – introducing himself as a former Deputy of the Gorkha National Liberation Front (GNLF) – raised the demand for integration of Darjeeling with Sikkim. This does not seem to be the official line of the GNLF and he indicated his possible resignation from the party soon after this statement (Gorkhaland Rajya . . . 2013: 2). There is indeed a distinction between the two accords signed in 1988 and 2012, respectively. While the former was known as Memorandum of Settlement, the latter is known as Memorandum of Agreement. According to the former, GNLF agreed to relinquish its demand for a separate Gorkhaland: “The GNLF agrees to drop the demand for a separate state of Gorkhaland”. On the other hand, the tripartite agreement includes the demand as ‘record’: “Now therefore the Government of India, the Government of West Bengal and the GJM, keeping on record the demand for a separate state of Gorkhaland”. It also states that “the GJM . . . [is] not dropping their demand for a separate state of Gorkhaland”. Gurung maintains that the GTA is only a ‘semi-final’ to the ‘final’ goal of Gorkhaland. As recently as on 12 November, he again reiterates the point that their signing of the GTA accord does not mean that they have relinquished their demand for separate Gorkhaland and they would continue to organize and mobilize themselves with the ultimate objective of attaining Gorkhaland (‘Gorkhaland-i Chaichhe Morcha’ 2012: Supplement 1). Jayshankar Agarwal in his letter to the editor of Ganashakti – the CPIM mouthpiece – describes it as a “prelude to another Partition of Bengal” (Agarwal 2011: 4). The Chief Minister, on the other hand, has maintained that Darjeeling is ‘an integral part’ (abchichhedya anga) of West Bengal. Such organizations of the plains as Amra Bangali, Rashtriya Shiva Sena, Bangla Morcha, Adivasi Vikas Parishad and Bangla O Bangla Bhasha Banchao Committee have called a bandh from 15 to 19 July 2011 in protest against the signing of the accord. Dr. Mukunda Majumdar of Bangla O Bangla Bhasha Banchao Committee described the accord as a document for “appeasing the separatist forces like the GJM”. Arguing that the Nepalis have never been the sons of the soil of Darjeeling, he says that “to protect Darjeeling is the second struggle for independence” (Majumdar 2009: 4). Raghav Bandyopadhyay in a paper argues that ‘Bangalisthan’ (the land of Bengalis) was never far away from the mindset of the middle-class Bengalis particularly after the Partition of Bengal in 1947 and that is the reason why ‘Babu Bengalis’ hear the death knell of the ‘indivisibility of Bengal’ in this demand for Gorkhaland (Bandyopadhyay 2011: 8). 119

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Much in the same vein, after the GTA agreement was signed in July 2012, about 15,000 followers of Greater Cooch Behar people’s Association suddenly went on ‘fast unto death’ for realizing their demand for Greater Cooch Behar – after a lull of about five years in a bid to counter the inclusion of the Dooars in the proposed Gorkhaland. Sailen Debnath gives an account of his interview with Atul Ray, the leader of Kamatapur Peoples’ Party saying: If the West Bengal Government, in order to please GNLF and other parties of the hills cedes away any part of Siliguri subdivision and northern part of the Duars to the jurisdiction of Hill council, the brave children of Kamatapur and the Kamatapur Progressive Party will resist it. (Debnath 2007: 53) The idea of composite identity might blow up one day further fragmenting the ethnic communities and sharpening the divisions between them. The new linguistic turn In June 2017, the Government of West Bengal declared Bengali as a mandatory subject for all students irrespective of their ethnic background and Board affiliation till Xth standard in all schools within the state. Partha Chatterjee, the minister of education, is reported to have announced: The students have to choose three languages from a pool of Bengali, Urdu, Hindi, Punjabi, Nepali, Santhali and English, out of which one has to be Bengali irrespective of the mother tongue of the student. The non-Bengali medium schools have to make arrangements to impart education in Bengali. The chief minister has clarified in social media that while the threelanguage formula would be the means of ‘giving regional language its importance’, a student would have the freedom of choosing Bengali as either first or second or even third language. Initial remarks coming from the official sources, however, did not refer to any exemption. The Gorkha Janmukti Morcha (GJM) immediately organized a rally against the announcement that made Bengali compulsory in the school curriculum. The chief minister subsequently clarified that the government had no plan of forcing students of Darjeeling within the Gorkhaland Territorial Administration (GTA) jurisdiction to read Bengali in schools, 120

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but mentioned that learning Bengali would help them secure jobs in future. GJM’s students’ wing described the announcement as “infringement on the Nepali language” and “forced imposition of Bengali” on their community. Darjeeling’s Bhanu Bhawan – the headquarters of Gorkha Territorial Administration – witnessed one of the worst ever confrontations between the irate mob and the police on 8 June 2017 in which about 60 policemen were injured. According to a section of the press, the site turned into a “fortress” with about 1,000 cadres of Gorkhaland Liberation Front (GLF) and Gorkhaland Personnel (GLP) armed with stones, catapults, bottles and other inflammable substances. GLF – a militant outfit formed in 2004 – came to surface only in 2014 when intelligence agencies arrested Umesh Karmi – a driver of Bimal Gurung – with a huge cache of arms. GLP was banned by the Central Government in 2013. It is yet to be seen whether the linguistic turn marked by this outburst sparks off yet another phase of the Gorkhaland movement.

Exit None of these experiments with racial and ethnic practices worked for the Nepalis and helped settle the issue of their citizenship. The leadership often realizes that the racial subtext of Indian citizenship is too deeply entrenched to welcome them as its inseparable part. The fear of losing citizenship does not take time to transform into an overt threat of staging an exit from the citizenship regime in India. If intimacy does not work, exit seems to be the only option left open to them. ‘Greater Nepal’ or ‘No-Man’s land’? When Nepali along with Manipuri was eventually recognized by the Government of India through the 71st Amendment Act to the Constitution on 31 August 1992, Ghising failed in persuading Narasimha Rao-led Congress Government at the Centre to recognize Gorkhali (instead of Nepali) language in the Eighth Schedule. As the creation of DGHC had taken away the bottom of the demand for a separate state, a new issue was to be discovered to lend traction to the demand for a separate entity of Darjeeling. Interestingly, in building up his argument for a separate Gorkhaland state, he reads the meaning of Article VIII of the Indo-Nepal Friendship Treaty as cancelling all treaties including the Treaty of Seagauli (1815) on the basis of which some territories conquered by the Gorkha Kings were restored 121

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to the British Government in India. Article VIII reads: “so far as matters dealt with herein are concerned, this Treaty cancels all previous Treaties, engagements and arrangements entered into on behalf of India between the British Government and the Government of Nepal”. According to Ghising, this Article cancels the Treaty of Segauli and as such, the territories restored to the British Government through this Treaty, would now go back to the King of Nepal. So he argued, Darjeeling Hills except Kalimpong would form part of Nepal, if the Government of Nepal claimed it. As he was developing this argument, he was being inspired by the idea of ‘Greater Nepal’ and India’s right, according to him, would cease after the cancellation of the Treaty. When by the end of 1991 it was seen that the Government of Nepal was not at all keen either on taking advantage of the ‘flaw’ which Ghising had detected in the Treaty or in fomenting a ‘Greater Nepal’ movement, Ghising thought of taking upon himself the responsibility of agitating on the infirmity of the Treaty of 1950 which, according to him, had ‘reduced’ Darjeeling Hills to a ‘no man’s land’. Here also the logic was somewhat strange. The cancellation of the Treaty of 1950, according to his earlier (till 1991) interpretation, made Darjeeling a part of Nepal. But now he claimed that since the King of Nepal had not claimed it and the people of Darjeeling would not like to be citizens of Nepal, so he wanted it to be a ‘no man’s land’. Ghising argued that since Darjeeling Hills was a ‘no man’s land’ and not a part of India or West Bengal, there was no point in sending people’s representatives to the West Bengal Legislative Assembly through the instrumentality of holding elections. Ghising gave an ‘ultimatum’ to the Government of India and Nepal in January 1992 demanding a clarification of the legal status of Darjeeling within 60 days. If no clarification was received, he claimed that he would celebrate ‘victory’ from the middle of March 1992. Nepal expectedly ignored Ghising’s communication. An official spokesman had the following to say: “Nepal will never respond to such query. Nor does it have anything to do with other’s internal matters. Moreover, it is also a question of protocol. Kathmandu cannot deal with Ghising who is just the head of a district council” (quoted in Samanta 2000: 184). The Government of India contended in a written communication on 6 March 1992 that Article VIII of the Treaty had stated that “so far as matters dealt with herein are concerned, it cancelled all previous treaties, arrangements and engagements entered into on behalf of India between British Government and the Government of Nepal” (quoted in Samanta 2000: 184). The Government of India further clarified that the Treaty of Segauli expressly provided that the territories were ceded in perpetuity 122

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and that the transfer of territories was implemented in full. Now they are inseparable parts of India and cannot be alienated without amendment to the Constitution. Law also enjoins that the land once ceded becomes part of the territory of the grantee. Gorkhaland movement in its new incarnation under the GJMM leadership, according to Beski, marks a paradigmatic break with the past insofar as it hinges on the new imaginary of homeland revolving around what she calls ‘affective labour’. The Nepali labour that was instrumental in clearing up the jungles, building infrastructure, setting up plantations, plucking its distinctive brand of Darjeeling tea for the world and defending and securing the nation by supplying the brave Gorkha soldiers also lays claim to the ‘land’ that, according to it, justly belongs to it. In the words of Beski, a separatist movement drawing on affective labour offers “more just means of connection to India” (Beski 2014: 168). The new phase of Gorkhaland thus becomes synonymous with the plantation labour and labouring classes. In her words, “primordialist language and references to rootedness oscillated between referencing the timeless, ancestral belonging of Nepalis in Darjeeling and the historical construction of the Darjeeling Landscape by Gorkha laborers” (Beski 2014: 149). The impossible home/land Did the Nepalis who were forcibly deported from Meghalaya in the 1980s and commenced their uncertain journey to Darjeeling in their quest for citizenship finally come home? As we have seen, home, for them, is where their homeland and citizenship are required to converge. For citizenship – as they realize – without homeland is impossible as much as ‘home’ without a homeland of their own and citizenship that is expected to accompany it only makes it precarious. If, for Heidegger, homecoming implies a return to “the pure, and primal ground of being” and discovery of “something that is present to us and stands firmly and declares itself” (O’Donoghue 2011: 12), their experiment with a variety of racial practices in Darjeeling Hills posits a simultaneous oscillation in citizenship articulation from being an Indian to being a Nepali or even remaining fiercely independent and vice versa and a violent dispersal of their ‘pure and primal being’ – if there was any in the first place. We have seen how the more they seek to ‘racialize’ themselves, the more they run the risk of dismembering themselves as a collective body. While concluding her book on citizenship, Jayal points out how the ‘group-differentiated’ road to ‘civic citizenship’ in India is both ‘fragile and uncertain’ (Jayal 2013: 270). 123

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Little does her otherwise exhaustive work tell us why the road is not only ‘fragile and uncertain’ but endless and dangerous. Homecoming, for the Nepalis, is perpetually incomplete, an ever-elusive project that also threatens to destroy them by having asked to remain forever fluid so as to be able to cast them into any mould like a mound of clay – but a powerful illusion that always drives them to realize the impossible. As we have already said, it is both necessary and fatal, seductive and self-destructive at the same time. Thus, to paraphrase the lyrics of a famous Bengali Band song of the 1970s, by the time they are rudely reminded that they are homeless, they discover that they have crossed so many miles that returning home becomes impossible and what they know as their ‘home’ – the stable and secure ground of their collective being – does not remain the same – if not badly battered. Or was there ever such a ground for them – who by all historical accounts have always been on the move? They seem to have lost their home permanently. They are the homeless – the ‘new nomads’ as we call them – caught as it were in the midst of an endless journey to citizenship. Ironically it is the uncertainties involved in the journey of citizenship that have rendered them homeless. Is citizenship at all the final answer?

Notes 1 Duncan McDuie-Ra’s study points to the same conclusion: “For ethnic minorities who look different, speak a different language, practice a different religion to the dominant community and in many cases to other ethnic minority communities, internal migration can be just as disorienting, jarring, and rupturing as international migration, despite their citizenship status” (McDuie-Ra 2012: 183). Besides Duncan McDuie-Ra’s work (2012), two reports are especially significant in this context of discrimination and hate attacks. See North East Committee (2014) and National Commission for Women (2013). 2 Unlike, say, in Republican France, these differences are only bracketed out – but are not wiped out. 3 I have discussed the point elsewhere (2012: 1–24). 4 As we will see below, the two are not necessarily the same. 5 The ‘absurd growth’ of Nepali population from being 19.98 percent in 1951 to 59.9 percent of the total population of the district is explained by the fact that “the old tribal groups were no longer enumerated as speaking a distinct language” (Chakraborty 2001: 268). 6 All these figures are taken from Misra (1986: 17). 7 I have compared the two movements elsewhere (Das 2012: 1–24). 8 As Chakrabarti puts it: “The GNLF has effectively integrated the question of distinct Nepali identity with that of citizenship and statehood and projects the movement as essential for the protection of the very existence of Nepalis as India citizens” (Chakrabarti 1988: 40).

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9 Samanta, for instance, dismisses it as a “clever distortion of history” (Samanta 2000: 119). Similarly, Dhar describes the ‘Gorkhas’ as a ‘fake (bhuya) nationality’ (Dhar 2011: 4). But one must also keep in mind that the ‘distortions of history’ more often than not play a more important role in shaping people’s mind and their political practices than ‘history’ per se. 10 The same point was reiterated by Anupama Roy in one of her subsequent papers. As she observes:   the migrant is itself a paradoxical category in that it is not only produced by state practices of rule which include political, social, economic and developmental policies and practices, but has to be continually slotted out and simultaneously included on differential terms. Thus, the displaced, the vagrant, the footloose migrant, the stateless person, etc. have all led to precarious existence, criminalized at certain times, subjected to perpetual relocation, at others, and kept in a deferred and suspended citizenship (Roy 2010: 27). 11 We borrow this term from Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983: 1–14). 12 “A chaubandi chalo is a wrapped and tied top with a sari-like wrapped skirt bottom, usually made out of cotton in a red and white geometric print. A daura sural is a solid colored long shirt and fitted pants combination, resembling a kurta” (Beski 2014: 152). 13 Verghese argues that Ghisingh also sought OBC status and called 72-hour bandh in the hills on the occasion of the visit of the State Backward Class Commission to Darjeeling. He postponed the bandh when the Commission cancelled its visit (1997: 377).

References Agarwal, Jayshankar (2011): ‘Chukti Prakas Kore Pahade Janamat Yachai Kara Hok’, letter to the editor, in Ganashakti, 16 July. Anonymous (2007): ‘Just Who Belongs to the Land?’ in The Statesman (Siliguri). ——— (2012): ‘Gorkhaland-I Chaichhe Morcha’ in Ananda Bazar Patrika, 13 November. ——— (2013): ‘Gorkhaland Rajya Gathaner Dabee’ (in Bengali) [The demand for establishing separate state of Gorkhaland] in Uttarbanga Sambad, 13 June. Baid, Rajendra (1988): Gorkhanand Sangharsh/Gorkhaland Agitation (in Hindi & English). Siliguri: Rajendra Baid. Balibar, Etienne (1991): ‘Is There a “Neo-Racism”?’ in Balibar, Etienne & Immanuel Wallerstein (eds.), Race, Nation, Class: Ambiguous Identities, Trans. by Balbar, Etienne & Chris Turner. London: Verso, pp. 17–28. ——— (2006): Strangers as Enemies: Further Reflections on the Aporias of Transnational Citizenship. Globalization Working Papers 06/4, May. Montreal: Institute of Globalization and Human Condition/Globalization and Autonomy, McMaster University. Bandyopadhyay, Alapan (ed.) (1987): Prasanga Gorkhaland (in Bengali) [The Context of Gorkhaland]. Kolkata: Ananda Publications.

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Bandyopadhyay, Raghav (2011): ‘Rekhechho Bangali Kore, He Mugdha Janani’ in Ekdin, 2 August. Beski, Sarah (2014): The Darjeeling Distinction: Labir and Justice on Fair Trade Tea Plantations in India. Berkeley, California: University of California Press. Bomjan, D. S. (2000): Economic Viability of the Proposed State of Gorkhaland. Darjeeling: Communist Party of Revolutionary Marxists. ——— (2008): Darjeeling-Dooars People and Place Under Bengal’s NeoColonial Rule. Darjeeling: Bikash Jana Sahitya Kendra. Chakrabarti, Dyutis (1988): ‘Gorkhaland: Evolution of Politics of Segregation’ (mimeo), Special Lecture X. Darjeeling: Centre for Himalayan Studies, University of North Bengal. Chakrabarty, Gautam (2010): ‘Nihsanga Darjeeling’ in Ananda Bazar Patrika, Special Saturday Supplement, 11 September. Chakraborty, Subhas Ranjan (2001): ‘Identity, Movements and Peace: The Unquiet Hills in Darjeeling’ in Samaddar, Ranabir & Helmut Reifeld (eds.), Peace as Process: Reconciliation and Conflict Resolution in South Asia. New Delhi: Manohar, pp. 253–280. Changte, Cherrie L. (2011): ‘What does an Indian Look Like’ in Mishra, Tilottama (ed.), The Oxford Anthology of Writings from North-East India: Poetry and Essays. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Chattopadhyay, Suman (2011): ‘Mamatar masterstroke Kupokat Gurungra’ in Ekdin, 27 July. Chettri, Deepika (2010–2011): ‘Peoples’ Perception of the Ongoing Movement for Gorkhaland Under Gorkha Jan Mukti Morcha: A Study in Kalimpong’ in The Himalayan Miscellany, Centre for Himalayan Studies, University of North Bengal, Raja Rammohanpur, Volumes 21 & 22, December 2010– 2011, pp. 21–45. Das, Samir Kumar (2012): ‘Immigration and the Quest for New Citizenship’, CAS Public Lecture Series No. 1. Pune: Centre for Advanced Study, Department of Politics and Public Administration, University of Pune, pp. 1–24. Debnath, Sailen (2007): ‘Introduction’ in Social and Political Tensions in North Bengal. Siliguri: National Library Publishers. Dhar, Pulaknarayan (2011): ‘Nepali o Gorkha’ in Dainik Statesman, 25 July. Foucault, Michel (1977): ‘Nietzsche, Genealogy, History’ in Foucault, Michel (ed.), Language, Counter-Memory, Practice: Selected Essays and Interviews, Trans. with an introduction by Donald Bouchard. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, pp. 139–164. Freud, Sigmund (1931): Interpretation of Dreams in www.abika.com Accessed on December 3, 2015. Ghosh, Ashis (2008): ‘Darjeelinge Chalu Hoyechhe Samantaral Prasasan, Bhagaban Ki Nidra Giyechhen?’ in Dainik Statesman, 23 October. Gorkha Jan Mukti Morcha (GJMM) (2008): The Case for Gorkhaland: Creating a New State out of Darjeeling District and the Dooars. Darjeeling: Gorkha Jan Mukti Morcha.

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Gorkhaland Sanjukta Morcha (2000): The State of Gorkhaland: Our Fight for Separation (1907–2000). Darjeeling: Gorkhaland Sanjukta Morcha Publications. Gorkha National Liberation Front (1983): ‘The Fate of Indian Gorkhas is Burning’ (mimeo), Pamphlet. Darjeeling: Gorkha National Liberation Front. Hobsbawm, Eric & Terrence Ranger (1983): The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Isin, Engin F. (2012): ‘Citizens without Nations’ in Development and Planning D: Society and Space, 30, pp. 450–467. Jana, Arun Kumar (2011): ‘Backwardness and Political Articulation of Backwardness in the North Bengal Region of West Bengal’ in Kumar, Ashutosh (ed.), Rethinking State Politics in India: Regions Within Regions. New Delhi: Routledge. Jayal, Niraja Gopal (2013): Citizenship and Its Discontents: An Indian History. Ranikhet: Permanent Black. Kar, D. P. (2009): Gorkhaland Movement: A Clandestine Invasion. Siliguri: Janachetana. Majumdar, Bimalendu (2001): Prantiya Uttar Banglar Bhasha O Bhashik Paristhiti: Oitihasik Prekshapat (in Bengali) [The Language and Linguistic Situation in Bordering North Bengal: The Historical Context] (mimeo), Lecture delivered to the Department of History, Chittagong University. Majumdar, Mukunda Dr. (2009): ‘Banglabhag Rukhte Hobe’ in Dainik Statesman, 27 November. Mann, Michael (1993): Sources of Social Power, Volume II: The Rise of Social Classes and Nation-States, 1760–1914. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Marshall, T. H. (2009): ‘Citizenship and Social Class’ in Manza, Jeff & Michael Sauder (eds.), Inequality and Society. New York: W. W. Norton & Co. McDuie-Ra, Duncan (2012): Northeast Migrants in Delhi: Race, Refuge and Retail. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Mezzadra, Sandro (n.d.): Citizen and Subject: Post-Colonial Constitution for the European Union?, (mimeo). Misra, Bani Prasanna (1986): ‘Behind Gorkhaland Agitation’ in Mainstream, 25(7), 1 November, pp. 15–20. Mukherjee, Shyamaprasad (2011): ‘Ghisinger Tinti Tara Ebang Natun Ashantir Ashanka’ in Uttarbanga Sambad, 13 April. Mukhopadhyay, Rajatsubhra (2007): ‘Tension and Anxiety Over Proposed Sixth Schedule For Darjeeling Hills’ in Debnath, Sailen (ed.), Social and Political Tensions in North Bengal (since 1947). Siliguri: National Library Publishers, pp. 118–130. Nag, Soumen (2005): Prasanga Gorkhaland: Sikkim Bhutan Nepal Tibbat (in Bengali) [The Context of Gorkhaland: Sikkim Bhutan Nepal Tibet]. Kolkata: Saptarshi.

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National Commission for Women (2013): Report on the Discrimination and Challenges which women from the NER face in Metro Cities across India. Publication Data not available. Nepal, Padam & Ambika Thami (2011): ‘Democracy’s Marginal Citizen: The Failed Demands for Recognition and Perpetual Marginalisation of the Thamis in Darjeeling Hills and Sikkim, India’ in Journal of Political Studies, An Annual Journal of the Department of Political Science, University of North Bengal, 5, March 2001, pp. 61–73. North East Committee Under the Chairmanship of M. P. Bezbaruah (2014): Report of the Committee under the Chairmanship of M. P. Bezbaruah to Look into the Concerns of the People of the North East Living in Other Parts of the Country. Publication Data not available. O’Donoghue, Brendon (2011): The Poetics of Homecoming: Heidegger, Homelessness and the Homecoming Venture. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars’ Press. Oraon, Kaku Baba (2011): ‘Gorkhaland Chukti: Abodher Go Badhe Ananda’, letter to the editor, in Aajkal, 22 July. Pradhan, Tushar (2010): ‘Gurungder Pahad Chhede Palanor Janya Toiri Hote Ballen Ghising’ in Uttarbanga Sambad, 3 May. Roy, Anupama (2010): Mapping Citizenship in India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Roy, Anupama & Ujjwal Kumar Singh (2009): ‘The Ambivalence of Citizenship: The IMDT Act (1983) and the Politics of Forclusion in Assam’ in Critical Asian Studies, 41(1). Samanta, Amiya Kumar (2000): Gorkhaland Movement: A Study in Ethnic Separatism. New Delhi: A. B. H. Publishing Corporation. Subba, Lt. Col. M. S. (n.d.): ‘Language of the Gorkhas’ in Rai, Rajendra Dumi (ed.), Bhasha: Nepali Ki Gorkha? (in Gorkhali/English) [The Language: Nepali or Gorkhali?]. Darjeeling: Rajendra Dumi Rai, pp. 63–68. Subba, P. B. (n.d.): ‘Gorkha Jatiko Gorkha Bhasha’(in Gorkhali) [Gorkha Language of the Gorkha Nation/ality] in Rai, Rajendra Dumi (ed.), Bhasha: Nepali Ki Gorkha? (in Gorkhali/English) [The Language: Nepali or Gorkhali?]. Darjeeling: Rajendra Dumi Rai, pp. 16–22. Subba, Tanka B. (1992): Ethnicity, State and Development: A Case Study of the Gorkhaland Movement in Darjeeling. New Delhi: Har-Anand Publications in Association with Vikas Publishing House Pvt Ltd. Verghese, B. G. (1997): India’s Northeast Resurgent: Ethnicity, Insurgency, Governance, Development. New Delhi: Konark. Weiner, Myron (1976): Sons of the Soil: Migration and Ethnic Conflict in India. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press.

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4 LIVING THE ‘ABSENCE’ 1

Much of what is written on identity politics in India and outside is informed by the well-known binary between what Ernesto Laclau calls ‘a sense of lack’ (Laclau 1994: 1–10) or absence that the communities aspiring for an identity feel, they suffer from and the consequent practice of coming to terms with – if not making good – that lack or absence. While any quest for identity has its origins in the collectively perceived sense of lack, every community seeks to replenish it by engaging in some form of social and political practice. Thus, according to Mukhopadhyay, the Rajbanshi/Kamatapur movement grew out of a sense of ‘deprivation’ and ‘hardship’: The major sentiment articulated in favour of Kamtapur movement is – apart from other existing socio-economic disparities and deprivation, the Rajbanshis, being an indigenous community, are at present facing a lot of hardships and are fast losing their ethnic identity, culture, language and civilizational attributes under pressure of alien Bengalis (Bhatias) who mostly came from downstream region of southern East Bengal to this territory. This fresh surge of consciousness has provoked them to demand a separate statehood and ‘self-rule’ over an area that covers all North Bengal districts. (Mukhopadhyay 2005: 260) Mukhopadhyay’s comment aptly sums up the findings of most of the state-of-the-art research on the subject. This chapter seeks to tell a different story – beyond that of lack and absence – and find out how absence and lack are not simply what the community is subjected to till it reacts as a consequence and seeks to replenish it, but how the community exercises its agency even while remaining absent, how lack and absence too can become active and are constituted, lived 129

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and experienced through a kind of politics that, as I will argue, often escapes our attention. Viewed in this sense, the chapter proposes to understand absence not through the usual trajectory of denial and exclusion that a community faces in the society, but through the practice of constituting its own absence, by becoming an active subject while erasing its presence – without necessarily attempting to replenish the lack and register its presence.

The absence By all accounts, a community marks its presence by asserting its identity and through a process widely known as ‘identification’. Identification is what connects a community to the social whole of which it is supposed to be only a part. Identity and identification also serve as a technology of governance in modern times, first, by fashioning and calling into existence a ‘systemic whole’ – within which relations amongst (wo)men, animals, nature, things and so forth are conducted, and, second, by exercising control over the access and distribution of resources. Thanks to the coming into being of the ‘social whole’, a group exists not only in itself, but for the society, that is to say, in relation to others and relationality is as it were stamped on the elements that constitute the society. The argument of identity/identification corresponds to the Hegelian distinction between difference per se and differentiation: we use the term difference in the same sense of ‘diversity’ (also translated by some of his translators as ‘variety’). According to him, diversity is what the things left to themselves individually are and the things, according to this principle, remain unaffected by the relation in which they stand to each other. Since difference is external to the things that are different from each other, it requires a ‘third party’ – other than the things themselves – to appreciate their difference. Thus to cite an instance, no majority community in South Asia seems to have any problem with the minority Blacks of the US, although they may have problem with the minorities living in their respective countries. But the term ‘differentiation’ is used here in the sense of ‘opposition’. For, in the case of opposition, each of the things considered as different is different only in relation to the other much in the same way as the other is different from it. The mutual opposition is constitutive of the very identity of things. The things that are differentiated therefore presuppose the existence of a ‘systemic whole’ (Harris 1993: 87) within which their mutual opposition is played out and makes sense. Almost as an echo, Dumont (1980) views the caste society in India 130

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as an integral whole that contains within it the opposition between the pure and the impure with a wide variety of their combinations between them. Identity and identification acquire a ‘use value’ and become a technology of governance. Sanyal and Iqbal named their only daughter as ‘Ananyacheta’ (literally one who has a mind unique to her own) significantly without a surname. Theirs was an inter-community marriage and they deliberately decided that the name of their daughter should not carry any ‘religious association’: “Surnames carry religious association. So we preferred not to append a surname to her name”(Sanyal & Iqbal 2013: 14). As the child grows up and acquires the school-going age, they find it difficult to get her admitted into any school because she does not have a surname. Even authorities of a school asked them how her body would be disposed of after her death (Sanyal & Iqbal 2013: 14). In other words, this example shows tellingly that one has to have a ‘religious association’ in order that one can obtain admission into a school much in the same way as the Unique Identification Number – again a mark of identification – is a must for gaining access to subsidized cooking gas cylinders and other welfare benefits. While we often describe the modern era – framed in the PostEnlightenment narrative – as one marked by an unprecedented concern for identity and often identification, we often lose sight of the parallel process of dis-identification that this era brings in its wake. Dis-identification in psychoanalysis implies an exercise in subjectivity – “either to state that the existing identifications are not who you are or that you are more than any of them”.2 We, on the other hand, propose to redefine it as a process whereby a community aspiring for an identity is deprived of the very conditions that would have otherwise enabled it to embrace such an identity. It may respond to such impasse either by agitating for creating such conditions that are conducive to the assertion of its identity or by doing the opposite of exercising its agency by rendering itself unidentifiable and thereby marking its absence in the ‘systemic whole’. While the resistance that the lowcaste groups and communities face from the upper castes while trying to sanskritize themselves is much too well-recorded to be recounted here, there is very little – if anything – in the existing literature that reflects on how the perennially unstable and uncertain nature of a group’s location constantly situates it on a critical node pointing to irreducibly multifarious directions of identification and social mobility and the possibilities are illimitable. The community is as it were, precariously perched on a node of illimitable possibilities – illimitable because each node remains wide open without ever being actualized. 131

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At one level, all these possibilities are present and the community in question can potentially actualize all of them. At another, all of them are also absent in the sense that these possibilities are serially denied to it. How then does the community negotiate its everyday life and live (with) the absence of possibilities? Its life becomes an embodiment of absence. We propose to develop the argument with reference to the Rajbanshis of North Bengal. In the existing literature on the subject, Rajbanshis’ search for identity is viewed predominantly in a negative way and dismissed as a failure on their part in achieving the identity that they sought to establish for themselves over the years. The ‘failure’ of course was forced on them by the conditions that seemed hostile to the realization of what they would consider as their identity albeit at different points of time. But the so-called failure, as we will argue, has lent to their politics, a mobility that prevents it from arriving at any given station in the society. Since communities such as the Rajbanshis are constantly on the move without having successfully arrived at any station thus remaining metaphorically nomadic at all times, their politics is marked by endless itineration without any final destination – a form of nomadic existence. Since they are not stationed anywhere, they have been unable to mark their presence and remain absent in the society. They are thus illustrative of what I prefer to call permanent nomads who have no definitive identity to clutch on to and project vis-à-vis others. We map their absence along the two well-known registers of identity politics, namely, caste and ethnicity. If dis-identification is what makes the Rajbanshis perennially itinerant at least during the last one and half centuries, it also takes off from them any identity and reduces them albeit figuratively to their body – bare, pure and unmediated – unidentifiable by any of the given markers and protocols of governance circulating in the society. Accordingly, the chapter is divided into main sections highlighting their mobility and body respectively. Politics of the mobile Numerically the Rajbanshis are the third largest Hindu caste in West Bengal constituting 28 percent of the total population. Rajbanshis are numerically the majority presently accounting for about 60 percent of rural population of North Bengal and the ‘earliest settlers’ in the region (Jana 2012: 313). In 1901 when the Rajbanshis were enumerated in the census as ‘the Koch’ – a tribal community – there was protest against the decision by the leaders of the community 132

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who claimed Rajbanshi Kshatriya status. One should also recollect that this was also the time when many other communities like the Naths (or the Jugis), Shils (the barbers) and Namashudras (the most numerous peasant caste of Bengal) also aspired for Kshatriyahood in North Bengal. The principle of differentiation, according to Hegel, imposes on the things that are supposed to be differentiated, the obligation of being different – not in any way – but only in a socially recognized way. The Rajbanshis have been asserting their identity for more than a century through their attempts at transforming themselves into such Hindu castes as the Kshatriyas or the Vaishyas in order that they could secure recognition from the ‘mainstream’ Hindu caste society. On 27 Magh 1319 BS (January–February AD 1912), the Rajbanshis first organized the ceremony of adopting scared thread by the river Karatoya at Debiganj in the district of Jalpaiguri under the leadership of Thakur Panchanan Barma (1866–1935). The claim to Kshatriyahood continues to be as strong especially amongst a section of Rajbanshi intellectuals. Sukhobilas Barma refers to a postcard (dated 4 August 2001) which he received from one of those who had heard two or three of his speeches to the community. The writer sharply reacted against the current attempts at conferring dalit (literally the downtrodden and therefore deserving caste-based affirmative action or reservation of seats and posts in government-run and governmentaided educational institutions and government offices respectively) identity on the Rajbanshis and reaffirmed their Kshatriya identity in the following terms: I have heard your lectures in two or three meetings. Do not bring in the dalit context – whatever opinion you express about the Kamatapuris [the inhabitants of the land that once constituted the historic Kamatapur Kingdom, which includes many other communities alongside the Rajbanshis]. Rajbanshis can never be dalits. We are the ruling race of this region. We have our political history which the Bengali Bhatiyas [people from the downstream or the Southerners] had never had. If we cry out identifying ourselves as dalits, the Bhatiyas will hate us more. Do not go to any assembly of the dalits, do not bring in the Rajbanshis to any context that will add to our indignity. The poor amongst us have been taking the advantage of reservation – let them; but do not add to our indignity by claiming us as dalits. (quoted in Barma, Sukhobilas 2002: 179) 133

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Interestingly their claim to Kshatriyahood was considered by Thakur Panchanan as a pledge ‘to dedicate the Rajbanshis to entire India’ (samagra Bharat). Acquiring Kshatriyahood is the means by which the Rajbanshis are expected to become eligible for the work for the country that is destined for them. That is how they project their role in the ‘systemic whole’. By all accounts, Rajbanshi search for Kshatriyahood met with little success inasmuch as the upper castes had hardly had ever accorded recognition to their claim, while many from their own community were insistent on re-invoking and retaining their tribal identity. The immigration of ‘the upper caste gentry’ guided as they were by the Brahmanical values – from outside North Bengal – brought about some sort of a tectonic shift in the society in a way that the Rajbanshis “failed to get a respectable position in the status estimation of these immigrant caste groups” (Basu 2003: 62–3 ff.). By 1947, the search for Kshatriyahood, according to Basu, “lost its vigour and dynamism” (Basu 2003: 23). The movement, as he argues, also introduced an element of schism between the ‘Rajbanshi elite’ and ‘their relatively backward caste brethren’. As he puts it: The advanced group among the Rajbanshis, whom we may refer to in the absence of a better term, as the Rajbanshi ‘elites’, followed the upper caste Hindus of the region in dress, lifestyle, marriage, customs, and religious practices. Discarding the traditional clothes, both men and women dressed in the fashion dressed in the fashion of the upper castes in society. In this group, there were now also restrictions on the movement of women who were not allowed to work in the field, or go to market to sell goods, nor were they permitted to talk freely to unknown men either at home or outside. So far as marriage customs were concerned, except phul biha i.e. the regular form of marriage, all other irregular forms were proscribed for them. Widow remarriage was not allowed either. In religious practices, the gods and goddesses of upper caste Hindus had taken the place of the traditional local deities. They had also started to follow idolatry and Brahmin priests were invited to officiate in their religious ceremonies. All these emulative tendencies of the Rajbanshi elites distinguished them from the more backward sections of the community and a result, social equality which had previously existed among them gradually disappeared and was replaced by a system of 134

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caste differentiation. These elites even suspended social relations with their relatively backward caste brethren, leading to a clear socio-cultural divide within the community. (Basu 2003: 46–47) On the other hand, Debendranath Barma – an intellectual from the community – observes that Rajbanshis are ‘in reality’ not Kshatriyas, but belong to the Indo-Mongoloid family of races. The followers of Manu (Manuwadis) have “imposed Brahmanical culture on them” (Barma 2009: 21) and the Rajbanshis were “inspired to intensively incorporate Brahmanical values and practices for a purified social image” (Sarkar 2006: 155). The fiasco of Kshatriyaization aptly illustrates how the Rajbanshis were almost effectively dis-identified. If dis-identification is what keeps the Rajbanshis from being part of the ‘systemic whole’ represented by a caste society, the same process is as much active in their search for ethnicity and linguistic identity. Girindranarayan Roy argues that almost as a rebound effect of abortive Kshatriyaization, there grew the realization amongst the Rajbanshi intellectuals that increasing assimilation into the ‘Bengali Hindu society’ would lead them either to inevitable disappearance or to total subordination (Roy 2003: 11) – neither of which holds good prospect for them. It was from then onwards that the emphasis of the movement started shifting towards the assertion of the distinctiveness of their identity in the field of “language, culture and literature” (Roy 2003: 12). This search for an ethnic and linguistic identity was in a sense prompted by the seemingly failed history of the search for Kshatriyahood. According to Barma, the language had to suffer political machinations first in the hands of ‘the Muslims’ and then in 1950 with the merger of Cooch Behar in West Bengal, the parts of the erstwhile Kamata state were split into Assam and West Bengal. The ‘invasion’ of Bengali language from the South dealt yet another blow insofar as Bengali became the official language of West Bengal thereby turning Kamatapuri into ‘a dialect’ (upabhasha) of Bengali (Barma 1407 BS: 10). Sanyal – one of the earliest historical anthropologists to write on the Rajbanshis – however argues back in the 1960s that their language is only a chalit bhasha (dialect) of Bengali. The tradition of repudiation continues. Nirmal Das concludes that although this “language is different from colloquial Bengali, one [who knows Bengali] does not find it too difficult to understand it” (Das 1984: 18). He detects that, in the 1981 Census, some ‘Bengalis’ have returned Kamatapuri as their 135

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mother tongue. In a derogatory reference to the advocates of Rajbanshi language as ‘Rajbanshi-wallahs’ he argues that they are bent on getting “the status of a full language” (purna bhashar maryada) while “from the standpoint of Linguistics, the language of this area is nothing but a dialect of Bengali language” (Das 1984: 24). In an interview, Girija Shankar Roy reveals that when he first tried to establish in his doctoral thesis back in 1967 that Rajbanshi is a language per se and not a dialect, he was warned by his supervisor in the following terms: If you write this paper, you will face grave challenges. Your writing will be looked down upon as that of an activist and not of an academician. . . . Besides, there is no point in doing this as long as Sukumar Sen [the eminent linguist who used to teach at the University of Calcutta] is alive, for, he will not let you do this and obtain your degree.3 Even naming the language has been a bone of contention amongst the Rajbanshi ideologues. Those who are in favour of naming it as ‘Kamatapuri’ argue that this name would lend to their identity its broad-based character by way of including all those who today live in the land which once constituted the historic kingdom of Kamatapur. This would include not only the Rajbanshis but also many other groups and communities. Nandy, a left intellectual, for instance, observes: Who are they (the sons of the soil) and what is their language? There is a large section of peasantry that has been working here for centuries after centuries as the royals (rajpurush). Beside this, there have developed such occupational groups as potters, ironsmiths, weavers etc. Even the Brahmins. Thousands of such people have migrated to North Bengal from the district of Rangpur [now in Bangladesh] and surrounding districts after Partition. Add to it these groups, the Nasya4 and Suryapuri Muslims whose language and living culture (krishti) are not different from theirs. According to me, these people together have formed a nationality (jati) separate from the Bengalis. There has emerged a mindless controversy on the name of this nationality and its language. Some people call it Rajbanshi, some Kamatapuri, some moving in the upper echelons call it East Kamarupi (purba Kamarupi). For me, naming it as Rajbanshi will undermine its spread and reality. (Nandy 2011: 21–22) 136

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On the other hand, Debendranath Barma strongly feels that the name of the language should be Rajbanshi and naming it as Kamatapuri is “irrational, unethical and unhistorical” because historically this language has been known as Rajbanshi language: “For long this language has been the bond (bandhan) of the Rajbanshi society” (Barma 2011: ka). If this language is replaced by Kamatapuri, “the Rajbanshi community will lose its national (jatigata) and linguistic distinctiveness and will face identity crisis” (Barma 2011: 41). As he argues: The language of the Assamese community is Asomiya – the language of Asomiya has not been named after the Assam province . . . whereas the mother tongue of the inhabitants (Muslims, Bavan, Nepali community) is Rajbanshi – the language of their smile and tears – the one through which one expresses one’s happiness and woes, why has there been the necessity of changing the name from Rajbanshi to ‘Kamatapuri’? The question is: Why has he omitted the Bengalis? Do Bengalis not communicate the state of their mind (bhav) in Rajbanshi – other than Bengali? A community naturally adopts the language of another as a result of cohabitation with the Rajbanshi] people and speaks their mind; this is only normal. (Barma 2011: 33) When the very name of the language is in dispute, the nature of their language becomes all the more problematic. The naming controversy only attests to the permanently fluid nature of their identity. Bharatiya interestingly raises the question: whether the Rajbanshis will “sleep till the language is decisively named” or will they instead try to develop the language irrespective of the name given to it (Bharatiya 2004– 2005: 88), little realizing that there are ways of remaining awake other than trying to develop the language. We will refer to some of them in the following section. Politics of the body Rajbanshis’ search for identity turns out to be perpetually mobile – without an end – notwithstanding that it has frequently changed its registers and trajectories. The persistent denials and exclusions make them what Prodhani calls a ‘displaced’ community (Prodhani 2000: 5) – a community, that is, never a being – but is caught as it were in an endless process of becoming. The presence of the community is 137

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perpetually deferred. To reframe the question in a Foucauldian way, their quest for identity produces a surplus that cannot be governmentalized into an identity. Their dis-identification in history has given them the scope for celebrating their perpetually mobile nature. Inasmuch as they move perpetually, they refuse to be appropriated by any of the given protocols of identification and differentiation. Dis-identification correspondingly renders them ungovernable. As dis-identification takes off from them, their identity, it reduces the Rajbanshis figuratively to their body – a kind of bare, pure and unmediated body – unidentifiable by any of the known markers and protocols of caste or ethnicity. Body politics is the opposite of identification; it involves, as I argue, dis-identification. The process of disidentification deprives the subject of the possibilities of identification and reduces it to what it is – its bare body.

Theorizing caste and body In the existing literature on caste, body is seldom identified as an object of research. In fact, there is reason to believe that early studies in the ideology of castes has almost overshadowed the field in a way that makes it difficult for us to turn our attention to human body in its pure state as the site where caste ideology exercises its hegemony and etches itself by way of investing it with varying grades of purity or for that matter pollution. The little that has been written on it focuses more on how the body is subjected to caste rules and protocols, how these rules and protocols discipline the body, particularly of the dalits, in a way that also takes away from it its stridency and ability to resist, how the body of the dalitbahujan, in other words, becomes docile and is pressed into the service of the Brahmins. Sekhar Bandyopadhyay (2014: 32–47) shows how the ‘frail’ and ‘effeminate’ upper castes of Bengal depended for their protection on the ‘virile’ heroes of the dalits and how the alliances and networks that developed in Bengal between such upper and middle castes as the Brahmins, Baidyas and Kayasthas on the one hand and the Namashudras and Bagdis on the other reduced the volume of untouchability. Their dependence, as he informs us, could never undermine the hierarchy that otherwise obtains between them. The principle of birth and heredity that has hitherto governed the Hindu caste system has, according to Ambedkar, contributed to inbreeding and genetic decay and thereby stunted the body of the Hindus in India. Dr. B. R. Ambedkar, in his address on Annihilation of Caste that he prepared for the 1936 Conference of the Jat-Pat-Todak 138

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Mandal but could not deliver “owing to the cancellation of the Conference by the Reception Committee on the ground that the views expressed in the Speech would be unbearable to this Conference”, observes that human species is essentially one and their division into diverse races, castes, ethnicities and so forth is a “gross perversion of facts”. Much of his reference to how the essential oneness of human species gets ‘perverted’ alludes to the science of modern eugenics. He takes great pains to argue that Caste System has “stunted the stature” of the body of the Hindus and left it always “wanting in stamina” (Ambedkar 1944: 39). As he puts it: To argue that the Caste System was eugenic in its conception is to attribute to the forefathers of the present-day Hindus a knowledge of heredity which even the modern scientists do not possess. A tree should be judged by the fruits it yields. If caste is eugenic what sort of a race of men it should have produced? Physically speaking Hindus are a C3 people. They are a race of Pygmies and dwarfs stunted in stature and wanting in stamina. It is a nation 9/10ths of which is declared to be unfit for military service. This shows that Caste System does not embody the eugenics of modern scientists. It is [a] social system which embodies the arrogance and selfishness of a perverse section of the Hindus who were superior enough in social status to set in fashion and who had the authority to force it on their inferiors. (Ambedkar 1944: 38–39) On the other hand, there have also been attempts – particularly on the part of the dalit intellectuals – to ‘liberate’ and set free the body from the discipline of caste rules and protocols. Kancha Ilaiah, for instance, argues that the body of a ‘dalitbahujan’ presents itself in its ‘naturalness’ (Ilaiah 2002: 34). What Ilaiah calls ‘naturalness’ is to be distinguished from Ambedkar’s notion of ‘efficiency’. ‘Efficiency’ that may be of use for the society at large, as Ambedkar points out, is not intrinsic to the body, although it first of all presupposes the ‘liberation’ of human body from the obligation of complying with the caste rules and protocols. He looks upon human body as a site where efficiency will have to be carefully cultivated and such cultivation requires a new mode of disciplining of human body. We will return to this point in the last section of this chapter. Between complete disciplining of human body by the caste society and its complete ‘liberation’ from caste rules and protocols lies the 139

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argument that even a caste society leaves room for negotiation with the caste rules and norms and with it the relative reconstitution of human body. Chatterjee in one of his papers draws our attention to the limits of such ‘liberation’ framed within the context of caste society and the historical specificities and contingencies that define any act of ‘insubordination’ by the subalterns (Chatterjee 1989: 169–209). By contrast, the ethnography of Gorringe and Rafanell emphasizes on how individuals negotiate with the caste ideology that seeks constantly to inscribe itself on human body. In a caste society, if the body is subjected to the protocols and disciplines of governance, then – as Gorringe and Rafanell point out – it is also “continuously reconstituted rather than internalized at an early age” (Gorringe & Rafanel 2007: 107). Their case study shows how these rules and protocols are neither given nor unalterable, how notwithstanding the disciplinary rules both dalit individual and collective subjects bend and redefine them from time to time and assert their subjectivity. What Ilaiah calls ‘naturalness’ does not mean that a bare body is necessarily ‘natural’ and therefore free from the obligation of complying with the caste rules and protocols. Caste society enumerates and enforces the codes in detail while seeking to chisel the body and render it governable whether ritually or by energizing the caste economy or both. The bareness of the body does not necessarily imply its freedom from coding and disciplining in a caste society. The imperative that persons belonging to some lower castes in some parts of India were/are required to keep only the part from their waist to the knees covered is imposed by the caste society. For them, bareness is stamped on them by the caste society. Bareness may be integral to caste protocol insofar as it defines the very identity of a particular caste – indeed its lower ritual status. It is unfortunate that not much research has been conducted on how the human body is disciplined, honed and chiselled through the rules and practices of Hindu caste system and with what effects on the society at large. In this chapter, I propose to turn the focus of our attention to human body – most importantly its physical and mental features – and how the body is sought to be governed by subjecting it to the caste rules and protocols and most importantly against resistance. I will make a reference to the Rajbanshis of North Bengal – particularly the initiative of such Rajbanshi intellectuals as Thakur Panchanan Barma – who, as we have already seen, fought hard for securing Kshatriyahood for their community towards the end of the nineteenth century and in the early twentieth century. While such initiatives, as

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we will see, had had the effect of introducing newer sources of division within the community, it at one level disrupted the unity that seems to have hitherto held them together and at another level triggered a series of attempts by them to reconstitute themselves into a body. Thakur Panchanan’s insistence on Kshatriyaization was complemented by his call for reconstituting the Rajbanshis into a social body. Both Kshatriyaization and reconstitution mark two largely overlapping moments in the body politics of the Rajbanshis. On the other hand, as the body of the Rajbanshis refuses to remain compliant with the caste rules and practices, it marks the arrival of the third moment. We define ‘moment’ not as a stage in history, but in the sense in which Hegel has used the term as a configuration of forces.

Reconstituting the Rajbanshis into a body Girindranarayan Roy – himself coming from a landed Rajbanshi family of jotdars – remembers that the adhiars (sharecroppers) and the agricultural labour working in their jots (landed estates) – although belonging to a different class – were considered as part of their family, dining and lunching with them, taking the same food and the female members of their family would not mind cleaning the utensils used by them. They would even rebuke and punish the children of the family, help organize pujas (worship) in the family for which ritual purity is a must. He argues that this would never be the case in respect of the Hindu jotdars of the then East Bengal who would have utmost contempt for the Muslim adhiars and agricultural labour. This is the reason why class confrontation with the tenants was always alien to the Rajbanshi history even when parts of North Bengal stood in revolt against the jotdars during the Naxalite movement in the late sixties. Similarly, Sen and Dutta report: “Both jotdars and adhiyars belonged to the same community. Jotdars were at the same time cultivators” (Sen & Dutta mimeo n.d.). In a somewhat anecdotal style, Kartik Chandra Sutradhar recollects: In my childhood, I used to hear from my father that the Rajbanshi jotdars of this region are very kind (dayalu). If a refugee [read immigrant] or a helpless one comes to them with an earthen pot of curd and a fish, they would be pleased and give them a plot of land. If necessary, they would provide (money) for the construction of their home for living. (Sutradhar 2013: 210)

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Girindranarayan Roy further recollects that during his childhood the adhiars would remain in the family as family members – as much as their parents were.5 Amar Roy Pradhan in his recently published autobiography points out that these adhiars are addressed as ‘uncles’ (chacha, kaka) though of course he argues strongly that their being part of the family would never reduce their poverty and hunger (Ray Pradhan 2012: 23). As the new land system was introduced and land was exposed to market forces (discussed in the Introduction), the signs of division were visible within the Rajbanshi society. In his famous essay ‘Kamata Behari Sahitya’, Thakur Panchanan imagines the Rajbanshis as one – as a territorially bounded body spreading across such areas as parts of Dinajpur, Jalpaiguri, Cooch Behar of then undivided Bengal, Dhubri and Goalpara of Assam Province and regretted that although they formed a territorially bounded body they were during his time fragmented into several administrative setups – districts, provinces and subdivisions. But they, according to Barma, still take the pride in declaring that they belong to ‘the same land’ (ekdeshbasi) so much so that the people of Jalpaiguri greet the people of Goalpara as their own (apnar lok) and give them a place at the corner of their heart (Barman 2001: 105).

Disciplining the Rajbanshi body In a caste society, body is subjected to the protocols and disciplines of governance. Even the ‘bare body’ does not necessarily imply its freedom from coding and disciplining in a caste society. The imperative that persons belonging to some lower castes in some parts of South India were/are to keep only the lower torso of their body under cover is imposed by the caste society. Bareness in this instance is as it were stamped on them by the caste society. We have already noted that in 1912 the Rajbanshis first organized the ceremony of adopting sacred thread by the river Karatoya at Debiganj in the district of Jalpaiguri under the leadership of Thakur Panchanan. Acquiring Kshatriyahood, for him, is the means through which the Rajbanshis are expected to become eligible for the work destined for them. But in order to become eligible, the Rajbanshis need to educate themselves. Education, as Thakur Panchanan understood, is divided into many parts – moral education, education in being part of the fraternity (sampreeti), social education, religious education, etc. (Barman 2001: 30). By all accounts, from 1329 BS there was near anarchic situation in parts of Bengal with the sudden spurt in 142

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the crimes like sexual assault, abduction and rape of ‘Hindu women’. Names such as Baroda Sundari, Radhamoni Burmoni, Ghritakumari Baishnabi and Kanduri Burmoni used to circulate amongst the people as the hapless victims of rape and sexual assault. Thakur Panchanan exasperatingly remarked: “There is no rule, no justice from the King. How does the society (samaj) survive?” (Barman 2001: 31). In the 13th session of the Kshatriya Samiti (the congregation of the Kshatriyas) that he himself established in Rangpur (now in Bangladesh), Panchanan Barma observed: Criminals humiliate women. We need to appoint volunteers for defence (rakshasevak) by training them in the lathi (stick) play and making them parade like the soldiers do during war. Being fearful and compelled by [the dictates of] others is downfall (adhahpatan). We will not attack anybody. We have to create rakshasevakdal [a corpse of volunteers for defence] to save ourselves and the attacked. (Barman 2001: 31) Being Kshatriyas, the Rajbanshis – as Thakur Panchanan felt – will have to cultivate such virtues as prowess, valour, enterprise, zing, forgiveness, truthfulness to one’s roots (dhriti), ability to punish the wicked and render service to the suffering – all, according to him, are characteristic of the Kshatriyas (Barman 2001: 33). He seems to define his caste not in terms of birth, but in terms of ‘quality’ that it is supposed to embody. Only right kind of education can render the Rajbanshis eligible to become Kshatriyas. As he puts it: Military education is the true and principal education of the Kshatriyas. Physical might is as much important as the method of commanding the army. From ancient times, the party that is just has been waging war against the unjust party. As long as the [human] nature of doing harm to others does not go away, war will not come to an end. Earlier, the people doing injustice were ordinarily punished in a contentious war (dwandwayuddha). Today in order to defend them, their kinsmen, countrymen (and) friends from other countries join in. Today new weapons and new technologies of killing the enemies have been invented. Those (countries) which are militarily stronger have been settling interstate conflicts by waging war on weaker states. Therefore as long as human beings are yet to achieve perfection, there will be the possibility of war. 143

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For this it is absolutely essential to acquire strength and learn the tactics of war. In India, Kshatriyas have always defended the country. Brothers! You have been born into that lineage of the Kshatriyas, do defend for self-defence and the glory of your clan (vamsa). (Barman 2001: 184) For him education was immensely important. As he says: Friends! I am humbly soliciting before you a hundred times with folded palms, please do provide education to your children. If everything (all your resources) gets exhausted or you have to resort to begging for this while providing education to them, then be it. Yet should not keep them as illiterates (murkha). (Barman 2001: 181) By all accounts Rajbanshi search for Kshatriyahood, as noted earlier, met with little success inasmuch as the upper castes had hardly had ever accorded recognition to their claim, while many from their own community were insistent on reclaiming the body and subjecting it to the rigours of Brahmanical discipline. Gradually ‘soul power’ overtakes the military power, and the plea for cultivating the human body through physical and military education is replaced by ‘penance and meditation’ as the technology of disciplining the body. Upendra Nath Barman – one of Thakur Panchanan’s illustrious disciples – wrote the history of the Rajbanshi community. Umanandan Prajnaranjan Panchanan alias Pramod Ranjan Ray,6 while introducing the fifth edition of this immensely popular book, wrote: This animal world, this world of human beings is the overt expression of the soul. The body that holds the soul becomes as much powerful, vigourous and influential as its soul becomes more clean and powerful. Although it appears the same, power expresses itself in different degrees. Although bulbs of forty watts and hundred watts look the same, their difference is detected in their incandescence, this is the power of the soul and this power is acquired by embracing some action. Activism is the source of power. Activism is the name of life. . . . The proof of the soul power lies in subjecting soul to [the regimen of] meditation. The radiation of power from

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within the soul becomes possible only through penance and meditation. (Panchanan 2011, page number not mentioned) Rajbanshi body thus becomes a site of contest. While Thakur Panchanan’s search for Kshatriyahood prompts him to emphasize on the physical and military aspect of its training and education, a section of his disciples seems to submit it increasingly to the strict regimen of Brahmanism.

The bare body The perpetually endless nature of their search for identity not only deprives the Rajbanshi community of any ‘fixed and frozen’ identity at any given point of time – Kshatriya or linguistic identity – but reduces them to their body insofar as the body is unhinged from the imperative of having an identity.7 Debesh Roy in his epic novel (1990) entitled Teestaparer Brittanta (Chronicles by the Teesta banks) describes Bagharu – the protagonist belonging to the Rajbanshi community – as a naked figure wearing only a piece of loin cloth – naked not so much in the sense that he does not have any cloth to wear, which is also otherwise true, but very much in the deeper sense that he has a body that no cloth can cover: a body that is emblematic of resolute refusal of the governmental grids of disciplining and caste identity that society exhorts them to identify with. This body is neither the hapless homo sacer as Agamben would have us believe, nor one that renders itself available for being governed as Foucault argues, but is a subject that is constituted “as an entity that lasts, that is to say that endures sustainable changes and transformation” (Braidotti 2006: 2). Bagharu in Debesh Roy’s dense and voluminous prose (1990) is the naked figure – both figuratively and literally – a body without any trace of clothing, leave alone ornamentation. At one level, he stands as the unrepresented or – may we say unrepresentable body – bare, pure and unmediated – so much so that he himself denies that he is Rajbanshi or Bhatiya, a member of the Uttarkhanda Party (the party that emerged in the 1980s as the spokesman of the Rajbanshi community as we will have occasion to discuss in the concluding chapter) or even one of its flag-bearers. He wears no badge to represent anyone, for he does not have any piece of cloth on his body where the badge could be pinned. If he wants to enter a meeting, he is asked to show his identity and is pushed out when he is sighted only with his nengti around

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the waist.8 He stands as a lump of flesh – a mass of irrepressible and pure energy – that cannot be directed towards any party, procession or meeting through which the Rajbanshi voice can be articulated. He is not only voiceless, but his resolute voicelessness also constantly refuses to be represented through any other voice. Bagharu’s body does not belong to anyone. He does not have the body – he is the body. As Debesh Roy describes him: Language is indeed meaning. Bagharu has no meaning. For Bagharu, it is only living (bancha) and living, which is only life (jiban) and life. Language implies some form of ornament. Bagharu has not the thinnest cover from his hair on the head to toenail excepting a nengti. Where does one get such a naked language (nagna bhasha) as that of Bagharu? Language implies a name. Bagharu has no name. He keeps changing as he changes his work – Kudania [one who collects], Bagharu [one who kills a tiger], Pathriya [who crushes stones], Moishal [who tends buffaloes] – there is no end to his this becoming (hoye otha). (Roy 1990: 180–181) Elsewhere in the same novel, Debesh Roy also describes him as ‘Rajbanshi body’ (Rajbanshi Sarir). One wonders whether ‘Rajbanshi’ is the prefix that qualifies the body. I argue that being a Rajbanshi robs the body of its clothing and ornamentation and keeps it utterly naked and perpetually unrepresentable with the potential of refusing to be represented. His names multiply as he performs different kinds of work. In the words of Rosi Braidotti: “The life in ‘me’ does not answer to my name: ‘I’ is just passing” (Braidotti 2006: 141). That is why Bagharu is not only unnamed – but unnamable. His is not any ordinary question of having to identify with his community or give him a name. His question is much more elementary and fundamental – one of transcendence from the subhuman form to a human form. Bagharu cannot be categorized by any of our known categories and names – neither identifiable as a member of any ethnic community nor the proletariat. Girindranarayan Roy explains that the use of the prefix ‘Rajbanshi’ in order to qualify the body is significant for it reminds us that there is indeed a binary between our body and their body, between the body of the Bengali Bhadraloks (the gentlemen) and that of the Rajbanshis.9 The way Bagharu becomes part of nature (and his nakedness 146

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contributes to this organic integration with nature) is unlike the Bengalis. The Bengali body allows itself to be groomed and chiselled, disciplined to become useful for the society; on the other hand, Bagharu’s body refuses to be disciplined and stands as a reminder of the essential distinction between what Bagharu can and we cannot, what he is capable of and what we are not. Our body is rendered exploitable through the disciplinary technologies of our time; Bagharu’s body can never be made useful and convenient to the society. In Roy’s famous language, Bagharu “remains within the society without being part of it”. He compares Bagharu’s “society-independent nature” (samajniralamba bhav) with trees and birds. Bagharu’s is a brute and savage body – unlike that of ours – a body that Bagharu keeps obstinately unbending and perpetually un-useful and inconvenient for the society. Girindranarayan Roy also discovers a streak of ‘Social Darwinism’ in the novel insofar as it ends in an apparently inconsolable sense of loss or tragedy. The forests will no longer remain intact, the Teesta river will not be the same again, the barrage on the river will mark the triumph of modernity and development as the inexorable law of the universe and Bagharus will have to make way to mankind’s ‘progress’ towards modernity and development. Bagharus have no chance of being part of the Teesta project – the epitome of modernity and development in North Bengal. The good that Bagharu represents, as Roy tells us, emerges from “a deep sense of inevitability of the erosion (of the old order)/confrontation with it”. His opposition to modernity and development invokes forces which do not have the potential of forming part of the modernity project. The opposition by the Bagharus is bound to give way. They have no future. In fact, Debesh Roy’s modernist-developmentalist argument was countered by a section of the ‘Rajbanshi scholars, intellectuals and activists’ at a time when a Kolkata-based theatre group enacted the novel into a play some years back. The problem with these critiques lies in the fact that they take the metaphor of nakedness too literally and consider it as an affront to their community. Sukhobilas Barma, for instance, observes: By making him wear a thin piece of loin cloth, the author sought to highlight his proletarian nature (?). No one can forget the haat [periodical market] in Kranti where Krishak Samiti (peasants’ association) is very active and the Naxalite movement is not unknown. Which community identity did the author and the Chetana group [that enacted it] wants to establish by showing him naked (making him wear only a loin cloth)? Presence 147

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of chakrindars (with paltry annual income and bare means of survival) is not unreal even in the Rajbanshi well-off families. Poverty, deprivation and exploitation etc are an integral part of their life. But the way Bagharu has been projected with shaven head and loin cloth – is not only unreal but imaginary. (Barma 1407 BS: 329) The projection of the naked body of Bagharu is viewed by Barma as not only unhistorical but an insult to their community. The critique highlights the commonplace expectation that a naked and bare body is not the Rajbanshi identity. Rajbanshis have an identity – and not a body that refuses to be stamped with an identity. While the historical truth may be otherwise, the point is that the ‘ancient, motionless (adim, nithar) body’ of Bagharu compels us to take notice of the subhuman existence – not so much of the Rajbanshi elite – but a vast section of the community who are only left with their body that refuses to be an integral part of so-called North Bengal’s progress. It is interesting to note that the entire debate focuses not on Bagharu’s body and forms of politics that his bare body expresses, but on the society in which Bagharus are considered as anachronistic, a thing of the past, and society is believed to have registered ‘progress’ in a way that makes it obligatory for everyone to have an identity. A naked and dis-identified body is considered as an insult to the honour of one’s identity. Santosh Kumar Singha’s famous poem ‘Bagharu’ written in Rajbanshi/Kamatapuri language likens the Rajbanshis to the naked figure of Bagharu who remains unnamable till the end of Debesh Roy’s novel. Nengtiya is one who wears the nengti or the loin cloth. Santosh Singha – a well-known Rajbanshi poet from Mathabhanga in the district of Cooch Behar – raises the question of what the Rajbanshis will do with their identity, if they do not have the maan or dignity. Re-disciplining the body Ambedkar in his address on Annihilation of Caste (1944) mentioned at the outset of this section makes a critique of the caste technologies of disciplining human body on the ground that castes violate the principle of ‘natural aptitudes’ and the biological principle of irreducible oneness of human species. While he holds that castes are “only varieties of one and same species” (Ambedkar 1944: 37), he maintains: The division of labour [characteristic of caste system] is not spontaneous, it is not based on natural aptitudes. Social and 148

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individual efficiency requires us to develop the capacity of an individual to the point of competency to choose and to make his own career. This principle is violated in the Caste System in so far as it involves an attempt to appoint tasks to individuals in advance, selected not on the basis of trained original capacities, but on that of social status of the parents. Looked at from another point of view this stratification of occupations which is the result of the Caste System is positively pernicious. Industry is never static. It undergoes rapid and abrupt changes. With such changes, an individual must be free to change his occupation. Without such freedom to adjust himself to changing circumstances it would be impossible for him to gain his livelihood. Now the Caste System will not allow to take to occupations where they are wanted if they do not belong to them by heredity. (Ambedkar 1944: 35–36) Efficiency, as Dr. Ambedkar points out, is neither given hereditarily, nor unalterable. His emphasis on efficiency – most importantly on the “development of capacity to the point of competency to make and choose one’s career” – implies that he too appreciates the importance of education and training in re-skilling the dalitbahujan so that right persons are allowed to be placed in right positions. He does not seem to discover the value of human body in what Kancha Iliah calls ‘its naturalness’ – in either its pre-disciplinary state or in a state in which it succeeds in escaping the grids of disciplinary technologies. Instead, he calls for subjecting the human body to discipline – a discipline that is different from that of the caste system – a discipline that enables each individual to experiment with one’s body and constantly cultivate oneself, to actualize the bodily potential and maximize its efficiency so that it becomes useful to the society. We know that the demand for a separate state of Uttarkhanda comprising the six (now seven) districts of North Bengal and the neighbouring district of Goalpara in Assam was first made by the Uttarkhanda Dal in the 1960s. On the other hand, the Uttarbanga Tapasheeli Jati o Adivasi Sangathan (UTJAS) founded by Naren Das with the active participation of the students of North Bengal University in 1979 claims to fight against “socio-economic and cultural discrimination of North Bengal”. It changed the terms of Rajbanshi political discourse by shunning the separatist path towards statehood and accuses the Government of not doing enough for the Rajbanshis at the instance of the ‘infiltrators from the South’. On 30 October 1986, the UTJAS 149

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organized a rally in Kolkata and submitted a memorandum to the governor and chief minister of West Bengal. Among other things, the memorandum pleads for industrialization of North Bengal which continues to remain a primarily non-industrial area, reiterates that 60 percent of the seats should be reserved for the students of North Bengal in North Bengal Medical College and Engineering College and calls for the formation of an ‘Autonomous Council’ to provide leadership for the development of North Bengal. The movement seems to have shifted its gear and UTJAS felt the need for developing an elite group from within the Rajbanshi community that would have the requisite skill to man the responsible positions of government. Of course, protective measures need to be taken so that such skill becomes available amongst the Rajbanshis. In 1995, Kamatapur Peoples’ Party (KPP) came into existence. In a conference at Kumargram of Jalpaiguri district held on 15–17 June 1998, the Kamatapur Bhasha and Sahitya Parishad – a sister organization of KPP – submitted a charter of demands to the Government of India, which among other things includes the demand for the formation of Roy Saheb Thakur Panchanan Barma University in Cooch Behar “for the upliftment of higher education for the aboriginal people (sic) of North Bengal”. By the late 1990s, however, the apparently peaceful people’s movement was overtaken by violence and insurgency as a more militant faction of leadership under the Kamatapur Liberation Organization (KLO) took over and went underground. The question is this: do these new disciplinary technologies make a Rajbanshi free or subject her to a new form of power – ‘disciplinary power’ as Foucault would have called it? It seems that the struggle for taking control of the Rajbanshi body, taming and appropriating it by way of deploying and experimenting with a variety of technologies has not yet come to an end and the body continues to be the site of contest, containing all the scars and bruises of the contest.

Notes 1 A previous version of the chapter appeared as ‘Living the “Absence”: Rajbanshis of North Bengal’, TISS Working Paper 5, Research and Development and Centre for Social Theory, Tata Institute of Social Sciences, Mumbai, March 2015. 2 www.psavalon.com/articwdisident.html accessed on 31 May 2013. 3 Interview dated 20 November 2013 in Siliguri. Quoted from Arijeet Mandal, ‘Struggles for Kamtapur: Haunting Specters and Changing Pantheons’, unpublished M. Phil. Dissertation, Jadavpur University 2014.

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4 ‘Nasya’ in Bengali is said to be the perverted form of ‘nashta’ meaning ‘rotten’. The Muslims by adopting Rajbanshi language and culture are said to have become rotten (nasya or nashta) (Ray 2012: 24). According to Ghosh, nasya means converted Muslims (Ghsoh 2015: 4). 5 Interviewed on 17 April 2013 at Shivmandir, Darjeeling. 6 While Ray is a common Rajbanshi surname, the full name, ‘Umanandan Prajnranjan Panchanan’, itself speaks of its heavily Sanskritic and Brahmanical roots. 7 Body is the site which houses the identity. Remember Partha Chatterjee’s famous comment: “Caste relates to body, not to the soul” (Chatterjee 1989: 203). 8 Ray defines nengti in the following terms: “nengti is the piece of cloth or coarse, handmade towel (gamchha) that is worn as langot or loin cloth” (Ray 2012: 44). This is wrapped around the waist to barely cover the private parts. 9 Interviewed on 17 April 2013 at Shivmandir, Darjeeling.

References Ambedkar, B. R. Dr. (1944): Annihilation of Caste with a Reply to Mahatma Gandhi. Mumbai: B. R. Ambedkar Institute of Social and Economic Change. Reprint from Third Edition. Bandyopadhyay, Sekhar (2014): ‘Does Caste Matter in Bengal? Examining the Myth of Bengali Exceptionalism’ in Chakrabarty, Mridula Nath (ed.), Being Bengali: At Home and in the World. London: Routledge, pp. 32–47. Barma, Debendranath (2009): Ouponibeshik Banglay Rajbanshi Janagoshthir Jati Parichiti Prasanga – Kshatra Andolan: Ekti Sameekshan (in Bengali) [The Context of Ethnic Identification of the Community of Rajbanshis – Kshatra Movement: A Review]. Calcutta: Bikas Publication. ——— (2011): Rajbanshi Bhasha: Kamatapuri Bibhranti: Oitihasik O Tattwik Bisleshan (in Bengali) [Rajbanshi Language: The Error of Kamatapuri: A Historical and Theoretical Analysis]. Jalpaiguri: Shri Alakshya Indra Ghosh. Barma, Dharmanaryan (1407 BS): ‘Nandiki’ (in Kamatapuri) in Barma, Dharmanarayan (ed.), Kamatapuri Bhasha-Sahityer Ruprekha (in Bengali) [An Outline of the Language and Literature of Kamatapuri]. Tufanganj: Raidak Prakashan. Barma, Sukhobilas (1407 BS/2000 AD): ‘Teestaparer Asthir (?) Brittanta’ (in Bengali) [The Turbulent (?) Chronicles of the Teesta Banks] in Anustup, Autumn Number, pp. 324–335. ——— (2002): ‘Rajbanshi Samajer Atmaparichay’ (in Bengali) [The SelfIdentity of the Rajbangshi Society] in Sarkar, I. (ed.), Oitihye O Itihase Uttarbanga [North Bengal in Heritage and History]. Dibrugarh: National Library Publishers, pp. 156–181. Barman, Kshitish C. (2001): Thakur Panchanan Smarak (in Bengali) [In Memory of Thakur Panchanan], bibliographical information not provided.

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Basu, Swaraj (2003): Dynamics of a Caste Movement: The Rajbanshis of North Bengal 1910–1947. New Delhi: Manohar. Braidotti, Rosi (2006): ‘The Ethics of Becoming Imperceptible’ in Boundas, Constantin (ed.), Deleuze and Philosophy. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 133–159. Chatterjee, Partha (1989): ‘Caste and Subaltern Consciousness’ in Guha, Ranajit (ed.), Subaltern Studies VI: Writings on South Asian History and Society. New Delhi: Oxford University Press, pp. 169–209. Das, Nirmal (1984): Uttarbanger Bhashaprasanga. Kolkata: Oriental Book Company. Dumont, Louis (1980): Homo Hierarchicus: Caste System and Its Implications. Translated by Mark Sainsbury, Louis Dumont and Basia Gulati. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Ghsoh, Ananda Gopal (2015): ‘Unish Sataker Uttarbanger Samaj Andolaner Satkahan’ (in Bengali), [Tidbits of the social reform movements in the nineteenth century] in Chaturthabarta, VI(1), pp. 1–8. Gorringe, Hugo & Irene Rafanel (2007): ‘The Embodiment of Caste: Oppression, Protest and Change’ in Sociology, 41(97), pp. 97–114. Harris, Errol E. (1993): The Spirit of Hegel. New Jersey: Humanities Press. Ilaiah, Kancha (2002): Why I am not a Hindu: A Shudra Critique o Hindutva Philosophy, Culture and Political Economy. Kolkata: Samya. Jana, Arun K. (2012): ‘Ethnic Minorities, the Politics of Identity and the State in Contemporary West Bengal, India’ in Nepal, Padam & Anup Shekhar Chakraborty (eds.), Politics of Culture, Identity and Protest in North-east India, Vol 2. New Delhi: Authorspress, pp. 310–337. Laclau, Ernesto (ed.) (1994): The Making of Political Identities. London: Verso. Mukhopadhyay, Rajatsubhra (2005): ‘A Note on the Cultural Background of Kamtapur Movement in North Bengal’ in Das, Rajat K. & Debashis Basu (eds.), North East India in Perspective: Biology, Socio-Cultural Formations and Contemporary Problems. New Delhi: Akansha Publishing House, pp. 259–265. Nandy, Vaskar (2011): ‘Lecture II’ in Sikdar, Asrukumar & Bhaskar Nandy (eds.), Anchalik Bhashar Samasya O Sankat. Darjeeling: Centre for Studies in Local Language and Cultures, North Bengal University, pp. 15–24. Panchanan, Umanandan Prajnaranjan alias Pramod Ranjan Ray (2011): ‘Introduction to the Fifth Edition of Rajbanshi Kshatriya Jatir Itihas’ (in Bengali) [The History of the Rajbanshi Kshatriya Community (Jati)] in Upendra Nath Barman, Rajbanshi Kshatriya Jatir Itihas [The History of Rajbanshi Kshatriya Community], edited by Nani Gopal Ray. Jalpaigri: Nanda Gopal Ray. Prodhani, Jyotirmay (2000): ‘Secretary’s Note’ in Bhagat, Dwijendra Nath (ed.), Rajbanshi Bhasha-Sahityar Parichay (in Assemese) [Introduction to Rajbangshi Language and Literature]. Golakganj: Centre for Ethnic Studies and Research.

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Ray, Dipak (2012): Rajbanshi Samaj Aro Sanskritir Katha (in Kamatapuri) [Reflections on Rajbanshi Society and Culture]. Kolkata: Sopan. Ray, Pabitra (2012): ‘Debesh Rayer Upanyase Pratifalita Uttarbanger Samaj Jiban’ (in Bengali) [The social Life of North Bengal as Reflected in the Novels of Debesh Ray] in Harit, 2(2), November, pp. 32–46. Ray Pradhan, Amar (2012): Jeeban Nadir Banke Banke (in Bengali) [In the Bends in the River of Life] edited and annotated by Anandagopal Ghosh & Kartik Chandra Sutradhar. Malda: Ashutosh Barman. Roy, Debesh (1990): Teestaparer Brittanta (in Bengali) [Chronicles by the banks of the Teesta]. Kolkata: Dey’s Publishing House. Roy, Girindranarayan (2003): ‘Rajbanshi Jatir Parichay-Andolan Aar Itihaser Henyali’ (in Bengali) [The Movement for Identity of the Rajbanshi Community and the Puzzle of History] in Ray, Nikhilesh (ed.), Degar 1(1), pp. 9–13. Sanyal, Debosmita & Shaukat Iqbal (2013): ‘Keno Meyer Padabi Nei, Prasna Barbar’ (in Bengali) [Why the Daughter has No Surname, Repeated Questions] in Ananda Bazar Patrika (Siliguri), 21 July. Sarkar, I. (2006): ‘The Kamatapur Movement: Towards a Separate State in North Bengal’ in Rath, Govinda Chandra (ed.), Tribal Development in India: The Contemporary Debate. New Delhi: Sage, pp. 153–165. Sen, Partha & Abhijit Dutta (n.d.): The Kamtaapuri Movement: Its Root and Response of the State (mimeo). Sutradhar, Kartik Chandra (2013): Samaj, Dharma O Arthaneeti: Prasanga Uttarbanga. Malda: Sambedan.

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Part III DEMOCRATIC PRACTICES

5 HOME, HOMELAND AND POLITICS OF THE UNHOMELY

While Uttarbanga or North Bengal, as we have already noted, continued to serve as one of world’s greatest migratory routes in history connecting much of what is presently known as South Asia to the countries of Southeast and Central Asia, colonial initiatives of governing the constantly moving population groups in this region by settling them down in more or less clearly demarcated homelands finally culminated in the Partition of 1947 dividing North Bengal into two parts hitched respectively into two newly formed nation-states of India and (East) Pakistan. These initiatives not only sought to reduce the hitherto prevalent nomadic movement of population groups in a bid to render them governable, but encouraged many of these groups to fight for a space they could claim as their homeland. Today’s North Bengal thus bears standing witness to many such homeland movements as soon as population groups were sought to be settled and the process of making the borders was initiated since the late nineteenth century.

Settling in the migratory route Being constituted as the gateway open to the influences both from within and without, North Bengal – by all accounts – historically falls within one of Asia’s greatest migratory routes – and has been a standing witness to continuous migration of population from across the region. Such words as ‘Duars’ or ‘Dooars’ – etymologically derived from and literally meaning ‘the doors’ to Bhutan (Bhutan Dooars), to Assam (Assam Dooars) and to the ‘mainland’ Bengal (Bengal Dooars) – are used widely in Assamese, Bodo, Bengali, Nepali and Rajbanshi languages. It is possible that the word was coined by the trading and warring bands of the Bhutanese people. While migration of population groups is neither new nor unprecedented in this region, the migrating population in history consisted 157

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predominantly of the three categories of the invaders and warriors, itinerant merchants and meandering saints and mendicants. Population migration acquires a momentum thanks to the development of tea industry and colonial establishments in the region particularly since the middle of the nineteenth century. Thus to cite an instance, L. S. S. O’Malley – the British ethnographer – writes in the early twentieth century: This phenomenal growth of the population [in Darjeeling] since 1872 is due to two main causes, the development of tea industry and the influx of the settlers to exploit the wastelands of the districts. (O’Malley 1907/1965: 36) The massive migration added diversity and heterogeneity to the composition of population. In the same book published in 1907, he observes: The population of Darjeeling is exceedingly heterogeneous. The majority of the people in the hills of the Mongolian origin, belong chiefly to various Nepalese castes, but also including large number of Lepchas, Bhotiyas and Tibetans. . . . Among them are the Marwari merchants, the Jews of Himalayas, Bengali clerks, Hindusthani mechanics, Punjabi traders and even Chinese carpenters. In the Terai the mixture of races is equally great. There are aboriginal Koches, or Rajbanshis as they prefer to call themselves, are most numerous numbering 29,460; but no less than 52 percent of the inhabitants were born elsewhere; and the Mundas and Oraons from Chota Nagpur and the Santhals from upland Santhal Parganas have a strength of nearly 14,000. Darjeeling has in fact been described as ‘Babel of Tribes and Nations’, and the extraordinary variety of races may be realised from the fact that at one end of the scale stands the European, and at the other, remnants of races who express “agriculture” as “felling” or “clearing the forest”, who have no term for village, for “horse”, for “plough”, for “money” of any kind and whose language is marked by an absence of any term for nearly every operation of the intellect of will, whether virtuous or vicious, and for almost every abstract idea, whether material or immaterial. (O’Malley 1907/1965: 64) 158

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The Rajbanshis, according to an estimate, were the majority in all the subdivisions of Darjeeling totalling 3,310,168 during the 1920s and the 1930s. Xaxa refers to the massive influx of immigrants in Western Dooars during the period of 1870–1931, thereby changing the structure of class relations in North Bengal. In 1872, the British had already won large parts of the Dooars from the Bhutanese King and had started settling people both on agricultural and plantation sites. In the beginning there was massive dearth of workforce and population; resettlement of the immigrant labour was meant precisely to address the problem (Xaxa 1997: 63). While an otherwise sparsely populated North Bengal historically remained a gateway for the passage of groups and communities at different points of time, the space, transit as it was, was slowly transformed into a region where people mainly from outside came and started settling themselves. Even the Treaty between Great Britain and Nepal signed as late as in 1816 describes Siliguri – now the largest town of North Bengal – as the ‘Transit Point’ to Darjeeling and Nepal. Phansidewa near Siliguri was a vibrant port connecting lower Bengal with Bihar through a waterway. Dakua classifies the population of North Bengal mainly into three categories: the Rajbanshis whom he considers as Hindus and the local Muslims the latter for all practical purposes being assimilated into the cultural stream of the Rajbanshi people, the Bhatiyas literally the southerners or the people from the downstream (rivers in Bengal flow from the north to the South) who have come from South Bengal including erstwhile East Bengal and “each – whether from Kolkata or from Dhaka is called a Bhatiya” and the adivasis (literally the original inhabitants) whose forefathers were brought from the Chotanagpur plateau of central India since the late eighteenth century as indentured labour to meet the rising demand for labour in tea plantation. Besides them, there are others including the Marwaris, the Nepalis and so on who came here mainly as traders and labouring classes respectively (Dakua 2003: 5–7). Thus, a great demographic upheaval started taking place since the British came and reclaimed land from many of the indigenous communities and rapidly converted them into plantation sites – as a result of which a number of indigenous communities were displaced – if not wiped out – from what were considered as their traditional habitats. We have already seen how Siliguri – once a Rajbanshi town – acquired over the years a cosmopolitan character. Such names as Jaldapara, Totopara, Dhonia, Satali, Mechpara, Garopara and Tontu bear this stark truth of having once been inhabited by a variety of indigenous groups (Baraik 2012: 6). About 31 tribal groups including in the main 159

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the Santhals, Oraons, Mundas, Chiks and Baraiks were brought from the Chotanagpur plateau of central India in order to provide the vast army of plantation labour that was booming since the mid-nineteenth century. These people are known as the Madhesias1 or the people from the middle place (middle India) settled in the region alongside the Nepalis. The number of such groups, according to an estimate, has now shot up to 151. As a result, Hindi and Nepali languages have acquired importance in the plantation of the Dooars and the demand for Hindi as the medium of instruction particularly in the institutions of higher education has become strident. Although Sadri is not the mother tongue of many of the groups and communities living in the tea plantation areas of the Terai and the Dooars, Hindi continues to be the largest circulating language both at home and outside (Majumdar mimeo 2001: 15). As per the 2001 Census, the total population of the six districts (Alipurduar and Kalimpong became two separate districts much later in 2015 and 2017, respectively) of North Bengal stands at 14.72 million and this accounts for 18.35 percent of West Bengal’s total population. As per the 2011 census, North Bengal accounts for 18.83 percent of total population of the state. In North Bengal, Dinajpur constitutes the highest population (27.15 percent) followed by Malda (23.34 percent), Jalpaiguri (22.49 percent), Cooch Behar (16.41 percent) and Darjeeling (10.41 percent). The growth rate of population in North Bengal is 16.13 percent which is higher than the state average of 13.93 percent. The growth rate of population in North Bengal during 2001–2011 is highest in Malda (21.50 percent), followed by Dinajpur (17.03 percent), Darjeeling (14.47 percent), Cooch Behar (13.86 percent) and Jalpaiguri (13.77 percent). The decennial growth rate of population is higher than the state average and this is believed to be partly due to the huge influx of immigrants from neighbouring Indian states and countries like Bangladesh and Nepal into these districts.

Homeland imaginaries The settlement of population groups in what once used to serve as a migratory route encouraged them to look upon the region as their homeland. Partition, to cite just an instance, occasioned the production of many such albeit contesting homeland imaginaries in the region. The debate particularly on the eve of Partition was focused on whether the composite region of Uttarbanga spreading across two Bengals on the East and the West should remain one or should accordingly be divided between the two sovereign States of India and Pakistan or 160

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whether the Indian part of North Bengal should remain a part of West Bengal or emerge in the form of such separate states as ‘Cooch Behar’, ‘Rajasthan’ (the land of the Rajbanshis) or ‘Gorkhasthan’ (the land of the Gorkhas) and so forth whether within India or without. Such political organizations as Cooch Behar Peoples’ Association, Praja Mandal Party, Communist Party of India and Forward Bloc were involved in a series of popular movements demanding the merger of Cooch Behar with the Indian Union. In a public meeting at Kharibari on 4 May 1947, Jogendra Nath Mandal – the Namashudra leader who subsequently became the first Minister of Law in Pakistan – called for the creation of a separate state of ‘Rajasthan’ consisting predominantly of the ‘scheduled caste people’ from Siliguri subdivision of the district of Darjeeling, the districts of Jalpaiguri and then-undivided Dinajpur, the northwestern part of Rangpur and the districts of Purnea and Goalpara (Mandal 1979: 23). Partition, as I argued elsewhere, gives unto each State the ‘nationalism’ unique to itself and imposes on the people – who had hitherto remained under an undivided India – the onerous obligation of making a choice from out of the given menu of alternatives, ruling out thereby the claims to ‘Rajasthan’, Kamatapur and so forth (Das 2009: 199–216). Subsequently, reorganization of linguistic states of West Bengal, Assam and Bihar led to their ‘disappearance’. Arup Jyoti Das explains why nationalist historiography never makes any reference to the alternative demands for Rajbanshi and Kamatapuri statehood: The disappearance of Kamatapur as a region and the emergence of Assamese and Bengali [as] two language based nationalisms are the main reason behind the neglect of the History of Kamatapur. (Das n.d.: 2) Mandal’s advocacy for a separate state of the Scheduled Castes of North Bengal was strongly contested by some ‘noble Hindus’ (sambhranta Hindus) immediately on the eve of Partition (Ghosh 2006: 51). In the middle of May 1947, eight representatives of the then Rajshahi Division attended the Conference on Tea organized by Uttarbanga Jatiya Mahasabha and made the same claim. The same claim was made by a section of members of the Constituent Assembly. As Amrita Bazar Patrika reported on 12 April 1947: Eleven members of the Constituent Assembly from North Bengal submitted a memorandum to Mountbatten on 11 April 161

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asking [for] the constitution of ‘a separate autonomous province in West and North Bengal’ within the Indian Union and two regional administrators with separate ministries under a common Governor as a transitional arrangement. (Amrita Bazar Patrika 1947: 1) The Hitasadhini Sabha (The Assembly for the Good of the Public) was founded with an active support of the Maharaja and its long-term objective was ‘Cooch Behar for Cooch Beharis’ (or the residents of Cooch Behar) and “to do away with the domination of the outsiders or the Bhatiyas2 from Cooch Behar” (Ahmad 2009: 163). A section of members of the Hitasadhini Sabha who were close to Muslim League such as Abbasuddin, Amanatullah Ahmed, Majiruddin Mian, Moqbul Hossain, Ansaruddin Ahmed and others supported the Pakistan demand and migrated to the newly born State of (East) Pakistan. Some of its members were ‘privately’ in favour of merger of Cooch Behar with Assam. It is also reported that the Rajbanshis of Goalpara “wanted to stay in Assam” (Ghosh in Debnath 2007a: 144). Sarat Chandra Sinha – himself a young Rajbanshi leader of Chapar in Goalpara who subsequently became the Chief Minister of Assam – organized a movement against the inclusion of Goalpara in West Bengal. When the States’ Reorganization Commission visited Goalpara in 1955 “the majority of Goalpara district under the leadership of Sarat Chandra Sinha and the Goalpara immigrant Muslims under the leadership of Muhammad Omaruddin organized a mass movement against its inclusion in West Bengal” (Ghosh in Debnath ed. 2007a: 144). The same demand for a separate state of Cooch Behar, as we will see below, was revived again at the turn of the new millennium. Besides, while many of the Rajbanshis were converted to Islam, they – according to Das – were ‘obstructed’ from migrating to Pakistan after Partition (Das in Debnath ed. 2007: 106) – although there were reports of violence and arson against the minorities and the shops owned by the minorities in Dinbazaar in Jalpaiguri town were set on fire (Roy Pradhan 2012: 67). North Bengal, it may be noted, was relatively free from communal riots and violence that marked the immediate aftermath of Partition particularly in South Bengal and many other parts of India (Ghosh 2013: 8). While Partition triggered off a variety of territorial demands ranging from a sovereign State to separate statehood within the Indian Union, the issue reached a flashpoint in the context of the Princely State of Cooch Behar. Parts of ‘British India’ were directly under the 162

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colonial administration. But, the Princely States (about 600 of them at the time of Partition) were under the suzerainty of the British Crown. The Princely State of Cooch Behar merged with India on 12 September 1949 and retained its separate statehood under Part–C while it was subsequently integrated into the state of West Bengal as a district on 1 January 1950. The Hitasadhini Sabha opposed the second merger of Cooch Benhar with West Bengal in the following terms: Merger with whom? Either with West Bengal or Assam? We do not want to mix with any Province. Jalpaiguri and Alipurduar are included in West Bengal. These are backward in respect of education and culture. Goalpara district of Assam too will not be taken into consideration for adjustment. What is the result of the merger? Our merger with the so-called Province means our extinction; again our separate existence will not remain. We will miss our Kingdom. The King will have no power; legal department will be withdrawn [from here]. We shall not be able to receive judgment. We shall have to run either to Calcutta3 or to Guwahati in order to get justice spending so much money. (quoted in Das in Debnath ed. 2007: 114) Similarly, the Sabha maintains: A drop of water after merging into the sea loses its very existence. Similarly, Cooch Behar after the merger with West Bengal will lose its separate identity. The people of Cooch Behar will be deprived of their statehood. The Maharajas of Cooch Behar will cease to wield any power. There will be the problem in the dispensation of justice. The people of Cooch Behar will not get their justice. (quoted in Ray 2012–2013: 108) In sum, the birth of the Sabha, as Ghosh points out, is “the culmination of the long-standing conflict between the Cooch Beharis and the non-Cooch Beharis” (Ghosh in Barma 2007b: 92). There is reason to believe that the homeland legacy continues. The issue of homeland and territoriality, as we have noted, is primarily a response to the proposal for Partition. The demand for a separate Uttarkhanda state comprising all the districts of North Bengal, western part of Assam and parts of Bihar was raised during the days of reorganization of states. The States’ Reorganization Commission set up by 163

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the Government of India in 1953 visited Darjeeling in May 1955 to hear the views of the leaders of West Bengal on the demand for a separate state. The Commission also examined the justification of Bihar’s claim over Darjeeling, Jalpaiguri and Cooch Behar and recommended that the region should remain within West Bengal. Although a section of Rajbanshis in Assam raised the demand for a separate state, the Rajbanshis of West Bengal by all accounts remained silent on the question. The demand received support of the zamindars (landlords) of Gauripur, Assam and Santosh Barua of the Gauripur royal family submitted a memorandum to this effect before the Commission. It may be noted that the Siliguri Zonal Committee of Rajbanshi Kshatriya Samiti too submitted a memorandum demanding integration of the Rajbanshi-inhabited areas of Purnea – then in undivided Bihar – and Goalpara in Assam contiguous to West Bengal, into the state of West Bengal. It was Uttarkhanda Dal that not only raised the demand for a separate Kamatapuri state for the Rajbanshis and other indigenous groups but also the official recognition of Kamatapuri or Kamata language. The Dal (party) was formed on 5 July 1969 with the demand for a separate state of Kamatapur or Uttarkhanda within the Indian Union to be carved out of the then five districts of North Bengal viz. Cooch Behar, Jalpaiguri, Darjeeling, Dinajpur and Malda. Sometimes, they also demanded the inclusion of Goalpara and Kokrajhar districts of Assam, which are adjacent to North Bengal and inhabited predominantly by the Rajbanshis. Kamatapur Peoples’ Party (KPP) was established on 7 January 1996 at Daukimari in Jalpaiguri. Apparently disillusioned with the “compromising politics of Uttarkhanda Dal and its leadership provided by Panchanan Mallik and Sampad Ray” (Lalit Chandra Barman 2008: 20), KPP was formed under the leadership of Atul Ray – although it was at that time more of an umbrella organization comprising such locally based organizations as Cooch Behar Peoples’ Association in Cooch Behar, Kamatapur Mukti Morcha in Jaigaon, Malda Barendra Krishak Mukti Morch in Malda, etc. The foremost aim of the party is to agitate peacefully in a democratic way for the creation of a separate Kamatapur state consisting of the six (now eight with Alipurduar and Kalimpong being new additions) districts of North Bengal. Its leadership is not very clear on the issue of inclusion of the neighbouring districts of Assam. The KPP justifies its demand on the ground that the region is the original homeland of the Kamatapuris consisting – predominantly but not exclusively – of the Rajbanshis and others like the Khens, Meches, Kaibartyas, etc. The Kamatapuris (the people of Kamatapur), according to KPP, are 164

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culturally, linguistically, socially and historically distinct from the Bengalis. Greater Cooch Behar Peoples’ Association (GCPA) was established on 9 September 1998 at Kakribari in Cooch Behar with mainly the threefold objective of appointing Kumar Anilendra Narayan – “a very distant relation of the King” (Barma 2007: 365) as the President of the Cooch Behar Debottar Trust,4 preservation of the historical relics and monuments of Cooch Behar and inclusion of the history of Cooch Behar in school textbooks. The Association submitted a memorandum to this effect to the District Magistrate on 26 October 1998. As late as on 26 December 2000 and 6 April 2001, they sent two Memoranda to the President of India praying for preservation of the history and culture of Cooch Behar and restoration of the administration of Cooch Behar treating it as a ‘C-category’ State as per the merger agreement. The movement, as we will see in the following chapter, took a militant turn at the beginning of the 1990s with the formation of the Kamatapur Liberation Organization (KLO) in December 1993 at Kumargram in the Dooars by Jiban Singha.5 The exact nature of its relationship with KPP, as Jana puts it, is ‘not known’ (Jana in Nepal & Chakrabarty eds. 2012: 324). The militant streak of its ideology is clear from its slogan: ‘we will achieve the freedom of our nation in exchange of a drop of blood’ (‘ek bindu rakter badli katiya anim jatir swadhinata’). The hills of North Bengal too did not remain unaffected by the sudden surge of demand for autonomy and homeland. According to Chakrabarti, “the first recorded instance of the demand for separation of Darjeeling region from Bengal can be traced to the year 1907, barely forty years after the formation of the district of Darjeeling” (Chakrabarti 1988: 4). A deputation of Hillmen of Darjeeling under the leadership of S. W. Ladenla and Kharga Bahadur Chetri met the then secretary of State for India and Lord Chelmsford and presented a proposal for administrative separation of Darjeeling from Bengal. The deputation maintained that “the intimate connection with the plains of Bengal is of recent origin” (Chakrabarti 1988: 4); otherwise, historically, this tract of land was connected with Sikkim and Bhutan, and the form of language was quite different. The hilly terrain is the natural habitat of Mongoloid people – quite distinct from the rest of Bengal. The decade of the 1940s experienced a new turn of events in the district’s history with the formation of All-India Gorkha League in Darjeeling on 15 May 1943. Its objective was to secure the future of Gorkhas – in case the subcontinent is partitioned and India becomes independent. The League demanded protection of Nepali language and citizenship rights of the Indian Gorkhas. ‘Gorkha politics’ during 165

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the tumultuous days of Partition, as Chakrabarti sums up, had two dimensions: some form of preferential treatment within the administrative jurisdiction of Bengal and/or formation of an autonomous unit or a full-fledged province within the Indian Union. It was much less militant in terms of its articulation compared to what happened in Cooch Behar. In 1955, the Gorkha League raised the demand for a separate state comprising Darjeeling, Jalpaiguri and Cooch Behar districts or merger with Assam. The Communist Party of India (CPI) also advocated in favour of regional autonomy of the hills. The Pranta Parishad formed in 1980 submitted its first petition on 13 April in the same year making the demand for separate ‘Gorkhaland’ outside West Bengal, but within the Indian Union. The demand for a separate state acquired momentum in the early 1980s with the rise of the Gorkha National Liberation Front (GNLF) leading the movement. In 1988, Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council (DGHC) was set up with Subash Ghising as its Chairman bringing the movement to a close for the moment. By the middle of the first decade of the new millennium, Ghising stepped up his demand for converting DGHC into an autonomous body under the Sixth Schedule. In 2005 another tripartite accord amongst GNLF on one hand and the two Governments of India and West Bengal on the other was signed with the objective of investing DGHC with greater powers and bringing it under Sixth Schedule with a suitable amendment to the Constitution of India. Before the proposal could take off, a more militant leadership however took over the movement with recourse to violence in order to make separate statehood a reality. On 18 July 2011, another tripartite accord was signed among the Governments of India and West Bengal on one hand and the leadership of the Gorkha Janmukti Morcha (GJM), paving the way to the formation of Gorkha Territorial Administration (GTA). According to the agreement, GTA would have power to decide on 59 issues and it would get much more money than what DGHC used to get. A high-powered committee under the chairmanship of Justice Shyamal Sen was constituted to recommend on GJM’s demand for inclusion of 398 mouzas of the Terai and the Dooars together and 13 mouzas of Siliguri under GTA’s jurisdiction and “to look into the question of identification of additional areas in Siliguri, Terai and Dooars that may be transferred to the new body, having regard to their compactness, contiguity, homogeneity, ground level situation and other relevant factors”. The GJM leadership interpreted the formation GTA as a step towards the formation of homeland. The GTA freshly revived what Bhattacharya calls ‘group activism’ (Bhattacharya 2012: 29–30) in 166

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such forms as Kamatapur and Greater Cooch Behar movements, the adivasis’ agitation for Sixth Schedule status in the Dooars and the demand for the protection of autochthones against the ‘unlimited infiltration’ from the South and across the international borders etc. While the present Chief Minister of West Bengal – at whose initiative the accord was signed – maintains that Darjeeling is ‘an inseparable part’ (abichichhedya anga) of West Bengal, several adivasi organizations active in the Dooars accuse the GJM of having tried to encroach on the tribal land by expanding the jurisdiction of GTA. GJM’s claim to Dooars is believed to be part of a long-term strategy, which Birsha Tirkey – the West Bengal state President of the Adivasi Vikash Parishad – calls ‘insatiable Gorkhaland lust’. While the GJM is insistent on the inclusion of Dooars in GTA or in the territorial jurisdiction of the proposed Gorkhaland state, the Kamatapur or the ‘Greater Cooch Behar’ activists look upon the whole of Dooars excluding some Nepali-dominated pockets like Kalchini and Birpara as ‘indivisible parts’ of their respective proposed states. The Surjyapurias invoke the accord of 1956 that made the provision for the protection of the unique language and culture of the transferred area of Islampur to West Bengal in support of their demand for separate statehood. As it was transferred to West Bengal in order to maintain the connectivity of the south of North Bengal with its north, a separate organization, namely, Transferred Area Surjyapur Organization (TASO) and Adivasi Jami Raksha Committee (Committee for the Protection of Land of the Adivasis or AJRC) seem to have revived their demand in 2013 for establishing a separate district of Surjyapur consisting of five Blocs of Islampur subdivision and 19 Mouzas (revenue villages) of Phansidewa Block of the district of Darjeeling. Pasharul Alam – its spokesman – argues that they will continue their movement for a separate district through democratic and peaceful means. According to TASO, “the promise of protecting the unique identity of the language and culture of the area was never kept and the people of the area have remained neglected” (quoted ‘Prithak Suryapur . . .’ 2013: 5). The immigration from outside the area particularly from East Pakistan/Bangladesh is believed to have transformed its demographic composition. As Mukhopadhyay argues in a recently published paper: the eastern portion of Kishanganj sub-division [now in Bihar] is predominantly inhabited by Muslims. They would view with concern the transfer this area to West Bengal on the ground that their linguistic and cultural rights might suffer 167

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and that the possible settlement of displaced persons from East Bengal might dislocate their life. (Mukhopadhyay 2013: 88) Alienation of land continues unabated as more and more immigrants pour in and the process gathered momentum particularly after the liberation of Bangladesh in 1971. Mukhopadhyay refers to a land survey conducted in 1979 that points out: [A]bout 25 percent to 30 percent of the wastelands [hitherto] under the legal possession of local jotedars (landowners) have been forcefully occupied by the refugees. . . . As a case in point, the Gaipal refugee colony under Islampur police station came up by forcefully occupying six hundred acres of such khattar (legally owned/recorded) lands. The owners of those lands neither received any compensation not do they pay any land tax to the government. (Mukhopadhyay 2013: 88) Besides, the organization also raises the issue of intra-district disparity in development within North Dinajpur. The district headquarters is located in Raiganj at a distance of 160 kilometers and people of Islampur as a result are deprived of the basic amenities of life. They also argue that the division of the district will bring the administration closer to the people and it will be easier for the people of the region to access Central assistance. TASO also proposes to set up the district with Islampur as the district headquarters and Dalkhola as its subdivision. On 19 August 2013 under the leadership of Dr. Chittaranjan Ray, a memorandum was submitted simultaneously to the BDOs of Phansidewa, Chopra, Islampur, Goalpokhor-1, Goalpokhor-2 and Karandighi. As the next step they plan to submit a memorandum to the Sub-Divisional Officer (SDO) of Islampur and subsequently to the Chief Minister of West Bengal. We also notice how the city of Siliguri has fast become the site of contending homeland claims particularly in recent years. Although the city does not seem to have any history of ethnic violence, the clash that shook Siliguri on 28 September 2007 points to the paradox of fragile peace on the surface and the fissure that runs deep into its social landscape. Insofar as the importance of Siliguri as the largest and fastest growing link with the outside world is recognized, the city becomes the pivot in the imaginative geography that informs all the homeland claims and demands. After all what is ‘Gorkhaland’ without Siliguri, 168

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as much as what is Punjab/Haryana without Chandigarh or even India without the ‘emerald crown’ of Kashmir? In 2007, GJM cadres were accused of having disrupted the district conference of CPIM – then leading the ruling Left Front in West Bengal – in Siliguri and GJM came to the forefront while iconizing Prashant Tamang who became champion in a reality show on 23 September 2007. People from the hills were reportedly ‘forced to send sms-es’ in millions at the instance of the Morcha leadership to make him win the show. Tushar Pradhan describes it as the ‘terror of fun’ (halla-santras) (Pradhan 2008: 13). The Sony – an entertainment television channel – had been holding a prime time reality show with the caption ‘The Indian Idol’ since 2005 for discovering young India’s best singer. There were 28,000 competitors for its consecutively held ‘Season Three’ event in 2007. The process of elimination took several weeks and finally Amit Paul – a Bengali from Shillong (Meghalaya) – and Prashant Tamang – an Indian of Nepali origin working with Kolkata Police from Darjeeling – made it to the final round. Paul was reportedly greeted by the Chief Minister of Meghalaya on his visit to the home state before the grand finale while no such programme was organized by the Government of West Bengal for Prashant Tamang – although he was greeted by a large number of his fans and supporters during his travel from New Jalpaiguri (the nearest railhead of the hill town of Darjeeling) to Darjeeling – a distance of about 90 kilometers. The Government, according to Bomjan, “remained silent and the print and electronic media directly or indirectly seemed to have been lending weight in favour of Amit Paul” (Bomjan 2008: 165). Several newspapers also highlighted Paul’s ties with Siliguri and the “foothill town is where his ancestral place is”. Local dailies, according to Bomjan, carried a report that Ashok Bhattacharya – the then Cabinet Minister from Siliguri and the Sabhadhipati (the chief) of Siliguri Mahakuma Parishad (Siliguri Sub-Divisional Council) ‘insinuated’ to cast votes in favour of Paul (Bomjan 2008: 166). Prashant Tamang’s fans mobilized local clubs and collected donations for sending sms-es by organizing free phone booths at numerous places in the hills. Tamang’s family also approached the chief minister of the Nepali-dominated state of Sikkim for support. Tamang won the competition finally on 23 September 2007. Bomjan narrates that someone called Nitin – a radio jockey of 93.5 Red FM radio channel posted a comment that ‘Nepaliko Indian idol bana diya; ab hamara ghar, mohalla ka chowkidari kaun karega?’ (Nepalis are being made Indian idols; now who will guard our homes and neighbourhoods?) – in an obvious reference to the community. The burning of the radio jockey’s effigy was followed 169

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by a general strike on 26 September 2007 in Darjeeling. As a section of them came down in Siliguri and wanted to observe the bandh (strike), a communal riot reportedly broke out on that day in which the army had to be called in. Siliguri has been a city of contesting homeland claims particularly in recent decades. On the one hand, Gorkha Janmukti Morcha makes the claim of including some of the mouzas of Siliguri under the jurisdiction of the Gorkhaland Territorial Administration (GTA). On the other hand, such pro-Bengali organizations as the Jana Chetna Manch (Peoples’ Consciousness Forum) and Jana Jagran Manch (Forum for the Awakening of the People) have been formed and are opposed to the inclusion of these mouzas in GTA. Such organizations as Bangiya Juba Kalyan Parishad (Bengal Youth Welfare Association), Siliguri and Bangiya Adhikar Mancha (Bengal Rights Organization), Bagdogra kept on sending memorandums and letters to all the concerned institutions of central and state government. Kar describes the Gorkhaland movement as one “essentially by the foreigners and for the foreigners’ extra-territorial ambitions” (Kar 2009: 72). The Bangla Bhasha Banchao Committee (BOBBBC or Save Bengali Language Committee) raises the question of whether the ethnic Nepalis of Darjeeling could be called ‘Indians’. The Committee submitted a four-page memorandum to the Election Commission asking for their disenfranchisement (‘Just Who Belongs to the Land?’ 2007: 7). Hand in hand with it, the ultra-right Amra Bangali (We, the Bengalis) branches are reportedly spreading across North Bengal. Arun Ghosh and Dilip Deb, members and leaders of the Jana Chetna Manch in Bagdogra on the outskirts of Siliguri, point out: How does one distinguish between the Nepalese from Nepal and those from Darjeeling? We have seen thousands of Gorkhas from Bhutan coming here [Siliguri] and settling down over the years. How can they decide our destiny now? We have resolved not to allow any activity here that will disrupt our livelihood. All communities have been living here for generations in peace and harmony. This is at stake now. (quoted in Nagchoudhury 2008) The situation reached a flashpoint when the trouble occurred on the first day of a two-day bandh (strike) called by the Amra Bangali and other organizations in protest against the GJM’s call for an indefinite bandh to highlight its statehood demand that began on 11 June 2008 in the evening. Violence that threatened to snowball into an ethnic 170

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conflict erupted in different parts of Siliguri as people belonging to the two communities hurled brickbats at each other. Some were armed with cleavers and swords. Prohibitory orders under Section 144 Cr PC were imposed in parts of Siliguri as well as in Malbazar (near Siliguri) in the Dooars where trouble broke out and vehicles carrying tourists on their way to Darjeeling were attacked allegedly by GJM supporters. The Army was alerted and jawans (security personnel) of the Sashastra Seema Bal (SSB, a paramilitary force) patrolled the streets of Siliguri and its adjoining areas in West Bengal following clashes between those for and against the Gorkha Janmukti Morcha’s (GJM) demand for a separate state comprising the Darjeeling hills and some areas contiguous to it. Attempts were made to evict the non-Nepali people in Jaigaon in Dooars while the news hardly hit newspaper headlines (Dasgupta 2013: 153). The issue of claim to the town resurfaced again when Siliguri was upgraded into a Police Commissionerate as recently as in 2012 with the declared objective of providing better governance. But the place with its given size did not have the requisite number of people necessary for a city to be declared a Commissionerate. A part of the district of Jalpaiguri – namely Bhaktinagar – was included in the jurisdiction in order that Siliguri faced no problem of becoming a Commissionerate. The parting of Bhaktinagar was strongly opposed by a section of the people of Jalpaiguri to which district it belonged. Such organizations as District Bar Association and Jalpaiguri Unnayan Mancha (Forum for the Development of Jalpaiguri) were at the forefront of the struggle. The Mancha organized protest by way of taking out processions and organizing sit-in demonstrations, while the District Bar Association resorted to cease work and organize a relay hunger strike in front of the District Court. Jalpaiguri Unnayan Mancha observed a strike on 10 August 2012. Dinbazar Byabasayee Kalyan Samiti (Dinbazar Merchants’ Welfare Association) of Jalpaiguri also lent moral support to the movement on the issue of ‘deprivation of Jalpaiguri’. Mahadeb Nag – the Secretary of the Samiti – maintained: “In principle, we the businessmen are opposed to bandh. But we lend support to it as far as issues of deprivation of the district of Jalpaiguri and its development are concerned” (‘Commissionerate: Bandher . . .’ 2012: 3). Saikat Chatterjee – the district president of the Youth Congress – points out: Some years ago 14 wards were added to Siliguri Municipal Corporation from Dabgram-Fulbari area of the district (of Jalpaiguri). Recently the State Government has also initiated 171

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the process of further dividing Jalpaiguri by creating a separate district of Alipurduar. Now Bhaktinagar police station has been included in the Siliguri Commissionerate. Little by little, the geography of the district is being changed and Jalpaiguri will soon become an insignificant speck on the map. (quoted in ‘Road Blockade against . . .’ 2012: 9) Abhinandan Chaudhury – Secretary of the District Bar Association – observed that by adding Bhaktinagar to Siliguri Commissionerate, an attempt had been going on to reduce the geographical size of Jalpaiguri (‘Commissionerate: Path Abarodh Kare . . .’ 2012: 3). It is important to discover how geopolitical imaginaries circulate while homeland claims are made. In opposition to it, Brihattara Siliguri Nagarik Mancha (Greater Siliguri Citizens’ Association) was established with Sunil Sarkar as its General Secretary. He, for instance, argues that the inclusion of Bhaktinagar means that the people living there will find it easier to come to Siliguri than to go to the otherwise more distant town of Jalpaiguri (‘Prithak Commissionerater Pakshe Sawa; Siliguri . . . 2013: 4). One of my respondents, for example, quipped: “They have wrested away a large part of Siliguri and brought it under Jalpaiguri – this is the way Siliguri is being deprived”. Whose city will Siliguri be – the Rajbanshis, the Bengalis, the Nepalis/the Gorkhas or the elephants – as a part of the city encroaches on the ‘elephant corridor’ and ‘wildlife habitat’? As various groups and communities came to settle in different parts of North Bengal, they wanted to make it their ‘home’. While many of them became an integral part of the ethos of North Bengal or what Ghosh calls ‘North Bengal-ism’, a time came when it was being felt increasingly that there was not just enough space for all of them to settle and live here. By all accounts, one’s claim to homeland gave rise to a plethora of contesting homeland claims. Insofar as North Bengal – once one of the world’s greatest migratory routes and a bridgehead to Southeast and Central Asia – started transforming itself into a site of contesting homelands, the region lost its fluid and flexible character. While historically it remained a transit space, the demographic explosion that was happening since the mid-nineteenth century contributed to its slow and perhaps impossible transformation into a stable and sedentary space where people would come and settle. Thus, the imperatives of historical geography with constantly moving population groups and demography with settled population groups and communities as it were pulled the region into two opposite directions. Swaraj Basu concludes: “The claims and counterclaims for a separate state 172

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or autonomy by different ethnic groups have kept the people of north Bengal in a state of uncertainty” (Basu 2012: 28). At one level, these examples point to the shifting connotations of home and homeland and the highly fraught and complicated relationship that obtains between them. At another level, it also shows how the fight for homeland ironically results in alarmingly regular cycles of violence in the region, in different parts of India and in the resettlement of population groups, often reinforcing the hills–plains divide and often their protracted homelessness. Significantly in none of these homeland imaginaries discussed the region or the city represents a composite space to be shared by all these groups and communities otherwise involved in conflicts. The region is thus caught in a whirlpool of homeland claims cutting across and contending with, if not directly clashing against, each other. Militant particularism underlying the rivalling homeland claims – as David Harvey warns us – “degenerates into regressive exclusions and fragmentations” (Harvey 2001: 193). Since these claims are more often than not articulated in mutually exclusive terms, they hardly leave scope for any dialogue, negotiation or communication and do not easily translate into what in Contemporary Political Theory is called ‘rights discourse’. Accordingly the Chapter is divided into two unequal parts. It concludes with a brief reference to the new politics of social movements that seems to have emerged beyond the politics based on the conventional tropes of home and homeland. Borrowing from Heidegger, we call it politics of the unhomely. Home and homeland: the shifting terrain In one of his most impassioned essays, Edward Said argues that home outside homeland is only an oxymoron, a mere contradiction in terms – for as he asks “what is home without homeland?” (Said 2001: 177). Describing exile and homelessness as a painful and heavily individuated experience – ‘a solitude’ – that prevents one from being at home with another, Said writes that the cravings for home and homeland – normal as they are – are equally “impossible in today’s world”: Because exile, unlike nationalism, is fundamentally a discontinuous state of being. Exiles are cut off from their roots, their land, their past. They generally do not have armies or states, although they are often in search of them. Exiles feel, therefore, an urgent need to reconstitute their broken lives, usually by choosing to see themselves as part of triumphant ideology 173

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or a restored people. The crucial thing is that a state of exile free from this triumphant ideology – designed to resemble an exile’s broken history into a new whole – is virtually unbearable, and virtually impossible in today’s world. (Said 2001: 177) The relation of home to homeland and vice versa is much more complex than what Said would have thought, as the connotation of home acquires a completely different meaning in the following case. Anil Das from Meghnad Saha Nagar of Madarihat in the Dooars and his wife report that their ‘home’ is frequently visited by hordes of ‘elephant-guests’. In summer, many of them actually take bath in the nearby pond. On 13 June 2012, a band of about 30 elephants came at noon and took bath as a matter of ‘their habit’. Then they destroyed the thatched walls of Anil’s kitchen and had their frugal lunch with dal-bhat (typical Bengali diet of lentil soup and rice). The ‘guests’, according to Anil Das, returned very happy. The reporter of Uttarbanga Sambad breaks the story with the caption that the guests “returned to the jungles after taking bath and having their lunch with lentil soup and rice” (Ghosh 2012: 5). Anil Das and his family, like many of their neighbours, think that the elephants are the uninvited ‘guests’ who visit their ‘home’ on a regular basis. The Dooars in West Bengal with all its tea gardens, railway tracks and human habitations, by all accounts, are an integral part of the ‘elephant corridor’. Are the elephants then to be called our ‘guests’ or we should consider ourselves as their ‘guests’ who may have exceeded the welcome and have therefore run into difficulty with our ‘hosts’? When have the ‘hosts’ turned into ‘guests’? Ajay S. Rawat, a wildlife expert, has the answer: “It is obvious that with the habitat being ruined and social values having changed, elephant, a part of Indian ethos, has little future and is therefore endangered” (Rawat 1997: 28). North Bengal is on the edge where everyone is in search of one’s home and homeland sometimes with grotesque results. Helenbala ran away from Brahmanbari in Bangladesh on 13 April 2012. She broke open the barbed wire fence near the border erected by the Government of India reportedly with the objective of preventing ‘illegal’ immigration from outside. She strayed into Kamalpur subdivision of the Indian state of Tripura the very next day. Helenbala was successful in escaping all trappings laid out to get hold of her, traversed a long way for about a month before she finally entered Bisramganj near Sipahijala in Tripura and was caught. Helenbala is the name of a female elephant that used to work with the Red Star Circus of Bangladesh and 174

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escaped while the Circus was organizing its shows in Brahmanbari. On 20 May 2012, she was taken to the Akhaura border near Agartala and handed over to Hazi Abdul Samad, the proprietor of Red Star Circus. The Indian authorities promised all kinds of help once they were informed about Helenbala’s disappearance. As the special correspondent of the largest circulating The Telegraph (Siliguri) observes on 21 May 2012: “Samad got in touch with India through the Bangladesh Border Guard and BSF and was assured that once the elephant was caught, it would be returned”. The story carried the caption – ‘Helenbala returns home’ (‘Helenbala Returns Home’ 2012: 6). Being a performer in the Red Star Circus based in Bangladesh, the special correspondent does not have even an iota of confusion about Helenbala’s ‘home’ and in order to reinforce her point, she quotes Sudip Dasgupta, Wildlife Warden of Sipahijala Sanctuary, who provides an eyewitness’s account of her transfer: “It immediately crossed the border and recognised its companions and the child”. The homecoming of Helenbala marks a self-fulfilling experience for all those who read the story, without ever bothering to know whether at all elephants have their ‘home’ in the same sense in which human beings have theirs or whether Helenbala was all too happy with the daily chore of having to perform under intense spotlight and undergo the drudgery of entertaining thousands of her fans who pay handsomely for watching the show – that for the environmentalists and environmental activists might have amounted to downright cruelty to her – and why she had escaped the Circus in the first place. By all accounts, elephants do not have homes – they have corridors where they move back and forth in bands. Helenbala had had her use value for the Circus and its owner reportedly was all too happy with her return. She was lucky in having experienced a hospitable environment in her ‘host’ country. But not all of us who are evicted from home are lucky – certainly not those who are forced to migrate from Bangladesh. The reception accorded to Helenbala stands in sharp contrast with the way Indian elephants straying into Nepal are more often than not treated – hacked, tortured, wounded and even killed with poisoned arrows. As late as in June 2012, when a 118-strong band of elephants crossed the Mechi River and ‘intruded’ into Aldangi in Nepal, a oneand-half-year-old cub was isolated from the band and its body was cut into shreds with the help of bhojalis (a particular kind of knife used in Nepal) used by the villagers. Y. T. Aden – the Divisional Forest Officer of Kurseong pleaded helplessness: “We could not even recover its body breaking the international law [by crossing the Indo-Nepal border]” (‘Nepale “anuprabasher” khesarat dilo hastisabak’ 2012: 9). Insofar 175

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as the known elephant corridor cuts across the international boundaries, the elephants straying into a foreign country run the risk of being detected and thrown out – in case they are spared. It reminds me of Heidegger’s lament that history has never understood nomadism. Dhritikanta Lahiri Chowdhury informs us that elephants not only have corridors through which they move back and forth for centuries, but they also have a tendency of migrating to unfamiliar terrains – the classic example being that all Indian elephants trace common ancestry to their African cousins. He describes migration as being ‘instinctive’ for them. While the westward movement of elephants of Dalma hills in the west of West Bengal – presently in Jharkhand – is not uncommon and falls within one of the country’s famous elephant corridors, for over the last 20 years, these elephants have been showing a tendency of eastward migration. The factors responsible for this sudden change of path, according to Lahiri Chowdhury, are difficult to pinpoint. But one can surely make a guess. The rapid depletion of the jungles in Dalma hills and the success in social forestry in eastern part of South (West) Bengal may have been responsible for attracting the elephants. Thus, in late-December 1993, “a wave of elephants” came at the doorstep of Kolkata. If the Dooars falls within the elephant corridor and one expresses doubt over whether it is the ‘home’ of Anil Das and his family or the band of elephants that frequently visit them, in this instance there was hardly any doubt. As Lahiri Chwodhury puts it, albeit with a sense of sarcasm: “Howsoever the elephants are in need of ‘lebensraum’ or the land for their survival, they cannot be allowed to come to Kolkata” (Lahiri Chowdhury 2007: 195). In other words, whenever there are conflicting homeland claims of human beings and animals, the choice is very clear. Now that there are many voluntary groups agitating for animal’s rights and the rights of the animals are too serious a thing to be whittled down, Anil Das, his family, neighbours and fellow villagers may be asked to give way. Two of the political organizations may have been quarrelling between themselves on the issue of demarcation of the GTA’s jurisdiction while animal activists clamour for turning the Dooars into a safe habitat for elephants so that they do not have to stumble into railway tracks and lose their lives in frequent train accidents or intercept the highways disrupting and bringing the traffic to a complete halt or even killing human beings out of fear. But, the rights of the animals – it seems imperative – should not be stretched to a point where the elephants can storm Kolkata – the ultimate Bengali homeland – and invade it. Finally a bumper-to-bumper row of trucks was set up that stood still on the Kolkata-Delhi road honking fiercely with their headlights 176

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turned on in a desperate bid to frighten the storming pachyderms, to stop and repulse them. Kolkata was spared of the elephant invasion (Lahiri Chowdhury 2007: 192–199). But whose Dooars is it anyway? The shifting nature of both home and homeland is brought home in the famous Prafulla Ray short story (Chhinnamul or the Uprooted) of a family of ‘Bihari Muslims’ migrating to East Pakistan after the subcontinent was partitioned in 1947 with the firm belief that Pakistan was their homeland. After settling there, they could soon realize that they were unwelcome in the society with an overwhelming majority of Bengalis. They did not take time to discover that East Pakistan was not their homeland. They were forced to live in a ghetto-like camp and were not allowed to mix with others. The problem came to a head as Bangladesh was liberated in 1971. Pakistan refused to accept them. Nor did Bangladesh recognize them as the citizens of the newly formed country while they too did not want to be treated as citizens of Bangladesh. They would always be looked upon with suspicion. The family finally decided to return to the same village in Bihar they had migrated from hoping that they would feel at home amongst the erstwhile neighbours and villagers. Again, disillusionment did not take time to set in as they were unceremoniously driven out from the village at night on suspicion of being a band of dacoits. While it reflects the loss of home that the endless search for homeland inflicts on the family, the search itself finally turns out elusive as there was hardly any ‘hope’ of home. Hope, is believed to be at the heart of home. Since home is where the family is embodied and ensconced it is also the place from where one is uprooted, displaced or forced to migrate, but to which – as contemporary anthropological evidences bear out – one is often ‘reluctant to return’ (Jansen 2009: 55). For, the home ceases to remain a ‘home’ the moment one is forced to migrate and, unless it offers some ‘hope’ to the migrants, they are unlikely to return: “a place to become home . . . requires a sense of hope” (Jansen 2009: 57). The story ends with the aphorism that ‘what is behind ought to be left behind’. But they have nowhere to go.

Home, homeland, rights Home has its organic association with family for it is the abode where a family is situated and most importantly is ensconced in a web of relations through which – to use a patently Hegelian phrase – it realizes its principle.6 Nowhere is the family principle more sharply illustrated than in his famous Philosophy of Right where he makes the distinction between family and civil society – which, as I argue, is of critical 177

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importance for an understanding of home, homeland and the right to homeland, if there is any. Although Hegel rarely uses the term ‘home’ in his book mentioned earlier, it is obvious that family is implicated in home and vice versa for the realization of the principle it represents. The compression of many members of a family into an ‘individual’ or an identity prompts Hegel to describe the constituents of a family not as separate or separable individuals, but as ‘members’. Hegel’s reference to ‘home’ in his Philosophy of Right occurs on two occasions – one when he describes the ‘I’ – being ‘at home’ with what he calls ‘the Spirit’ and another when he literally refers to the colonizers as rulers who do not have their ‘home’ in the countries they colonize. In the second, the term ‘home’ is used for the first time as a synonym for homeland in order to make the distinction between homeland and colony with albeit widely different ethical and moral connotations for him. Hegel thus uses the term ‘home’ in the same text in two rather distinguishable senses: in the metaphorical sense in which ‘home’ serves as a necessary means to the fulfilment – if not celebration – of the family principle, without which the principle cannot find its fruition, and in the literal sense in which the term ‘home’ is taken to mean homeland as an extension of home – upholding and celebrating the same family principle. Hegel describes the transition from family to nation as a ‘peaceful expansion’ of the same principle that informs family in the first place. Family is predicated on the principle of love the deepening of which compresses its respective members into an individual and the members of the family lose their individuality and become one. Reflecting on the constitution of family, Hegel writes: I am not separate and isolated, but win my self-consciousness only by renouncing my independent existence, and by knowing myself as unity of myself with another and of another with me. But love is feeling, that is to say, the ethical in the form of the natural. It has no longer a place in the state, where one knows the unity as law, where, too, the content must be rational, and I must know it. The first element in love is that I will to be no longer an independent self-sufficing person, and that, if I were such a person, I should feel myself lacking and incomplete. The second element is that I gain myself in another person, in whom I am recognized, as he again is in me. (Hegel 2001: 139) As a theoretical point, it is necessary to remember that homeland is understood as a socially and culturally continuous space in which the 178

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actual location of one’s home is only incidental to the fulfilment and celebration of the family principle of love and growing demand for homeland may actually result in loss of one’s home as a determinate spatial location within that space albeit without any regret. Homeland as an imaginary maps home not so much as a determinate location, but as an indeterminate space enclosed within homeland. Herder – the famous German romantic philosopher – for instance argues that “an unlimited extension of [one’s] feelings enfeebles and annihilates [one] . . . [a]s it is impossible, that we can love others more than ourselves, or in a different way, for we love them as part of ourselves, or rather ourselves in them” (Herder 1968: 75–76). As he explains: Neither our head nor our heart is formed for an infinitely increasing store of thoughts and feelings, our hand is not made, our life is not calculated for it. Do not our finest mental powers decay, as well as flourish? Do they not even fluctuate with years and circumstances, and relieve one another in friendly context, or rather in a circular dance? And who has not found, that an unlimited extension of his feelings enfeebles and annihilates them, while it gives to the air in loose flocks what should have found the cord of love, or clouds the eyes of others with its ashes? As it is impossible, that we can love others more than ourselves, or in a different way, for we love them as part of ourselves, or rather ourselves in them, that mind is happy, which, like a superior spirit, embraces much within the sphere of its activity, and in restless activity deems it a part of itself: but miserable is that, the feelings of which, drowned in itself, are useful neither to itself nor others. The savage, who loves himself, his wife and child, with quiet joy, and glows with limited activity for his tribe, as for his own life, is, in my opinion, a more real thing, than that cultivated shadow, who is enraptured with the love of the shades of his whole species, that of a name. The savage has room in his poor hut for every stranger, whom he receives as his brother with calm benevolence, and asks not once whence he comes. The deluged heart of the idle cosmopolite is a hut for no one. (Herder 1968: 75–76) The family of ‘Bihari Muslims’ in the story mentioned earlier initially bartered their homelessness away for the new homeland in Pakistan and then was prepared for finding a home even at the expense of what it had hitherto perceived as its homeland. They decided to return to 179

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the same village in India after living there for a good couple of decades, eventually losing both home and homeland in the process. Hegel’s distinction between family and civil society also marks the civil as the inauguration of a new, albeit different principle (‘the lower universal’) in which many individuals are tied together on the basis of some form of contractual relations or what he calls ‘mutuality of needs’. This transition implies reorganization of space in a way in which home not only ceases to be based on the family principle (that Engels has referred so eloquently in his Origin of Family, Private Property and the State), but also becomes substitutable as mere spatial locations (as documented in the first few pages of The Communist Manifesto). Engels, for example, points out how “with the predominance of the private property over common property” forms of marriage and family undergo changes in ways that they become “more than ever dependent on economic considerations” with the introduction of inheritance rights along male line, primogeniture, monogamy, so on and so forth – in short greater individualization and privatization within the family (Engels 1948: 79). The exclusivity of homeland claims is anathema to any discourse of rights. For Hegel, the civil – not the family – is the fountainhead of all our rights. Insofar as we make claims over others and get others to help fulfil them on condition that others also make their claims and get us to help fulfil theirs, a regime of rights comes into existence in the society. Viewed thus, the civil, for Hegel, is the antithesis of home. Transposed into the realm of family, introduction of the civil implies that the husband has a right to restitution of marital rights in case such rights are evidently transgressed, as much as the wife has a right against marital rape and domestic violence unleashed by her husband. Unlike in Hegel’s understanding of family, husband and wife in the modern family are not (only) bound by the principle of love, but are believed to represent not one – but two distinct individuals or ‘personalities’ within a family or home with their respective rights. In a family where the family principle a la Hegel is fulfilled and celebrated, it is imperative that the husband and the wife do not communicate in the language of rights. The realization of these rights on the contrary presupposes that both act as two separate and separable entities entitled to enjoy rights vis-à-vis each other. Even children are believed to have their rights against the errant, uncaring and atrocious parents. One may recall the recent case (2012) that almost created a diplomatic row between the two countries of India and Norway and hit newspaper headlines. The Government of Norway took custody of two little siblings born of their Bengali parents with 180

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Indian citizenship settled in that country on the ground that they were subjected to parental torture and atrocities. Finally the children were returned from their biological parents to their paternal uncle thanks to the intervention at the highest level and the Norwegian court in its anxiety set forth the procedural niceties to be observed while trying to make sure that the little son and daughter are kept isolated from their parents. This may be an extreme example, but examples of this sort help in showing how the emergence of a regime of rights engulfs the interior of home and effects changes in its social structure – sometimes the collapse of families – and accordingly the home no longer remains an individual or an identity but a site of a variety of often clashing individuals and their identities with their distinctive rights claims. All this, as Hegel would have argued, underlines the impossibility of claiming home and homeland as right. On the one hand, there is not enough space in earth’s habitable surface for every group to have its homeland. On the other hand, insofar as homeland movements succeed in establishing some form of a homeland whether in the form of sovereign statehood, statehood within the given political dispensation or Sixth Schedule arrangement, customary laws, traditional institutions and what have you, they are also likely to spark off a variety of homeland movements within these homeland movements. The newly formed Councils in the Hills reflects this point. Homeland politics truly is like peeling an onion.

Politics of the unhomely How do the impossibilities of homeland politics mentioned trigger what Heidegger would have called the ‘unhomely’ social practices and movements? The unhomely practice unlike that of homeland movement lies essentially in having to transcend ‘home’ or homeland understood traditionally as an enclosed and bounded entity in an attempt at making the outside one’s home – implies simply the challenge of being ‘at home outside’. While at one level, this practice aims at obliterating the classic dichotomy between home or homeland and outside, it at another level critiques the traditionally understood and albeit restrictive connotations of home with the duties and obligations it imposes, the cares and anxieties it evokes, the attachments and encumbrances it entails – in short the enclosure it erects around us by constantly differentiating ‘us’ from ‘them’, the home or homeland and the outside, and unleashing genocidal violence against those whom we perceive as the other. 181

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We were called the homecoming generation – children of the Partition refugees – homeless but growing up in the restless decades of the 1960s and 1970s with the poignant desire of returning home someday as we heard stories of revolution and hummed favourite urban folk tunes of our time. This was a revolutionary time with peasants’ revolts, workers’ movements and students’ unrest spreading across the campuses of Europe, the US and India, struggles for decolonization in different parts of Asia, Africa and Latin America – all with the powerful promise of delivering us to a world where we will feel at home. Songs of these decades aptly sum up this nostalgic yearning for home. Coming home was as good as becoming a ‘man’. Remember Bob Dylan’s famous song – “how many miles must a man walk before you call him a man?” Or think of how Harry Belafonte bids farewell to Jamaica knowing fully well that he will not be back ‘for many a day’; but the song at the same time is brimming with the hope – albeit a distant one. John Denver’s ‘Take me home’ again is the gospel of homecoming. The four brothers yearning for home are also constantly haunted by this debilitating sense of homelessness. Some of these movements taking place in different parts of the world had their resonance in North Bengal. As we grow old and enter into the 1980s, the whirlwind of globalization seems to have blown our ‘home’ away significantly without leaving any sense of loss with us. While a third of the world’s population is actually in or is likely to plunge into a state of permanent homelessness, a plethora of cosmopolitan imaginaries seems to have surfaced and has been circulating across the world. Moheener Ghodaguli (Moheen’s horses) – a Bengali band of the 1960s – is believed to have been well in advance of its time. As far back as in the late 1960s, their song – ghare ferar gaan (songs of homecoming) underlines the impossibility of homecoming, although the song itself is finally set in that inexorably tragic theme of homecoming and homeland. It has become impossible to return home – “can you come back even if you yearn for it, for, you do not know you have crossed so many countries by the time” and “you have left a country that does not exist any longer, so you cannot come back”. While Moheener Ghodguli was well ahead of its time, it is the rediscovery of their songs by a good three or four decades later that has lent to this band its cult status it seems to enjoy now. Nomadism, in this sense, has become a condition of our time and marks a celebration of homelessness and motion. The celebration more often than not resonates with the practice of making the ‘outside’ one’s home. The philosophical underpinnings of the unhomely though have their origins in Heidegger’s writings, certainly remind us of our own Tagore. 182

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Abu Syed Ayyub – ironically a philosopher of the post-Partition generation that claimed to have settled the question of homeland by partitioning the subcontinent and apportioning the respective territories between our two nation-states – shows how Tagore – more than anyone else of his time – chose “to traverse the unknown and the uncharted path – at great pain sometimes cutting through the asphyxiating darkness of the valley” on the promise of discarding “the habitual styles” (Ayyub 2006: 13). Ayyub – one of his commentators – observes in a somewhat anecdotal way: There was some kind of peace, safety and security in the religious community I was born in and the religious beliefs I was born with. All those who suffer its loss know the ordeal, fear, danger, depleting hope and deepening hopelessness that accompany one as one leaves one’s comfortable home and hearth, crosses through the thicket of jungles, passes through the hills and mountains, traversing through the unknown and many an uncharted path, sometimes cutting through the asphyxiating darkness of the valley. But I do not think anyone could realize it as deeply and as comprehensively as Rabindranath [Tagore] did. (Ayyub 2006: 13) Tagore was – as one of his commentators observes – “at home outside”. As one leaves home and begins the journey, one surely charts out an uncertain course and does not know the destination; but one seems determined not to return. There is no promise of reaching any destination at all. But there is always the imperative of making the outside one’s home. In the words of Ayyub: [O]ne has to take the step towards the new – constantly shaking off the conventional style (rapta bhangi) and customary spirit (abhyasta bhav). This motion may not be progress. Even then [s]he has no time for taking rest. (Ayyub 2006: 151) Being at home is to remain motionless and be overshadowed by the antiquarian beliefs and archaic practices. Since the journey is full of uncertainties, it is by no means easy or as Ayyub puts it full of “ordeal, fear, danger, depleting hope and deepening hopelessness”. On 19 May 2012, Uttarbanga Sambad flashes out the news of a family: the mother and her two children that, having been thrown 183

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out of their home for not being able to pay the rent due to the sudden death of the father (the only earning member of the family), now passes its days on the busy pavements and thoroughfares of Jalpaiguri town. The mother with her son and daughter of 6 and 14 years respectively were found sitting in front of the divider of a busy thoroughfare while being captured by a lensman in the photograph. According to Fulmoni – the mother, “I lost my husband. Once upon a time we used to live in Indira colony of Jalpaiguri town. We had everything then – pillows for sleeping, dishes for eating, glasses for drinking – everything”. The little boy without any trace of cloth in his body under the scorching sun of summer in North Bengal was gazing inquisitively at the camera from the other side of the divider with part of his forehead covered ironically by the billboard of a mobile phone service providing company, the face of a newly globalized India (Uchchhista Kheye . . .’ 2012). When I tracked the story and my researcher met her, Fulmoni informs that they live by collecting leftovers of the wedding parties in the wedding season or by the little money given to them by the pedestrians and they “make one or the other thoroughfare of Jalpaiguri town their home”, sleeping there and eating the leftovers and throwaways. Fulmoni and her family, in other words, certainly live – not in an abject state of homelessness as the journalist would have us believe but at a “home” that is perpetually mobile and shifting for she makes every single corner of a sidewalk and the road her home. I realized that this is Fulmoni’s way of taking revenge on the town that has rendered her and her family homeless by desecrating and defiling at will its public space – the roads and pavements – by turning them into their home. She will remain there as an eyesore to everyone – the residents, administrators, the town planners and so forth. Most significantly, she is now ‘used to’ it and does not seem to have any trace of shame or agony usually associated with homelessness. The shame and agony of homelessness are literally returned by Fulmoni to all of us who remain well settled in our homes. On being asked how she manages when it rains or when the sun burns punishingly overhead, she calmly turns her face to us, smiles cynically and tells: “We take shelter under the shades of closed shops. We are used to everything. There is only one problem. I am at a loss if no one offers us food early in the day because in that case my son starts crying for food”. Footpath in this instance is rebelliously converted into a home when Fulmoni is turned out of her home and if it is Fulmoni with her two children who are seen in the picture, it aptly shows a family on the footpath (footpather samsar). While the family is forced to live on the footpath and to manage the vagaries of uncertain living, the very act of living on the footpath is 184

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itself an act of rebellion, for, it threatens to obliterate the commonplace distinction between home and outside. By many accounts, the ‘beggars’ on the pavements of Kolkata (earlier Calcutta) live a community life. They set up ‘family’ ties with each other without being biologically related, run a family kitchen and dine together and help each other particularly during medical emergencies (Ganguly 2009). These are the new families that remain standing witness to the fragility and precariousness of settled life. Thus the ‘new family’ ties are created on the pavements, on public spaces, constantly blur the distinction between the otherwise well-known and essentially western textbook dichotomies and categories between home and outside. In 1995, the US federal initiative of rehabilitating the ‘homeless’ triggered off one of the most lingering court battles in America’s legal history. A section of the homeless with their organizations based mainly in San Francisco – incidentally also the city then with the largest concentration of the homeless in the US – refused federal rehabilitation and petitioned before the apex court with the plea that they had a right to remain homeless in the society as much as others enjoy their right to home. Their plea is based on the argument that remaining without home is as much ‘normal’ as living a settled life within home. The Supreme Court finally recognized an individual’s choice of remaining homeless by giving her the freedom of refusing to accept rehabilitation and accommodation. In our country, the newly admitted students of one of India’s premier universities having nowhere to stay due to acute paucity of hostel accommodation organized in January 2009 a unique form of protest – hitherto unknown in Indian campuses – called dera dalo or ‘set up your home’ consecutively for two days. The outstation students without any room to stay simply spread their bedrolls, lay on them after setting up their mosquito curtains in front of the vice-chancellor’s chamber in a bid to constantly remind the authorities of the inadequacy of accommodation and their complete inability to address the students’ problems (‘JNU students stage dharna’ 2009). Their ‘setting up’ of ‘homes’ in front of the vice-chancellor’s chamber amounted to an invasion, if not desecration, of the space earmarked for other purposes. What Heidegger calls the unhomely or the unhomelike represents praxis of a different kind. For, more than regretting homelessness, they also mock at the commonplace celebration of home and the settled nature of our existence being taken as normal, the fragilities and uncertainties of being at home. Home is what anchors us in the family principle and thus provides us with an individuality, an identity, 185

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whereas the praxis of the unhomely or the unhomelike represents a form of politics that arises not in the fullness of an identity – a nation, an ethnicity, a people, a collective subject – but, rather, in what Thoburn calls “the continual deferral of plenitude”, in “cramped spaces”, “choked passages” and in “impossible” positions (Thoburn 2012: 53), that is, among those who feel inconsolably constrained by the given social relations. The new turn to the politics of the unhomely is what characterizes many newly emergent social movements in India. Let us cite an example from our own ethnographic work. We conducted a series of such studies and interviews in Gerukamukh area in Upper Assam – the hub of an anti-dam protest in the Northeast. While recent violence in Lower Assam is predicated primarily on the demand for homeland – whether for driving out the ‘outsiders’ or against being driven out by them – the movement in Gerukamukh marks the arrival of a new subject in the wake of a series of developmental policies initiated since the early 1990s. The interviews were conducted across various age groups and communities like the Mishings, Dewris, Ahoms, Assamese, Nepalis, Hajongs, Bodos and other Tea tribes like the Kurmis, etc. Most of our respondents extend unflinching support to the antidam protests – although not all of them actively take part in them. When asked why they support it all of them have been unequivocal in pointing out that the issue is integral to ‘security of their life’ (jiwanar suraksha). They argue that unless their life is not secure, development becomes ‘unthinkable’. What will they do with development if they are not alive? Economic development or for that matter any other kind of development has no meaning unless there is security of life, which according to one respondent, cuts across the ethnic boundaries and is ‘greater’ (brihattar swartha) than economic development for any ‘particular’ community. When collective survival is under threat, it is imperative that all people irrespective of their ethnicity, creed and community identity come together and put up a joint (ekeloge) resistance and collective (umaihotiya) struggle. It is important that ‘the public’ (raij) across ethnicities and nationalities work together as a collective (ekgot). Haren Saikia – a medical practitioner based in Narayanpur – observes: “This is a movement with which the interests of all classes and the public are tied up”. Construction of dams will make them vulnerable to natural disaster which – if it ever happens in a seismically fragile region – will not discriminate between classes and ethnicities. The collective survival of the people in common will be under threat (bhabuki). Ensuring the security of life is therefore the topmost priority for them. 186

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Insofar as threat is perceived as ‘real’ by all of them, dam and development strike at the physical body that exists as “the tabernacle of dynamis, its potential” and is “not yet objectified” (Virno 2004: 82). The body refuses to make it available to the forms and technologies of developmental governance as it fears death and develops a stake in the practice of life. The potential of body as a living organism never completely exhausts itself by surrendering to the call of death, but constantly interrupts the forms and technologies of developmental governance. Never before in the history of the Northeast has the physical body become so much of a security concern for the people as it is now. As dams are perceived to threaten physical survival, development does not “realize the potential, but contradicts it” (Neilson 2004: 75). As contemporary social movements are marked by a concern for life – life in its most elementary sense, as bare survival with its undying will to continuously explore the possibility of life, these movements also transcend the barriers of ethnicity, class and community, and come out of the shackles of home and homeland, unhoming themselves as it were in order to not die. To say that the old modes of social movements have become a thing of the past will be premature – if not an exaggeration. But this definitely seems to be the new trend.

Notes 1 The term Madhesia is derived from ‘Madhes’ – or Madhya Desh – the middle country or central India. 2 The term bhatiya literally refers to the people from the downstream or the South and is used mainly to emphasize the domination of the South with its centre in Kolkata over North Bengal. 3 The city is presently renamed as Kolkata. 4 It may be noted that the last King died without any heir in 1992. 5 A recent news item published in the largest circulating Ananda Bazaar Patrika however takes 28 December 1998 as its founding day (‘Kamatapur Liberation Organization’ 2013: 5). 6 Such coinages as ‘nursing homes’ or ‘old-age homes’ represent desperate attempts at replicating the family principle under modern conditions which by all accounts contribute to growing individuation. The process of individuation is marked by the prior severance of ‘nursing’ from ‘home’, of persons of ‘old-age’ from ‘home’.

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In a baseline survey conducted in 2013 on the homeless children of North Bengal it is found that many children are pushed out of their homes often by their own parents who are unable to feed them and they end up as ‘railway children’ for whom the platform becomes the ‘home’ in such railway stations as Siliguri, New Jalpaiguri, Jalpaiguri, Malbazar and so forth. Once restored, parents ‘in most cases’ refuse to take the children back. For all practical purposes, they do not have any home to return to (Roy 2013: 48). According to the same study, the children become easy prey to the traffickers within a short while: With the crisis in the tea gardens and the existence of an open border with Nepal, incidents of human trafficking are a huge challenge for the district (of Jalpaiguri). Due to increased surveillance in NJP station, there is a trend of traffickers using small stations like Mal Bazar to take their victims. (Roy 2013: 48) As the children are forced out of their homes, they are slowly inserted into the new political economy of human trafficking and sex trade. In Chapter 2, we have already reflected in detail on some of the mechanisms through which this political economy works under conditions of globalization. Most of the railway children, the study further tells us, are the offspring of disturbed – if not broken – homes. The closure of tea gardens particularly in the Dooars and Terai regions has only hastened family disorganization and the growth of dysfunctional families. The study also informs us how police raids are routinely conducted on them and how these hapless children are frequently nabbed, detained, beaten and tortured in police stations without showing any reason, whenever an incident of crime is reported. In police parlance,

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these children are described as Cawa (nomadic) parties who do not deserve to be treated by the rule of law and therefore are not entitled to the rights that otherwise pertain to the country’s citizens.

The three ‘Pillars’ of democracy The baseline study cited serves as an exemplar in at least three rather overlapping senses: One, the homeless children, like many other groups and communities, seldom count as rights-bearing bodies and therefore do not qualify as ‘sovereign’ in the way in which the ‘people’ are described as sovereign in a republican democracy. Popular sovereignty is widely considered as the defining principle of democracy. Being pushed outside the ambit of ‘people’ that democracy stands for, they themselves become the site for the exercise of sovereign power. In Agamben’s words: [S]overeign is he who decides on the value or the nonvalue of life as such. Life – which, with the declarations of rights, had as such been invested with the principle of sovereignty – now itself becomes the place of a sovereign decision. (Agamben 1998: 83) Sovereign power, in other words, always hangs heavy on the nomads – the Cawa children in our instance – and they – unlike the relatively settled population groups – have to bear the brunt of its exercise. Given the tenuous nature of democracy’s relation to sovereign power, the nomads can hope to constitute themselves into democratic subjects only to the extent that they negotiate with the sovereign power and can thereby escape – if not effectively counter – its influence. It may be interesting to find out the exact modalities of such negotiation. Two, the homeless children gradually slip out of the official dossiers and records as they are pushed out of their parental homes. Their permanent homelessness renders them unenumerable in no time. In the eye of the state, they simply do not exist – whether as legal-juridical personalities or even as a mere Census number. In a world where it is obligatory for everyone to have an identity that one can claim as one’s own and to clamour for its recognition by the state as a legitimate means of controlling one’s access to power and resources (Voter Identity Card and Unique Identification Number being the latest in the series of such means that entitles one to everything ranging from voting rights and journey by public transport to a host of welfare benefits

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including connection of subsidized cooking gas), it is increasingly being noticed, particularly from the recent studies conducted in the city of Mumbai, that the new nomads consist of those who are most unlikely to succeed in establishing their identity and thereby accessing these benefits. The fluidity and flexibility of their existence lend to their life a nomadic character. For they remain as it were constantly on the move and always unsettled, neither here nor there and are always caught between identities without decisively embracing any one of them. While the nomadic existence inflicts on them their perpetual dis-identification as in the case of the Rajbanshis discussed in Chapter 4, the impossibility of casting them into any officially recognizable form – whether as the holder of a voter identity card or an Aadhar card – also keeps them away from the forms and institutions of representative politics. They do not enjoy effective voting rights and remain disenfranchised for all practical purposes. Nomads in this sense are discarded by the representative institutions. We will try to see how at one level the fuzzy nature of their identity makes it difficult – if not impossible – for them to be enfranchised and represented.1 At another level, being perpetually disenfranchised and discarded by the democratic institutions, they more often than not see violence as the necessary mode left open to them for articulation of their demands. This violence, as I will argue, is of a different kind. For it is seldom aimed at their reincorporation into the body of democratic institutions, but threatens to turn precisely against these institutions while simultaneously constituting them into democratic subjects. Three, they carve out a niche all for and by themselves, steering their way through the veritable maze of illegality, underworld and conditions of abject unfreedom. Freedom, for them, becomes an object of negotiation, albeit with varying degree of success. Nomadism today is not about who the nomads are – but more about what they do, their everyday practices and how by being engaged in nomadic practices they also constitute themselves as democratic subjects. The main purpose of this concluding chapter is to reflect on this process of democratic becoming and find out how nomadic practices open up the unusual sites and locales where democracy defined as politics – and not merely as a congeries of institutions – escapes, destabilizes and even unsettles what we usually consider as the three founding pillars of democracy – popular sovereignty, identity and freedom. For purposes of convenience, we propose to confine ourselves to a discussion of the practices of disappearance, dis-identification and negotiation having their direct bearing on these three founding pillars respectively. We illustrate them with the help of a series of 194

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ethnographies we conducted in different parts of North Bengal primarily between 2012 and 2014.

The practice of disappearance First, democracy, as we have already noted, has historically been uncomfortable with sovereign power. Although it seeks to build on the doctrine of popular sovereignty, nomads, as the case of homeless children illustrates, are always viewed with suspicion and are never considered as part of ‘We, the People of India’ that it seeks to invest with sovereign power. The hostility of the apparently democratic regimes towards the nomads like the Romas, the Gypsies, the Jews and the Bedouins, the snake charmers, the homeless, the vagrants and the vagabonds across the world is much too well known to be recounted here. Insofar as they are thrown out of the ambit of democratic institutions, they also stamp these institutions with the presence of their absence. A nomad, as a democratic subject, marks her presence not as a presence, but only as an absence. Democratic institutions are obliged to bear the scar of their absence or disappearance which they find impossible to completely wipe out and erase. If sovereign power is alien to those who do not form part of the socalled indivisible body of people – the body politic or ‘We, the people’ as the Constitution of India describes them – it has always looked upon them with utmost suspicion. Are the nomadic groups to be viewed as hapless victims or do they too encounter the mighty arm of sovereign power in ways specific to them? Do they disappear without any trace or does their disappearance also leave their footprints, which point to the limits of the exercise of sovereign power? We will illustrate this point with reference to a roving band of snake charmers in North Bengal that, back in 2003, was caught between the two sovereign states of India and Bangladesh.2 As we are aware, India’s decision of setting up barbed wire fence off 450 feet (or 150 yards or 137 meters) from the zero point along the Indo-Bangladesh border was apparently informed by the objective of keeping the potential migrants from entering the country and was mutually agreed upon as per the Indira-Mujib Accord of 1974. Bhorer Kagoj quoted a senior Bangladesh Rifles (BDR) – the erstwhile border police of Bangladesh – official saying that out of 4,427 kilometers of land border with Bangladesh, immediately after the Bangladesh war of 1971 only 487 kilometers remained un-demarcated. During the 30 years following the war, 480.5 kilometers of border could further be demarcated. The Government of India has planned to set up barbed 195

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wire fence along the entire stretch of demarcated border (2000). India has nearly completed the mammoth task of fencing the entire IndoBangladesh border evidently in a bid to prevent illegal entry of foreigners but most importantly to demarcate its sovereign domain from that of the neighbouring country. If fencing is a means of keeping the nomads, strangers and immigrants at bay, pushback is the means of cleansing the body within, that has been contaminated by their vitiating presence. Now ‘Pushback’ is common news in newspapers that simply means pushing Bengalispeaking people from India to Bangladesh by the Border Security Force (BSF) on the alleged ground that they are Bangladeshi citizens sneaking illegally into India. The BSF, though they would not admit on record, resorts to informal pushback operations as a way out of this otherwise insurmountable problem. Illegal immigrants handed over to the BSF by the various state police are ‘secretly’ taken to the borders and sent back into the Bangladeshi territory. The informal but widely practiced system of pushback came to a flashpoint in early 2003 when a group of 213 snake charmers were intercepted by the BSF and caught at the zero point between Bangladesh and India at Satgachi in Cooch Behar of West Bengal. They were there for a week and vanished mysteriously on 6 February 2003. India claimed that they were illegal Bangladeshis and hence should be pushed back while Bangladesh refused to accept them as her citizens. In India’s words, Bangladesh was refusing to “take them back” (‘Standoff continues . . .’). So there they stood, sat most of the time, huddling together in severe cold in the open for six days and nights, with guns of the two border forces facing each other. Yashwant Sinha – the then Minister of External Affairs in India – dismissed Dhaka’s charge that India was pushing its nationals into Bangladesh and the BDR at the Nazirgomani outpost of Lalmonirhat and locals armed with clubs had reportedly repulsed the ‘Bangladeshis’, when they attempted to reenter Bangladesh (‘Standoff continues . . .’). When asked about the condition of the stranded persons, including 80 children, K. C. Sharma – the Inspector General (officiating) North Bengal Range – said that the BSF had been in contact with the Red Cross Society to ensure that the people in no-man’s-land are not deprived of basic medicines and providing food and medicine to the “Bangladeshi intruders” on “humanitarian grounds” and added that it was “one-sided migration” for a long time. The standoff continued, creating a diplomatic standoff between the two sovereign states till it resolved itself. Then and much to their relief, in the morning of 6 February around 4.30 AM when India’s Border Security Force personnel went to check these people, the entire group 196

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of 213 men, women and children went “missing”. In the words of Times of India, they had “mysteriously disappeared” (‘Suddenly no sign . . .’). The BSF claimed that Bangladesh had taken them back, succumbing to Indian pressure but without acknowledging it. How did this happen? According to Sharma, BSF’s Area Commander, “the Bangladeshi nationals were quietly taken away by the BDR. It seems a face-saving gesture on their part”. Sharma further pointed out: “We wanted the BDR to accept them in the presence of media but just to save their face the BDR took them back in the middle of night”. Bangladesh Government denied having taken back the group and any knowledge of their whereabouts. “It’s impossible”, retorted the BDR Sector Commander Colonel Enayet Karim. Lt. Col. Ashfaqul Islam, Commanding Officer of 19 Battalion BDR said that the BSF had taken back the stranded people at around 3.30 AM (‘No-man’s land people . . .’). Bangladesh Government also refused to accept the Government of India’s proposal of conducting a joint inquiry in order to find out the citizenship of this group. Touhid Hussain – the Deputy High Commissioner of Bangladesh in Kolkata – said that the discussion concerning the citizenship might start only after they were brought to India. Whatever the case may be, the “mysterious disappearance” of this group of Bengali-speaking people “helped defuse the potentially explosive crisis that forced border guards of the two countries to confront each other” (‘Group “vanishes” into fog’). Both the countries seem to have desperately urged that these nowhere people to somehow vanish, giving the political class of these two countries some relief. In this tug-of-war between the two sovereign powers, the victims as it were do not exist. The State – whether India or Bangladesh – erases the victims from its discourse (cf. Das 2011). Uttarbanga Sambad – a popular daily published from Siliguri, northern West Bengal – carried out a series of reports based on their interviews with the people stranded in the border. The victims included a two-month old child of Rezina Bibi who was suffering from pneumonia. Abdul Salam – a member of the group remarked: “there is no question of going to India. Even Bangladesh is reluctant to accept us. We have nowhere to go. It will be better if they kill us” (Uttarbanga Sambad, 1 February 2003). Writhing in tension and exhausted by hunger, the 213 people had been spending days and nights under the open sky in the chilling weather. Their tension and hunger gave birth to hatred and anger and, as a result, the women in the group had warned that they would release all the snakes at their disposal if their lives and modesty were at stake. Being left in the open, the women were the most vulnerable and they were sought to be lured away by the traffickers and smugglers active 197

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in the border. Somdas and Sadans are taking care of these snakes, as they believed that “the human beings can betray but not these snakes”. Moreover, they had decided that if anyone ever approached them with evil intentions, they would unleash their snakes on them (Pratidin 5 February 2003). Unleashing snakes in an age of thermonuclear war might sound ridiculous. The victims in all these instances put up resistance, as James Scott tells us, in ways specific to them and their apparent powerlessness. They constitute people without nations as much as they help the nations without people. While the disappearance of these ‘nowhere’ people is a prerequisite for the persistence of nation-states, one should not forget that their disappearing act is after all the necessary means of their own survival in a world that continues to be dominated by nation-states. In an era when ‘nation-states’ fight between them over their sovereign control of population, the disappearance of these ‘nowhere’ people is a prerequisite for state sovereignty and their nationhood. On the other hand, the modern nomads like the snake charmers in this instance, as Deleuze and Guattari remind us, must sufficiently deterritorialize the space in order that they could move across territories of nation-states and thus escape the dragnet of raw sovereign power – without being ‘reterritorialized’ (Deleuze & Guattari 2010: 32). Their ability to survive in a world otherwise surgically vivisected into sovereign nation-states and their clearly drawn out boundaries critically depends on their ability not only to move, but to move fast enough till they completely ‘disappear’ into the blue without being detected and acknowledged by any sovereign state. Every state in today’s world secretly contains within itself an ever moving army of nomads.

Dis-identification and violence Representative politics albeit in a negative way helps in producing political nomads, who find it impossible to represent themselves. The experience of the Rajbanshis as a community is illustrative of this point. In Chapter 4 we have already seen how the Rajbanshis have been travelling across identities for more than a hundred years now – without ever being successful in accomplishing or arriving at any one of them. Their constant nomadic movement across various forms of identities without ever arriving at one where they can feel ‘at home’ is also the reason why they have not been able to make any significant headway in electoral and representative politics of the country – the second ‘pillar’ of any democracy. While Rajbanshis are numerically 198

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the majority presently accounting for about 60 percent of rural population of North Bengal and are considered to be the ‘earliest settlers’ in the region (Jana 2012: 313), Kamatapur People’s Party or KPP, as one of their earliest spokesmen, was formed only in 1995 with the objective of creating a separate Kamatapur state consisting of the six districts (now eight with the formation of the newest districts of Alipurduar on 1 January 2015 and Kalimpong in 1 February 2017) of North Bengal in a peaceful and democratic way. KPP, however, was not the first of its kind that was established with the avowed objective of organizing the Rajbanshis of North Bengal. It, indeed, was preceded by many such political formations as Uttarbanga Sanskritik Parishad-Tufanganj (North Bengal Cultural Organization–Tufanganj), Kamatapuri Bhasha O Sahitya Parishad-Shivmandir (Organization of Kamatapur Language and Culture–Shivmandir), North Eastern Foundation for Social Science Research-Jalpaiguri, Centre for Ethnic Studies and Research–Golakganj, The North Bengal Academy of Culture–Shivmandir which took an active part in floating discussion forums of various kinds albeit with varying organizational strength and life span and set up journals like Raidak, Ujani, Pohati, Pohatiya Tara, Puwali, Chhanda, Kalsanji, Jandisha, Disha, Nayajyoti, Yatra, Bhumiputra, Mahutbandhu, Baghdhenuk and Degar in Rajbanshi/ Kamatapuri language. But unlike KPP, all these organizations were not only locally based but identified themselves mainly as social and cultural organizations – rather than political ones – by abjuring electoral politics. As we have already seen in Chapter 4, similar sentiments of forming a separate state – whether within India or without – were expressed much earlier by such organizations as Hitasadhini Sabha, the Uttarkhanda Dal and the Uttarbanga Tapasheeli Jati O Adivasi Sangathan (North Bengal Scheduled Castes and Tribes Association) particularly in the wake of Cooch Behar’s merger with the state of West Bengal, also in the 1960s. In the latter half of the 1960s, domination of Indian National Congress over the politics of West Bengal started to decline with the formation of the first United Front Government comprising various Left parties, the Bangla Congress and some local regional parties like the Gorkha League in 1967. The decline of Congress was accompanied by the growth of small local parties as well as regional parties. Under such circumstances, the Uttarkhanda Dal (UKD) was formed. The UKD may be viewed as the first political party of the Rajbanshis which strove for mobilizing people by emphasizing on the distinctive identity of the Rajbanshis. Uttarkhanda Dal was formed on 5 July 1969 with 199

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the demand for a separate state of Kamatapur or Uttarkhanda within the Indian union carved out of the then five districts of North Bengal viz. Cooch Behar, Jalpaiguri, Darjeeling, Dinajpur and Malda. At times, they also demanded the inclusion of Goalpara and Kokrajhar districts of Assam which were adjacent to North Bengal and inhabited by the Rajbanshis. The UKD pointed out that that the merger with West Bengal was ‘illegal’ and was ‘imposed’ on the people of Cooch Behar without their ‘consent’. By the expression ‘consent of the people’, the UKD effectively means the consent of the indigenous Koch-Rajbanshis. According to UKD, the Koch-Rajbanshis are the aboriginal people of North Bengal who have been dwelling in this region for more than a thousand years. The Bengalis, the Nepalis, the Biharis and the Marwaris came to this region only with the introduction of the colonial rule. As a result of the colonial rule, tea plantation and timber trade had started in this region and outsiders had come as a result of this in search of employment and business. The Government of West Bengal after Independence permitted the free influx of people from outside this region, threatening the demographic composition of the region and adversely affecting the social and economic conditions of the Koch-Rajbanshis.3 The UKD felt that the immigration of outsiders and ‘West Bengal Government’s neglect’ taken together ruined the Rajbanshis both culturally and economically. The only way by which the conditions of the Rajbanshis could be ameliorated is to establish a separate state outside West Bengal. From UKD’s viewpoint, the people inhabiting this area have ‘customs and traditions distinctively of their own’. The economic policies of the Government of West Bengal have created lopsided and uneven development, inequality among different ethnic communities and permanent poverty amongst the Rajbanshis. Uttarkhanda Dal accuses the ‘Kolkata-based leadership’ of Bengal of having established ‘colonial rule’ in North Bengal and in the Letter of Declaration issued on 22 June 1980, Panchanan Mallik and Sampad Ray – president and general secretary respectively of the Dal, pointed out: Friends! The colonial rule has come to an end. The Englishmen have gone back. But we the inhabitants of North Bengal are subject to colonialism of a new and different nature. We are now the slaves of the slaves (dasanudas) of Kolkata-centric political leadership. . . . As the Saturn swallows Rahu,4 the South Bengal – particularly Kolkata-centric politics – has swallowed the people of North Bengal. We are helpless and directionless in the whirlwind of rotten policies of Kolkata-centric 200

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economy, education, wayward politics, nepotism and oneeyed and prejudiced leadership. (quoted in Barman 2008: 34) These two top leaders also gave a clarion call: Friends! For how long will you put up with the inhuman pain and sorrow closing your eyes, ears and mouth? We achieved nothing through our persuasions and petitions for the last few decades. The leaders of Kolkata are nothing but exploiters of the wealth of North Bengal, cheats and imposters; the Government formed by them has not paid heed to our suffering, pain and grievances. (quoted in Barman 2008: 34) The UKD contested the State Assembly elections in 1972, 1977 and 1982 and in each of them its candidates suffered electoral defeats and lost their security deposit – although it achieved some success in panchayat elections. At present, the UKD has been reduced to a marginal organization with the growth of Kamatapur People’s Party or KPP. Significantly, no state- or national-level political party has so far extended support to UKD excepting the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) that too extended support to only one of its factions. But they have been successful in enlisting the support of such smaller parties as Communist Party of India (Marxist-Leninist, Santosh Rana faction), the Communist Party of Revolutionary Marxists (CPRM), active particularly in the hills, Samajwadi Jana Parishad (Socialist Peoples’ Association or SJP) and Uttarbanga Jharkhandi Sangharsh Samiti (North Bengal Jharkhandi Struggle Committee or UJSS). Dakua accuses that their communal politics could not cut much ice amongst the people of the region as much as it could not during the time of Dr. B. R. Ambedkar and Panchanan Barma (Dakua 2003: 1). Many such organizations were also formed outside West Bengal with the objective of forming a separate Kamatapur state and securing official recognition of the Rajbanshi/Kamatapuri language. Thus, Bharatiya Kamata Rajya Parishad was formed in 1986 at Gouripur in Assam. While they demanded a separate state, they also asked for the introduction of Kamatapuri language at the primary school level, enhancement of the quota of reservation for and all-round development of the Koch-Rajbanshis. Kamatapur Gana Parishad broke away from the Uttarakhand Dal on 21 October 1986 under the leadership of Panchanan Mallik. Mallik 201

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called for adopting non-violent and democratic means for attaining its objective of forming a separate state. All these political factions were the precursor to the formation of the Kamatapur Peoples’ Party (KPP). KPP, however, made no bones about its political objectives. With the formation and expansion of Kamatapur People’s Party or the KPP in 1995 at Shivmandir in the district of Darjeeling under Matigara Police Station and under the leadership of Atul Roy – then an employee of the University of North Bengal, the movement got a new lease of life. According to Roy, the foremost aim of the party is to agitate peacefully in a democratic way for the creation of a separate Kamatapur state consisting of the then six districts of North Bengal. The KPP from time to time has also demanded the neighbouring districts of Assam in the proposed Kamatapur state, but the leadership remains unclear on this issue. The KPP justifies its demand on the grounds that the region is the original homeland of the Kamatapuris – predominantly but not exclusively of the Rajbanshis – consisting of many other communities like the Khens, Meches, Kaibartyas and so forth. Interestingly, the KPP does not view the Koch-Rajbanshis as the only sons of the soil; but it includes other smaller scheduled castes and tribes as Kamatapuris or the original inhabitants of the erstwhile kingdom of Kamatapur. According to KPP, the Kamatapuris constitute nearly 65 percent of the total population of North Bengal. The Kamatapuris are culturally, linguistically, socially and historically distinct from the Bengalis and speak a language distinct from those of others – which should be described as ‘Kamatapuri’ – and not Rajbanshi – language. As Ipsita Haldar remarks: It is interesting that the KPP uses the word ‘Kamatapuri people’ and language as ‘Kamatapuri’ and not Koch-Rajbanshis or Rajbanshi language. By this action, the KPP seeks to extend its base among other scheduled castes and tribes of the region and merge the ethnic-cultural identity with the territorial identity of Kamatapur. With the arrival of KPP, the turn to territoriality was almost complete. (Haldar 2000: 84) The KPP argues that the Kamatapuris are economically backward and deprived under mainly the Left Front Government of West Bengal, and moreover, they are on the verge of losing their socio-cultural identity because of immigration from Bangladesh. Atul Ray observes: [T]here has been no development in North Bengal after Independence. The worst-affected are the Kamatapuris, who have 202

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lost their land and are unable to find jobs. The situation has gone from bad to worse during the 26 years of Left Front rule. (quoted in Ganguly 2003: 9) According to the constitution of KPP, the basic aim of the party is to protect the interests of Kamatapuri-speaking people and scheduled castes and tribes of Kamatapur state within the Indian union. It aims at establishing secularism and socialism (Article 5) once they come to power. The first and foremost task that KPP assigns to itself is to “resuscitate the vanished tradition, culture, language, literature, folkways, folklore of Kamatapur state and to make Rajbanshis conscious about (sic) their own culture and traditions” (Ganguly 2003: 11), to weed out the stigma that Kamatapuri language is a ‘sub-language’ or a ‘dialect’ of Bengali and to work for the development and recognition of Kamatapuri language. This objective is sought to be implemented through a threefold action plan: “(a) correspondences, letters and invitation cards should be written in Kamatapuri language; (b) publication of books, papers, novels in Kamatapuri language and (c) production of video films to resuscitate ethnic culture and folklore of the language” (Ganguly 2003: 11). The Government of West Bengal has ‘failed’ in developing the socio-economic conditions of the Kamatapuri people and therefore the task of KPP is the establishment of Kamatapur state for the protection of ethnic identity, culture, language and economic interest of the people. In 1997, the KPP presented a list of ten demands to the Chief Minister of West Bengal. These demands included the formation of a separate Kamatapur state, expulsion of foreigners from North Bengal, Constitutional recognition of the Kamatapuri language, radio and TV programme in Kamatapuri language, establishment of more schools and industries, etc.5 On 26 March 1997, the Kamatapur Peoples’ Party submitted a 11-Point Charter of Demands to Inder Kumar Gujral – the then Prime Minister of India. The first demand was as follows: In order to enable the Kamtapuri speaking people to govern their own lives by reasons of ethnic, linguistic, historical, cultural and social distinction from the rest of the people of West Bengal a separate statehood namely ‘KAMTAPUR’ be created within the framework of India comprising the whole of North Bengal and adjoining Kamatapuri populated areas in India, in accordance with the article (3) of the Constitution of India.6 203

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The Charter also reiterated the demand for expulsion of foreigners illegally settled and migrating after 1971. It called for the introduction of Inner Line Permits in order to curb illegal influx and setting up of barbed wire fence on the international border with Bangladesh without any further delay. The same Charter put across the demand for the immediate establishment of “Roy Saheb Thakur Panchanan Barma University” in Cooch Behar “for the upliftment of higher education for the aboriginal people of North Bengal”. It also asked for exchange of enclaves with Bangladesh.7 The aboriginal people are at present facing problems because of infiltration which have reduced “the Kamatapuris to a minority in their homeland and are now facing the danger of losing their own identity, culture, language and civilization under pressure from illegal migrants as well as Bengali civilization and culture”.8 According to KPP, the predecessor Left Front Government is fully aware of such illegal infiltration but inactive for fear of losing ‘refugee votes’. The KPP claims that the Government of India should take immediate measures to remove such foreigners from North Bengal. Otherwise, the KPP would start agitation against ‘infiltration’. The memorandum of KPP explicitly states: “Profound is our apprehension regarding the influx of foreign people into North Bengal, and fear about adverse effects on the political, social, economic and cultural life of North Bengal”.9 Very like the Assam movement (1979–1985), the KPP has been insisting on the detection of foreigners, removal of their names from the voters’ list with 1971 being the cutoff year and their deportation. The KPP has also demanded the introduction of an Inner Line permit to check the influx of foreigners. It may be noted that the commonplace distinction between foreigners and outsiders from outside North Bengal but from within India is more often than not glossed over in KPP’s parlance. The party maintains that unlimited immigration particularly after Bangladesh was born in 1971 has spoilt the demographic balance of North Bengal and the North Bengal that was once inhabited primarily by the Kamatapuri-speaking Rajbanshis, Muslims, oil smiths (telis), weavers (tantis), barbers (napits), Khens, Modaks (sweet makers), Dheemals and the Adivasis are facing the threat of being extinct.10 The immigrants after they come here acquire citizenship whether by greasing the palms of the powers that be or by paying bribes or both. Even the state is aware of it and hence does not accept voter identity card necessarily as a mark of their citizenship.

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The party accuses ‘Bengal’ of having established ‘colonial rule’ in North Bengal. As the party puts it: Kamatapur or North Bengal has been looted many times. It was looted first on 1 January 1950 when Kamatapur or Cooch Behar was made a district of West Bengal, as a result of which its language, history, literature and culture and political rights were also looted. Then was looted the land-based economy of Kamatapur. After that, the looting went on by distributing khas [vested land] land to the foreigner-infiltrators (bideshianuprebeshkari), an evil effect of which we witnessed in the artificial increase in population in Kamatapur, want, lack of medical facilities, rationing system has broken down. (quoted in Kamatapuri in Barman 2008: 22) Notwithstanding this, Atul Ray takes particular care in maintaining that they are not secessionists. In his speech delivered in Jalpaiguri on the occasion of the 51st anniversary of the Republic Day since Independence, he argued: We are not opposed to nationalism or India. National unity is dear to me. The security and integrity of the country is very important. Our demand for separate homeland is based on the recognition of our separate language, separate culture and separate history. Our demand is in consonance with the Constitution of India. (quoted in Bengali in Barman 2008: 22) In the same speech, he adds that Article 3 of the Constitution of India provides for the formation of new states within the Indian Union. The KPP has now become the most influential party demanding a separate Kamatapur state outside West Bengal. It has been receiving special media attention since 1998 particularly through its agitational activities like the bandhs, dharnas, strikes, sit-ins, roadblocks, etc. According to 2001 census, Rajbanshis constitute only 18.25 percent of the total population in the six districts of North Bengal. But, as Atul Ray argues, once upon a time Palias, Khens, Sens, Modaks, Muslims, Kochs, Mechs, Kayasthas, Brahmins, Dheemals, Sahas, Sundis, Telis, Koibartas, Namashudras and Rabhas were also the ‘original inhabitants’ (adi basinda) of the Kingdom of Kamatapur or Kamatabehar (quoted in Barman 2008: 23). Once they are included, the number of

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‘original inhabitants’11 would account for more than 50 percent of the total population of Northern Bengal. Sampad Ray too maintains that their party is not a party only of the Rajbanshis – their movement is for all the people of North Bengal – although, according to him, it is understandable that the Rajbanshis will be more visible in their meetings and processions as they constitute the majority in this region: “All of us are from North Bengal, we want all of them to be with us” (quoted in Barman 2008: 36). In 1998, the party placed its nine-point charter of demands to the Divisional Commissioner of Cooch Behar – in which the demand for recognition of Kamatapuri language stood out of importance. Being a political party of the Kamatapuris (inhabitants of Kamatapur), it has been fielding candidates since the 12th General Election, but has not as yet been successful in securing even a single seat either in the West Bengal Legislative Assembly or in the Lok Sabha (the House of Representatives or the Lower House of the Parliament of India) notwithstanding its claim that the Kamatapuris form the numerical majority in North Bengal. In the Panchayat elections of 1998, the KPP put up candidates in many districts, particularly in Jalpaiguri and Cooch Behar and could win only a few seats. In other words, the electoral success of the KPP has been extremely limited compared to the demographic strength of the Rajbanshis, which often is said to have cast doubts about its claim of representing them. The intractable nature of the paradox should not escape our notice. At one level, the Rajbanshis/Kamatapuris constitute the numerical majority in what they claim as their ‘homeland’. On the other hand, they find it impossible to translate the demographic majority into electoral or democratic majority. The Rajbanshi/Kamatapuri elite did not take too long to realize that the electoral system functions in a way that also prevents them from decisively establishing their identity as an ethnic subject within the framework of electoral politics. While they are not disenfranchised, nor have refrained from participating in consecutively held elections, they seem to think that their identity as citizens with full voting rights is incompatible with their Rajbanshi or Kamatapuri identity. Indeed, one may say that the more they try to establish their identity as a collective body, the more the electoral system entails their dis-identification, compelling these parties either to join hands with the state-level or national parties or to become increasingly redundant. If Rajbanshis have historically been caught between identities without ever decisively establishing anyone of them as noted in Chapter 4, this – as I will argue here – lends to their politics a constantly mobile, fluid or nomadic character. It is possible to argue that its nomadic 206

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character is further reinforced by the paradox mentioned earlier. Democracy as a practice, to our mind, is less about how democratic institutions function by keeping these communities at bay, pushing them into a perpetually nomadic state and subjecting them to what Agamben calls ‘raw, sovereign power’, but more about how these communities continually respond to it, first in their bid to identify them with the representative institutions that have otherwise discarded and rejected them and second by doing exactly the opposite – by announcing the ultimate futility of these institutions and violently turning against them. Nomadic politics because of its very nature shuttles between the twin extremes of identification and negation. KPP leadership, however, attributes its consistent election debacle to the change in the demographic balance thanks to the ‘infiltration’ of the outsiders particularly from South Bengal and their incorporation into the voters’ list. Apart from the demand for a separate state, KPP has been insisting on the deletion of foreigners’ names from the voters’ list with 1971 as the cutoff year. The KPP has also demanded the introduction of an Inner Line permit as it functions in some parts of India’s Northeast to check the influx of foreigners (‘Separatists at it again’ 1997). By the turn of the new millennium, it was increasingly becoming apparent that it would be impossible for the KPP to achieve electoral breakthrough without entering into some form of broad coalition with other indigenous tribes of North Bengal. On 24 October 2006 in Dinhata, the Greater Kamatapur United Forum (GKUF) was organized under the leadership of Atul Roy – significantly the same leader who founded KPP – with the same objective of forming a separate state of Kamatapur consisting of 11 districts of Assam, the then 6 from North Bengal and 2 from Bihar. The map of Kamatapur undergoes a significant change as GKUF insists on a ‘Greater Kamatapur’ state that – according to them – will no longer remain confined only to North Bengal.12 The Forum is the conglomeration of Kamatapur Progressive Party (KPP), Greater Cooch Behar Democratic Party (GCBDP) and All Koch-Rajbangshi Students’ Union of Assam (AKRSU). The rationale behind the formation of this forum is to integrate the forces fighting for separate statehood in different administrative units of India. On 26 March 2008, Greater Kamatapur United Forum entered into a coalition with Gorkha Janmukti Morcha (GJM) with the objective of establishing three separate states of Gorkhaland, Kamatapur and Greater Cooch Behar in the region. Such a broad collation of forces did not take time to develop internal dissension and fissure. Nor could it deliver the Rajbanshis from the 207

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crippling paradox of electoral politics mentioned earlier. It is no wonder that, by the middle of the last decade, Rajbanshi politics also took on a pan-Indian turn. While accusing Indian history writers of having neglected the relics of their great civilization, Ashok Roy Pradhan – a Rajbanshi intellectual and a politician – makes a plea for making “our ‘Indianness’ (Bharatiyata) even more ‘forceful’ and ‘dynamic’ (aro joralo, aro gatiprapta) by way of making the cultural streams of “the Rajbanshis, the Kochs, the Rabhas, the Bodos, the Totos etc merge into the ‘Indianness of India’ ” (Roy Pradhan 2006: 208). He laments that North Bengal has so far remained outside the scope of what he calls the ‘Indianness of India’. It is also about this time that Rajbanshi politics seems to have been turning towards the ‘mainstream’ with such demands as Sixth Schedule Status or Scheduled Tribe status. The Uttar Banga Unnayan Sangram Mancha (UBUSM) was set up in a two-day convention held on 21–22 December 1996 at Ananda Model High School, Jalpaiguri, with the demand for an Autonomous Development Council with adequate executive power for the region of North Bengal. Six organizations had jointly set up this common body: the breakaway group of Forward Bloc led by Kamal Guha, Cooch Behar Rajbanshi Youth Organisation, Samajwadi Jana Parishad, Uttar Banga Tapasheeli Jati O Adivasi Sangathan, the CPI (ML) factions including the one led by Kanu Sanyal. While UBSUM never raised the demand for a separate state, it seems that Rajbanshi politics was increasingly getting reconciled with the politics of the mainstream. The Uttarbanga Tapasheeli Jati o Adivasi Sangathan (UTJAS) claims to fight against socio-economic and cultural discrimination of North Bengal. It was founded by Naren Das with the active participation of the students of North Bengal University in 1979. The organization held government development programmes responsible for the marginalization of the scheduled tribe students in different walks of life. In the first part of 1981, the first conference of the UTJAS was organized at Kadamtala, Darjeeling, where there was a mass gathering from the districts of North Bengal. The Uttarbanga Tapasheeli Jati o Adivasi Sangathan (UTJAS) claims to fight against socio-economic and cultural discrimination of North Bengal. It demanded among other things 60 percent reservation in service and in educational institutions – both professional and general, for the inhabitants of North Bengal, stopping the foreigners’ (for the first time used as distinguishable from the outsiders) infiltration which has threatened the existence of indigenous people in respect of their social, cultural, economic and political life and which has eventually threatened communal harmony.13 The UTJAS 208

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also has a youth organization by the name of Yuva Chhatra Sangathan which serves as its nucleus. Besides, it also has two trade unions – Cha Mazdoor Kalyan Samiti (CMKS) in the Dooars and Kishan Mazdoor Sangathan (KMS). It is interesting to note that the UTJAS speaks generally for the Scheduled Castes and Tribes – although its leadership is dominated by the Rajbanshis. In 1986, the leaders of UTJAS reportedly delivered fiery and provocative speeches in a convention held at Alipurduar Parade Ground. This has supposedly incited a section of people who indulged in arson and rioting. Based on personally conducted interviews, Debnath provides an account: the people of Alipurduar gave the account that the leaders of UTJAS delivered provocative speeches asking the audience to reclaim those plots of land even of Alipurduar town which once had been grabbed by the immigrant Bhatiyas [people from the downstream or the South]. They further added that no plot of land was grabbed; the Bhatiyas had to buy the land at the price prevalent from time to time. (Debnath 2007: 49) On 30 October 1986, the UTJAS organized a rally in Kolkata and submitted a memorandum to the Governor and Chief Minister of West Bengal. It demanded that the names of all ‘foreigners’ who had come to North Bengal after 1971 should be struck off from electoral rolls and entire North Bengal be declared as a ‘Backward Area’ and an Action Plan be formulated to develop it. It pleaded for industrialization of North Bengal which continues to remain primarily a nonindustrial area and advocated that illegal tribal land transfers should be stopped. It reiterated that 60 percent of the seats should be reserved for the students of North Bengal in North Bengal Medical College and Engineering College and called for the formation of an ‘Autonomous Council’ to provide leadership to the development of North Bengal.14 Bharatiya Koch-Rajbanshi Kshatriya Mahasabha was formed under the leadership of Dr. Purna Narayan Singha in 1984 on the 474th birth anniversary of Chila Ray, the great Rajbanshi warrior in history. Rajbanshis, it pointed out, were hardly getting the opportunity of being scheduled and accessing the benefits that follow upon it excepting in Tripura and West Bengal. Besides, asking for the recognition of Kamatapuri language and taking measures for stopping immigration that threatens to topple the demographic balance against them, the Mahasabha also demanded a separate Union Territory for Cooch Behar and areas adjoining it inhabited mainly by the Rajbanshis. 209

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The Mahasabha was renamed as Koch-Rajbanshi International in its second conference held at Budir Haat in Dinhata subdivision of the district of Cooch Behar. The meeting was presided over by Princess Gayatri Devi – herself a royal – and the meeting underlined the point that Rajbanshis, wherever they are (at home or abroad), share the same interest and it is important to bring them under one umbrella. In 1987 another organization viz. Kendriya Rajbanshi Samity (KRS) demanded that the reserved quota for Scheduled Caste unemployed people in North Bengal should be enhanced from 15 percent to 80 percent in which special quota of 55 percent should be reserved for Rajbanshi candidates for recruitment in Government and non-Government offices of North Bengal. It seems that all the channels of political articulation available to them were getting fast exhausted without producing any desired result. Repulsed from the democratic institutions and being unsuccessful in achieving any significant electoral breakthrough, the movement showed signs of rapidly turning violent by the end of the 1990s.15 In 2004 Greater Cooch Behar Peoples’ Association (GCPA) received a boost with Banshi Badan Barman becoming its leader (Sutradhar 2013: 49–50). While GCPA endorses Cooch Behar’s merger with India in 1949, it is completely opposed to the inclusion of the district in West Bengal in 1950. For it is the latter that makes them subject to the ‘Bengali domination from the South’. While many commentators find the two movements of Kamatapur and Greater Cooch Behar indistinguishable for they draw on the same ‘social base’, that is to say, the Rajbanshi community (Debnath 2007: 56; Jana 2012: 321), it is important to note that the latter marks a distinct shift in the movement insofar as it emphasizes on the ‘Cooch Behari identity’ in place of the more generic Rajbanshi/Kamatapuri identity that certainly spreads across the present district of Cooch Behar. Cooch Behar’s historical apathy – if not antipathy – towards a more generic Rajbanshi/Kamatapuri identity is believed to be at the root of the birth of this new movement. It is argued for instance, that the Maharaja never allowed the Rajbanshi Kshatriya Samiti to function in his kingdom. Ghosh, for instance, observes: It is to be noted that the Cooch Behari identity was more emotional and powerful than the Rajbanshi identity. The Cooch Beharis of the pre-merger period never called themselves Rajbanshis. The Cooch Beharis also called the Rajbanshis of Rangpur – ‘Rangpuriyas’. (Ghosh 2007: 96) 210

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Greater Cooch Behar Peoples’ Association (GCPA) was established on 9 September 1998 at Kakribari in Cooch Behar with mainly the threefold objective of appointing Kumar Anilendra Narayan – “a very distant relation of the king” (Barma 2007: 365) – as the President of the Cooch Behar Debottar Trust,16 preservation of the historical relics and monuments of Cooch Behar and inclusion of the history of Cooch Behar in school textbooks. On 26 October 1998, they submitted a deputation to the District Magistrate containing their demands. On 21 November 2001, they added in their Memorandum that the Rash Mela – the Hindu festival – should be inaugurated by the oldest living member of the Raj family implying thereby, Kumar Anilendra Narayan. On 26 December 2000 and 6 April 2001 they sent Memorandum to the President of India praying for preservation of the history and culture of Cooch Behar and restoring the administration of Cooch Behar treating it as a ‘C-category’ state as per the merger agreement. Difference of opinion amongst the leaders started in 2002 – one group led by Arun Kumar Roy and Anilendra Narayan and the other by Banshi Badan Barman, who was incidentally associated for a long time with Left politics too. Arun Roy’s group organized seminars on socio-economic development of the people of Cooch Behar in Dinhata in October 2002 and in Sitalkhuchi on 30 November in the same year. They got their organization registered under Societies Registration Act by the name ‘The Kuch Behar People’s Association’ on 15 September 2004. Anilendra Narayan died on 21 December 2004 and his son Kumar Soumendra Narayan became President on 16 June 2005. On the other hand, the group led by Banshi Badan Barman and Jyotish Chandra Sarkar spruced up the organizational activities of ‘The Greater Kuch Bihar People’s Association’ in a bid to spread it across the villages like Bhetaguri, Harin Chowra, etc., the areas that fall within the Dinhata subdivision and adjacent villages. In 2004 Greater Cooch Behar Peoples’ Association (GCPA) received a boost with Banshi Badan Barman becoming its leader (Sutradhar 2013: 49–50). Banshi Badan is believed to be a staunch supporter of the Communist Party of India (Marxist). The GCPA was opposed to the inclusion of the district in West Bengal. The members of GCPA collected some documents of 1951, 1954, 1962 and 1971 from the Royal Record Rooms of Cooch Behar and asked for the full-fledged implementation of the Treaty of merger which had recognized Cooch Behar as a “C” category state in the Constitution of India. They expressed the view that an “A” category state like West Bengal had no right to run the administration of a “C” category state.17 On 26 December 2000 the members of GCPA informed the Prime Minister of India and the 211

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Ministry of Home Affairs about their demand for the separate Greater Cooch Behar state on the basis of the Treaty of merger. It seems that the GCPA was not opposed to the first merger, that is to say, Cooch Behar’s merger with India, but only to the second merger of Cooch Behar with West Bengal. Banshi Badan Barman and others in a memorandum submitted to the Additional District Magistrate of Cooch Behar on 18 July 2005 described the integration of Cooch Behar into West Bengal as “illegitimate, unconstitutional and [an] interference with the rights” of the people of Cooch Behar: “As per the agreement of merger with India, forcible imposition of Bidhan Sabha (State Legislative Assembly) elections on Cooch Behar is completely illegitimate and unconstitutional” (quoted in Barman 2008: 144). The decision was put into effect on 1 January 1950; but their immediate demand was not to “force upon the people of Cooch Behar the unconstitutional and illegal election of West Bengal Assembly” scheduled to be held in early 2006. In July 2005, at the insistence of GCPA, farmers stopped paying land taxes in Cooch Behar. On 20 September 2005, the Association organized its ‘fast-unto-death’ programme reportedly with about 30,000 supporters on the eve of Chief Minister’s visit on 25 September. The supporters of the movement clashed with the police resulting in six deaths, including two policemen. Their demand was to get the territorial status of Cooch Behar clarified by the West Bengal Government on the eve of the State Assembly elections. Reportedly on an assurance from the Government, the protesters called off their fast-unto-death programme on 15 October. But Banshi Badan was arrested and sent to prison. Ray (2012–2013: 109) argues that the Greater Cooch Behar movement can be divided into three phases: The first phase began in 2000 and ended in 2005 when the Greater Cooch Behar movement had reached its peak and Banshi Badan Barman was sent behind the bars. The second phase started in 2005 when the movement subsided with the emergence of many factions claiming to lead the movement. Some of the leaders of the movement decided to form a separate political party, namely, the Greater Cooch Behar Democratic Party (GCDP). The first cracks in the GCPA emerged a little before – when Banshi Badan and Jyotish Chandra Sarkar created two factions within the GCPA itself. Afterwards, the followers of Banshi Badan created the GCDP under the leadership of Ashutosh Barma. Meanwhile “the GCPA faction led by Jyotish Chandra Sarkar further broke up into three more sub-factions led by Shibaji Sarkar, Ananta Ray and Paresh Ray” (Ray 2012–2013: 111). Different outfits like Separate 212

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State Demand Committee, the Greater Kamata United Forum and the Greater Cooch Behar Bandimukti Committee had also emerged at different points of time. Acute factionalism characterized the movement between 2005 and 2012. The third phase, according to Ray (2012– 2013), coincides with the consolidation of all the factions under the newly released Banshi Badan Barman. He formed the Greater Cooch Behar People’s Party (GCPP) and sought to consolidate the factions although some of them resisted his overtures. Even his long-time compatriot Ashutosh Barma of the GCDP resisted his move of forming the party. The Shibaji Sarkar-led faction offered to lend issue-based support to his party. The Jyotish Sarkar-led faction is weak and uncertain about their relation to Banshi Badan (Ray 2012–2013: 111). The Greater Cooch Behar Bandimukti Committee is with the GCPP at the time of this writing, but there are indications that they may form a separate party of their own. The Ananta Ray faction has already announced that they would not work with Banshi Badan – although it seems to be the strongest of all factions. It refuses to recognize him as their leader. In April 2012, the GCPP held its first Central Committee meeting at Parntik Bazar in Dinhta and vowed to initiate a mass contact programme across the districts of North Bengal and Lower Assam. Is it the acute factionalism within the movement that led to its gradual disorganization and loss of representative character or was it the other way around? The net result of intense factionalism and eventual disorganization, however, remains the same. Kamatapur Liberation Organization (KLO) – an underground organization – was established in December 1993 at Kumargram in the Dooars by Jiban Singha.18 The exact nature of its relationship with KPP, as Jana puts it, is ‘not known’ (Jana in Nepal & Chakrabarty eds. 2012: 324). Its slogan was this: ‘we will achieve freedom of our nation in exchange of a drop of blood’ (‘Ek bindu rakter badli katiya anim jatir swadhinata’). KPP seems to have discovered that if representation is the key to democracy, they cannot represent themselves within the existing framework of democratic institutions that are heavily tilted against them. It first established its camp in Bhutan in 1996 and in 1999 at Rangapani near Siliguri they reportedly looted money from railways after killing two. Throughout 2000–2001 they allegedly murdered a few CPI (M) leaders in Kumargram, Maynaguri and Dhupguri. The organization faced resistance not only from the hills but also from a section of Bengali organizations like Amra Bangali, Bengal Volunteers and Bengal Tiger Force – most of these, as Debnath tells us, ‘without public support’ (Debnath 2007: 59). A report on the surrendered militants points out that the rehabilitation packages for them did not 213

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seem to work. The organization received a jolt and lost many of its cadres in the course of Bhutan operations (‘Operation Flush out’) in 2003. In the words of a journalist, KLO was “broken after the Bhutan operation from 15 December 2003 to 15 January 2004” (Punargathita Holo KLO-r Committee 2013: 1). As many as 44 of the top KLO leaders, including Tom Adhikary and Milton Barman, were turned out of Bhutan and were arrested by Indian authorities, while Jiban Singha and his sister Bharati Ray took shelter in Bangladesh. Between 1996 and 2003, 17 KLO and National Democratic Front of Bodoland (NDFB) cadres were killed in North Bengal. As late as in November 2012, there are reports of KLO and other militants based in Assam collecting money in Kumargram and adjoining areas of Dooars (Sandeher Britte . . . 2012: 4). KLO has reportedly reorganized its 15-member committee with Tamir Das alias Jeeban Singha as its chairman. Tom Adhikary – who is on bail now – has become its vice-chairman in 2013, about two decades after its formation. Jagat Barman has been made the political commissioner in a bid to revamp its political wing and liaise with other movements and organizations. The committee reportedly consists of the Koches of Assam and the Nepali-speaking youth of Nepal. Kailash Koch has become the general secretary while Pran Narayan Koch has become assistant general secretary. Malkhan Singha of Malda has become the organizing secretary and Lal Singh Deka has been made the assistant organizing secretary. The new committee has met somewhere in Myanmar in March 2013. The same report also claims that KLO has not been successful in infusing new blood and bringing in new recruits (Punargathita Holo KLO-r Committee 2013: 1). According to an estimate, in Alipurduar alone there have been as many as eight attacks by the Kamatapuri militants between 2006 and 2013 in which eight persons have lost their lives and 36 persons have been injured (Mahanta 2013: 9). The same report also quotes Pran Narayan Koch saying that the Government of West Bengal did nothing to the proposal of talks sent to it through the District Magistrate of Cooch Behar in 2012 (Punargathita Holo KLO-r Committee 2013: 11). Since then at least three major bomb blasts rocked Barobisha, Alipurduar and Jalpaiguri towns on 18 August, 29 August and 26 December respectively in 2013, taking a toll of six lives in total and injuring many others. Koch however denies that the last in the series is the handiwork of KLO, although KLO usually maintains studied silence on the question of its involvement in similar bomb blasts on earlier occasions.

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On 21 July 2013 and immediately after the Panchayat elections, eight organizations promised to chalk out their strategy of joint movement for establishing a separate State comprising the then six districts of North Bengal. The eight organizations which propose to come under a United Front of political parties are these: Progressive Peoples’ Party, Bharatiya Gorkha Janahit Morcha, pro-talks faction of Kamatapur Liberation Organization, Banshibadan-led faction of Greater Cooch Behar Party, Kamatapur United Front, North Bengal Peoples’ Party, a faction of the Naxalites and Kamatapur Progressive Party led by Atul Roy (Prithak Rajyer Dabeete . . . 2013: 5). with the top leaders of the movement being arrested, the movement lost its steam and became fragmented. However, with the change of guard in the state government and release of the charismatic Banshi Badan Barman by it, the movement for carving out a separate Cooch Behar state for the Rajbanshis, according to Ray, “received an impetus” (Ray 2012–2013: 104). It seems that Rajbanshis today are caught in a vicious circle: On the one hand, they find it difficult – if not impossible, to represent themselves through the mechanism of elections. On the other hand, the more the Rajbanshi/Kamatapuri politics takes a violent turn the more they discover that their ‘public support’ wears thin. They are the nomads who are not only unrepresented but rendered unrepresentable by the existing representative institutions with the effect that the organizations claiming to represent them either get fragmented if not pulverized or are forging newer alliances with other ‘mainstream’ parties. Either way they discover the impossibilities of representative politics for themselves. KLO resorts to militancy and violence – not to reorient the existing democratic institutions – but to capture sovereign power for them by forming a sovereign Kamatapur State. If the representative institutions of democracy have kept them outside by persistently keeping its doors shut and subjecting them to ‘raw, sovereign power’, they resort to practices that violently turn against these institutions. If the democratic route to the entitlement to political power is denied to them, they take the opposite route of becoming ‘sovereign’ themselves while constituting them into democratic subjects of a different kind. When ‘translation’ from the ethnic to the representational proves impossible in a multiethnic democracy, it is only the ‘strangers’ and ‘nomads’, as Balibar argues, who have the potential of introducing ‘new dialogical practice’ by releasing new and hitherto unforeseen democratic possibilities and “the combined use of different language(s) makes politics both creative and revolutionary” (Balibar 2006: 6).

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Freedom’s third dimension As one is constantly on the move, does one live under conditions of abject unfreedom? Is there any freedom left for the nomad? Bereft of any institutional support and deprived of the rights and freedoms so dear to the Constitution of India, most ethnographic accounts portray them as victims sans any agency. We, on the other hand, argue that they too tend to negotiate and steer their way through conditions of abject unfreedom albeit with varying degree of success. Let me cite an example from our ethnographic work: Namita (name changed on request) works in a beauty parlour. She came to Kolkata about five or six years back. She used to live in a small village in the district of Midnapore. Like other adolescent girls she used to attend her school, play with her friends and live with her family until one incident completely changed her life. Although her parents were poor, their little hut had a television set. Unlike many others she however had a dream that one day she would come to Kolkata and earn a lot of money so she could live life like she had always dreamt of. One day while she was returning home from school she met a man. He appeared to be nice and she, according to her admission, was captivated by his charm. He told her that although he lived in Kolkata he came to the village for some work. They would meet every day after her school. A few days later the man informed Namita that he would return to Kolkata soon and asked her if she wanted to accompany her. But he had a condition that she would not let anyone know about this plan. Namita too always wanted to visit Kolkata thanks to her exposure to the city through television and she took it as an unexpected opportunity. Accordingly, she did not inform anyone. The next day she did not return home after her school and started an unknown journey with the man. They came to the railway station and boarded the next train. Namita was very hungry so the man gave her some food and told her that she should rest as it would be a long trip. Soon she fell asleep. When she woke up she found herself in a house and the man was nowhere to be seen. There she met an elderly woman who informed her that she was nowhere near Kolkata but actually in a place near Siliguri from where she would soon be trafficked into a foreign country. She was sold by the man she had trusted. A few days later she was transported to 216

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another house, was subjected to sexual assault for a number of times. She was asked to change from one house to another in the next three or four days till she managed to escape. Her luck ran out soon as she was captured and brought back to the house. There were ten to fifteen like her. After a few nights of her stay, there was police raid in that house and Namita along with other girls were rescued by an NGO which helped her go back to her village. But her family refused to take her back. She had nowhere to go. After living there for two to three months she decided to go to her aunt’s place, who she had come to know was living in Kolkata. Her parents happily agreed to this proposal. Finally Namita came to a place she had always wished to visit. Her aunt, with whom she came, used to work in a beauty parlour and Namita learned the preliminaries while assisting her. She had to face sexual abuse twice or thrice while staying there by the members of her aunt’s family until she fled again. After facing a lot of problems and serving as casual worker in several departmental stores she finally managed to get a job in another beauty parlour. She has been working there for four years now and developed good terms with the shop owner. Though her earning is meager she manages to live what she considers as good life and nurtures the dream of owning a parlour herself. For Namita the lure of city life was as much a factor inducing her to migrate as the biting poverty in her natal family was. For her, the commonplace distinction between the fear of being ground by poverty and the choice of economic migration disappears for all practical purposes. Had she had any other alternative but to migrate? Was not migration an act of exercising her freedom? Sen in his Rationality and Freedom (Sen 2004) makes a distinction between process-oriented and optionoriented notions of freedom. Migration – even forced migration – is usually associated with the idea of freedom, for the freedom the migrants exercise while migrating from one place to another makes it possible for them to avoid the deprivation, poverty and persecution that Namita had to suffer at home. Although at one level she exercised her freedom to migrate with the man she does not know and seemed to have complete control over the process of choice, at another she had hardly had any option other than continuously migrating from one point to another till luck smiled a bit on her and she was able to relatively settle herself. The freedom from being determined by the other or what Sen calls processual freedom was not complemented in 217

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her case by the availability of options. She had nowhere to go. She was even unwelcome back home. The search for stability and settlement did not at all turn out to be a happy experience for her. She had to travel a long and dangerous road till she could settle herself only in a relative sense. Namita’s case represents the dilemma of a deeper sort: Neither the freedom against migration, nor the freedom of enjoying a home, nor even the freedom of migration has any meaning for Namita. She is caught on the wrong end of each of them. Does Namita live under conditions of abject unfreedom? Perhaps not, for Namita never stops but continuously negotiates with her unfreedom trudging an unusually long and dangerous road without being daunted by the given conditions. She is a prototypical nomad – as much homeless at home as she is outside her home. The journey has not yet come to an end. She does not give up even in the most adverse of circumstances and carries on by seeking to walk along the long, flat and slippery path of her unknown journey in a way that she can turn every point in the path into her home. I argue that the exercise of freedom calls for redefining the space in a way that one can make every point within it one’s home. Freedom in this context consists in the act of making home when options (as per Sen’s formulation) simply do not exist. As Tagore reminds us, “I will search for my home that only lies across countries” (‘Deshe deshe mor ghar achhe aami sei ghar labo boriya’). Hence, besides Sen’s two-dimensional theory of freedom, we perhaps need a three-dimensional theory with the practice of carving out a space under conditions of abject unfreedom as the possible third dimension. I propose to conclude Namita’s story by way of referring to a widely known poem by Sunil Gangopadhyay – his Na pathano chithi, literally a letter that is written but not sent – to my mind, it is the archetype of a nomad who is torn between her intense desire to revisit and the strong social insistence of sending her to oblivion. It aptly captures the dilemmas involved in the process of dis-identification. The poem revolves around a daughter who is sold off by her father at Rs. 6,000 as she attains puberty. The girl however holds no grudge against her parents as she fully understands the penury that they had to pass through and the insecurity that she had to suffer as a girl with her newly acquired adolescence and the rigid social sanctions and taboos that her parents had to face in the village for not being able to protect the dignity of their daughters. We are informed that the girl does not forget to remit money to her family that is in dire need of it and it survives on the remittance without ever caring to know where she actually lives 218

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now – let alone how. She also writes to her mother how the money that she sends should be spent – now that she has been able to ‘earn’ a little more than what was just enough for their bare survival. Once she is overtaken by the desire of going back – not so much to ‘return’ and settle at her home but to ‘see’ her mother and the other members of her family one last time. Unlike Namita, she knows that she has no escape and her family entirely depends on her. As she approaches her village, her brother forcibly takes away the money that she brings for the family, but he and his friends do not allow her to get in on the ground that the village will be ‘desecrated’ if she comes in and she will bring ‘evil’ to the village. The poignant lines that capture the process of dis-identification may be translated here: “you are no longer my mother, but I remain your daughter. I am no longer the sister of my elder brother, but he continues to be my elder brother”. All her family relations lose their relational value and become unitary. She comes back to her place interestingly without holding any grudge against anyone – although she has her advice to offer for the family – for the welfare of each of its members, the cattle, the pets, the trees and plants she grew up with. Even in sufferance the nomad retains her resilience to withstand the travails of her never-ending journey without any destination. She is hardly an abject sufferer. In the words of Rosi Braidotti, the nomad as a subject is constituted “as an entity that lasts, that is to say that endures sustainable changes and transformation” (Braidotti 2006: 2). While the figure of the nomad is emblematic of displacement in the age of globalization, we are far from arguing that our existence remains as striated and deeply enclosed as earlier or has already been completely unsettled. Koppensteiner, for example, points out: “A nomadic politics would therefore aim at re-introducing smooth space into the striation” (Koppensteiner 2009: 146). It will be interesting to observe what this reintroduction does to our world of knowledge about displacement. The book makes a modest attempt at understanding this.

Concluding observations Democratic politics strikes its roots through these practices of disappearance, dis-identification and negotiation while at the same time contesting respectively the principles of sovereignty, identity and freedom commonly accepted as the founding pillars of democracy. If democracy is at bottom politics, it at one level holds out the promise of constantly responding and adapting itself to the claims and demands from the multitude and, at another, calls for perpetually experimenting with and eventually transcending its own forms and institutions while 219

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responding and adapting to them. Perhaps no other political regime feels as much normatively accountable to these claims and demands and therefore obliged to become self-critical as democracy does. As long as there will remain an excess in these claims and demands that these institutions are unable to contain and absorb, democracy will remain forever inadequate, but trying desperately to become adequate. Democracy is eternally caught in the process of becoming, for it, as Ranciere reminds us, is truly a ‘reign of excess’ (Ranciere 2006: 8).

Notes 1 It is only very recently that a Committee of Ministers of the Government of India is considering the extension of postal ballot facility to the migrant workers. The Election Commission estimates that around 12–15 percent of the 815 million voters in India fall in the category of migrants. The estimates are based on the frequency in the changes of Electoral Rolls. As Chetan Chauhan writes: “a vast majority of the[se] eligible voters don’t get to exercise their franchise when polls are held in their native areas as most cannot afford to travel or miss work” (Chauhan 2015: 1). 2 The same case study was done in a different context. See Das (2011: 39–65). 3 See the proceedings of the Bharatiya Koch-Rajbanshi Kshatriya Mahasabha held at Burighat, Cooch Behar on 23 and 24 February 1986. 4 In an allusion to the popular myth that explains solar and lunar eclipse in terms of the sun and the moon being gobbled by Rahu – the demon. 5 Resolution taken by KPP in a meeting on 28 March 1997 at Shivmandir (Darjeeling district). 6 www.peoplesmarch.com/archives/2004/oct2k4/Kamtapuri.htm accessed on 27 April 2013. 7 These 11 points are incorporated in the Constitution of KPP. 8 www.peoplesmarch.com/archives/2004/oct2k4/Kamtapuri.htm accessed on 27 April 2013. 9 Ibid. 10 Paraphrased and adapted from Barman (2008: 21). 11 Also generically called ‘deshis’ or natives. As Das writes: “the people of the communities like Rajbanshi, Muslims, Jaliakaibarta, Khen, Jogi, Bhuimali, Modak and Barbar are called the Deshis. These people follow the same language and culture though they differ in religious practices. The language they call (sic) generally Rajbanshi” (Das in Debnath ed. 2007: 103). Some Rajbanshis were converted to Islam and are called nasya sheikhs. The term deshi also includes them (Das in Debnath ed. 2007: 105). 12 It may be noted in this context that the proposed boundaries of the so-called Kamatapur state also has changed from time to time depending on the ideology of the particular organization that was claiming statehood. The proposal for a state comprising Cooch Behar and Jalpaiguri districts and their adjacent areas has been made; often the demand was stretched – as in this case – to include Western districts of Assam, which were inhabited by Koch people.

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Besides, the map is at times further stretched to encompass Rangpur district of present-day Bangladesh and erstwhile East Pakistan. Actually, the proposals for including parts of Assam and Bangladesh and Bihar, besides North Bengal were based upon the fact that these areas were, for some time, under the control of Khen and Koch kings of the medieval kingdom of Kamatapur, which had had its capital in the present district of Cooch Behar in North Bengal. 13 Transcript of Provat Chandra Barman’s (Secretary, UTJAS) address to the second Central Committee in Cooch Behar on 18–20 February 1983. 14 Address by Shri Bhai Vaidya, Chairperson, Reception committee, to the Foundation Conference of the Samajwadi Jan Parishad on 31 December–1 January 1994–1995, at Thane, Maharashtra. 15 Dipak Ray argues that as the movement was taking a violent turn in the 1990s, it was not only defined by what he calls “only lust for power” and the sole objective of wresting away power, but it distanced itself from the earlier concern for language and identity (Ray 2012: 7). 16 The last King died without any heir in 1992. 17 One must read it as how they perceived Cooch Behar’s merger with West Bengal. Barma, for example, argues:   The important political leaders belonging to the Rajbanshi community like Upendra Nath Barman, Satish Chandra Roy Singha, Umesh Chandra Mandal and Shyama Prasad Barman also favoured the merger of Cooch Behar to West Bengal. Upendra Nath Barman was one of the most respected leaders of the Rajbanshi community. He was very close to Panchanan Barma also. A personality like him was clearly in favour of merger of the state with West Bengal for some definite reasons. . . . [They] subscribed to this view for two reasons – (i) Education in Cooch behar has been in vogue in Bengali for more than hundred years; (ii) Assamese and tribal languages were in vogue everywhere in Assam, except in Goalpara district, implying thereby that our linguistic position will be cornered if we joined Assam. Besides I had told him that we would want to remain with the developed culture of West Bengal (Barma 2007: 358).   He even asks:   It is really not understandable why these leaders are taking the common people to ride with false promises, feeding them with historically wrong information (Barma 2007: 60).   But as we have argued in Chapter 3, what Barma calls ‘false promises’ like ‘distortions of history’ more than ‘history’ per se play an important role in shaping popular mind and their political practices. 18 A recent news published in the largest circulating Ananda Bazaar Patrika however takes 28 December 1998 as its founding day (‘Kamatapur Liberation Organization’ 2013: 5).

References Agamben, Giorgio (1998): Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life, Trans. by Daniel Heller-Roazen. Stanford, California: Stanford University Press. Ahmed, Akbar (1981): ‘Nomadism as Ideological Expression: The Case of the Gomal Nomads’, Newsletter of the Commission on Nomadic Peoples,

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International Unit of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences in collaboration with Ford Foundation, Number 9, September, mimeo. pp. 1–14. Anonymous (1997): ‘Separatists At It Again’ in The Statesman, 7 July. ——— (2003): ‘Group “vanishes” into fog’ in The Hindu, 7 February. ——— (2003): ‘No-man’s land people “vanish” into the blue’ in The Daily Star, 7 February. ——— (2003): ‘Standoff continues on Bangla border’ in The Times of India, 5 February 2003. ——— (2003): ‘Suddenly no sign of migrants, Bangla illegals taken back’ in The Times of India, 7 February. ——— (2012): ‘Sandeher Britte Asomer Jangi Goshthi’ in Pratyahik Khabar 25 November. ——— (2013): ‘Kamatapur Liberation Organization’ in Ananda Bazaar Patrika, 28 December. ——— (2013): ‘Punargathita Holo KLO-r Committee’ in Uttarer Saradin, 16 April. ——— (2013): ‘Prithak Rajyer Dabeete Front Gadchhe Aat Dal’ in Uttarbanga Sambad, 9 June. Balibar, Etienne (2006): Strangers as Enemies: Further Reflections on the Aporias of Transnational Citizenship. Globalization Working Papers 06/4, May. Montreal: Institute of Globalization and Human Condition/Globalization and Autonomy, McMaster University. Barma, Sukhbilas (2007): ‘Greater Kuch Bihar: A Utopian Movement?’ in Barma, Sukhbilas (ed.), Socio-Political Movements in North Bengal (A SubHimalayan Tract), Vol 1. New Delhi: Global Vision Publishing House, pp. 335–376. Barman, Lalit C. (2008): Rajyer Dabite Uttarbanga Andolan (in Bengali). Shivmandir, Siliguri: National Library Publishers. Braidotti, Rosi (2006): ‘The Ethics of Becoming Imperceptible’ in Boundas, Constantin (ed.), Deleuze and Philosophy. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 133–159. Chauhan, Chetan (2015): ‘Domestic Workers May Get to Vote’ in Sunday Hindustan Times (New Delhi), 20 September, pp. 1, 8. Dakua, Dinesh (2003): Kamatapuri O Greater Cooch Behar Ekti Bichchhinnatabadi Janabirodhi Andolan (in Bengali) [Kamatapuri and Greater Cooch Behar is a separatist and Anti-Popular Movement]. Kolkata: National Book Agency. Das, Parbananda (2007): ‘The Hitasadhanee Sabha and the Tensions of Cooch Behar’s Integration with India’ in Debnath, Sailen, ‘Introduction’ in Debnath, Sailen (ed.), Social and Political Tensions in North Bengal (Since 1947). Siliguri: National Library Publications, pp. 99–127. Das, Samir K. (2011): “Wrestling with My Shadow”: The State and the Immigrant Muslims in Contemporary West Bengal’ in Dasgupta, Abhijit, Masahiko Togawa & Abul Barkat (eds.), Minorities and the State:

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Changing Social and Political Landscape of West Bengal. New Delhi: Sage, pp. 39–65. Debnath, Sailen (2007): ‘Introduction’ in Debnath, Sailen (ed.), Social and Political Tensions in North Bengal (Since 1947). Siliguri: National Library Publications. Deleuze, Gilles & Felix Guattari (2010): Nomadology: The War Machine, Trans. by Brian Massumi. Seattle: Wormwood Distribution. Ganguly, Tapas (2003): ‘Interview with Atul Ray’ in The Week, 16 November, pp. 9–10. Ghosh, Ananda Gopal (2007): ‘The Hitasadhini Sabha: Power Struggle by the Cooch Beharis’ in Barma, Sukhobilas (ed.), Socio-Political Movements in North Bengal (A Sub-Himalayan Tract), Vol 1. New Delhi: Global Vision Publishing House, pp. 83–109. Haldar, Ipsita (2000): Ethnic Regional Mobilization in India: A Study of Kamatapur State Development in North Bengal, unpublished M. Phil. Dissertation, Department of Political Science, University of North Bengal. Jana, Arun K. (2012): ‘Ethnic Minorities, the Politics of Identity and the State in Contemporary West Bengal, India’ in Nepal, Padam & Anup Shekhar Chakraborty (eds.), Politics of Culture, Identity and Protest in North-east India, Vol 2. New Delhi: Authorspress, pp. 310–337. Koppensteiner, Norbert (2009): ‘On Moving. Nomadism and (In)security’ in Sützl, Wolfgang & Geoff Cox (eds.), Creating Insecurity: Art and Culture in the Age of Security. New York: Autonomedia, pp. 137–149. Mahanta, Manas (2013): ‘Bachhar Ghureo Chakri Holo Na Bisforane Mrita Squadkarmir Streer’ (in Bengali) [The Wife of the killed Squad Employee did not get a job even after a year] in Uttarbanga Sambad (Siliguri), 29 August, p. 9. Ranciere, Jacques (2006): Hatred of Democracy, Trans. by Steve Corcoran. London: Verso. Ray, Dipak (2012): ‘Bhasha Hamak Bhashe Niya Jai’ (in Kamatapuri) [Language flows us away] in Ray, Bachchamohan, Nareshchandra Ray & Dipak Kumar Ray (eds.), Ujani, 19(1), Niranjan Adhikari, October, pp. 6–8. Ray, Surya Narayan (2012–2013): ‘Politicization of an Autonomy Movement in West Bengal: From the Rajbanshi Movement to the Greater Cooch Behar Movement’ in The West Bengal Political Science Review, Vols XV–XVI (combined), pp. 101–116. Roy, Pinaki (2013): ‘A Baseline Study for Concr’n conducted at intervention sites at NJP Station: Korok and Sahid Bandana Government homes and with families of vulnerable children’ in Supported by Railway Children, UK, 6–17 April 2013. Roy Pradhan, Ashok (2006): Itihaser Prekshapate Uttarbanga O Rajbangshi (in Bengali) [North Bengal and Rajbanshis in Historical Background]. Kolkata: Royal Publishers.

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Sen, Amartya (2004): Rationality and Freedom. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Sutradhar, Kartick Chandra (2013): ‘Hitasadhini Theke Greater Cooch Behar: Ekti Aitihasik Paryalochana’ (in Bengali) [From Hitasadhini to Greater Cooch Behar: A Historical Analysis] in Uttarbanga Sahitya-Sanskriti, Festival Number, pp. 43–51.

Other Newspapers Bhorer Kagaj (Dhaka) Pratidin (Kolkata) The Daily Star (Dhaka) The Hindu (Chennai) Times of India (Delhi) Uttarbanga Sambad (Siliguri)

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GLOSSARY

Adhiar  Tenant Adivasi  The aboriginals or the original inhabitants Amra Bangali  We, the Bengalis, an organization Bhatiya  Coming from the downstream or the South (used in pejorative sense) Bustee  Slum Crore  10 million Dakshinbanga  South Bengal Gourbanga  Malda and South Dinajpur districts of present North Bengal Hitasadhini Sabha  The Assembly for the Good of the Public Ishtadebata  The household deity Jot/Jote  Plot of Land Jotdar/Jotedar  Owner of plot of land Lakh  100,000 Madhesia  Inhabitants of the middle region or the Terai region of Nepal Mouzas  Revenue Village Patta  Land title Uttarbanga  North Bengal

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INDEX

adhiar 141, 142 adivasi 43, 44, 117, 159, 167 Adivasi Cobra Force 43 Adivasi Jami Raksha Committe (AJRC) 167 Adivasi Vikash Parishad (AVP) 117 Agamben, Giorgio 193 Ahmed, Hafiz 33 Akhil Bharatiya Adivasis Vikas Parishad (ABAVP) 117 – 118 Akhil Bharatiya Gorkha League (ABGL) 110 Alipurduar 14 All-Assam Bodo Students’ Union (AABSU) 40, 42, 44 – 45 All-Assam Bodo Students’ UnionBodo People’s Action Committee (ABSU-BPAC) 38, 41 All-Assam Students’ Union (AASU) 51 All-India Gorkha League 102, 165 All-India Nepali Bhasha Samiti 102 All-India United Democratic Front (AIUDF) 45 All Koch-Rajbanshi Students’ Union of Assam (AKRSU) 69, 207 All-Nepalese Scheduled Caste Association (ANSCA) 112 Amar Asom 32 Ambedkar, B. R. Dr. 148 – 149 Amra Bangali 14, 119, 170 Amrita Bazar Patrika 161 – 162 Ananda Bazaar Patrika 187n5 Asom Gana Parishad (AGP) 39, 40 Assam Disturbed Areas Act 40 Assamese nationalism 37

Assam movement 32, 54, 99 Ayyub, Abu Syed 183 Bagharu 145 – 148 Balibar, Etienne 98 Bangetar Banga 3 Bangiya Adhikar Mancha (BAM) 170 Bangiya Juba Kalyan Parishad (BJKP) 170 Bangiya Sahitya Parishad 3 Bangla Bhasha Banchao Committee (BBBC) 170 Bangladesh Rifles (BDR) 195, 197 Barpujari, H. K. 39 – 40 Baruah, Sanjib 96 Bengali-speaking Muslims 49 – 50 bhabuki 186 Bhaktinagar 171 Bhandari, Charu Chandra 37 Bharatiya Gorkha Janajati Manyata Samiti (BGJMS) 113 Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) 201 Bharatiya Kamata Rajya Parishad (BKRP) 201 Bharatiya Koch-Rajbanshi Kshatriya Mahasabha (BKKM) 209 bhatiya 13, 133, 145, 159, 187n2, 209 Bodo Autonomous Council (BAC) 41, 42 Bodoland Territorial Autonomous District (BTAD) 47, 57 Bodoland Territorial Council (BTC) 43, 44, 47, 48 Bodo Liberation Tigers (BLT) 42, 43, 44

227

INDEX

Bodo People’s Action Committee (BPAC) 38 Bodo Peoples’ Front (BPF) 47 Bodos 32, 36, 58n1; assimilation 37; and Bengali Muslims 57, 58; Council 41; critique 38, 39, inclusion of villages 42; insurgency 44; and Muslims 42 Border Security Force (BSF) 196 – 197 brihattar swartha 186 Bundapani Tea Estate 72 bustee 75 Casimir, Michael J. 87 caste and body 138 – 141 Caste System 149 Cawa 193 Centre for Ethnic Studies and Research–Golakganj (CESR-G) 199 Chakrabarty, Dyutis 13, 14, 101, 102, 114 Cha Mazdoor Kalyan Samiti (CMKS) 209 Chandler, David 83 – 84 Chandmoni Tea Estate 73 – 75 Changte, Cherrie L. 95 chars 32 Chatterjee, Partha 140 Chettri, Deepika 9 Chwodhury, Lahiri 176 citizenship see Indian citizenship colonialism 2, 6 Communist Party of India (CPI) 14, 103, 166 Communist Party of India (Marxist) (CPI (M)) 110, 213 Communist Party of India (MarxistLeninist) (CPI (ML)) 208 Communist Party of Revolutionary Marxists (CPRM) 110, 201 Constitution of India 31 Contemporary Political Theory 173 Cooch Behar 2, 14, 162 – 163 Cooch Behar Rajbanshi Youth Organisation (CBRYO) 208 Dakshinbanga (South Bengal) 1 Dakua, Dinesh 159 Darjeeling 2, 14; Gorkha population in 98; human development

10; Nepalis of 100; political trends 102; population of 158; separation of 101 – 103 Darjeeling Gorkha Hill Council (DGHC) 109 – 114, 117, 121, 166 Darjeeling Hills 14 Darjeeling Planters’ Association (DPA) 101 Darjeeling’s Bhanu Bhawan 121 Dasgupta, Manas 10 Dasgupta, Ranajit 6 Datta, Ayona 79 Datta Ray, Benu 11 Debnath, Sailen 108, 120 Deleuze, Gilles 16, 198 democracy: BSF 196 – 197; freedom 194, 216 – 219; GCPA 210 – 212; homeless children 192 – 193; identities 194; Indo-Bangladesh border 195 – 196; KPP 202 – 207; official dossiers and records 193 – 194; politics 198 – 200; principle of 193; pushback 196; sovereign power 193, 195; UKD 199 – 201; UTJAS 208 – 209; Uttarbanga Sambad 197 dera dalo 185 Derrida, Jacques 55 Deuchars, Robert 22 differentiation 130 Dinbazar Byabasayee Kalyan Samiti (DBKS) 171 District Bar Association 171 Dooars 7 ekeloge 186 ekgot 186 European Association (EA) 101 Farakka pessimism 11 Financial Assistance for Workers of Locked Out Industrial Units Scheme (FAWLOIUS) 75 Forward Policy 4 Freud, Sigmund 100 gateway 3 – 9 Ghosh, Anandagopal 2 – 3 globalization 16, 35, 53 – 54, 79 – 83 Goalpara 162

228

INDEX

Gorkha: identity 108; vs. Nepali 103 – 109; tribal origins of 109 – 114 Gorkha-Adivasi Province, The 115 Gorkha Janmukti Minority Forum (GJMF) 115 Gorkha Janmukti Morcha (GJM/ GJMM) 8, 108, 113, 117, 118, 166 – 167 Gorkhaland Adivasi Territorial Administration (GATA) 118 Gorkhaland Liberation Front (GLF) 121 Gorkhaland movement 8, 9, 99, 104, 114, 123 Gorkhaland Personnel (GLP) 121 Gorkhaland Police (GLP) 108 Gorkhaland Sanjukta Morcha (GSM) 110 Gorkhaland Territorial Administration (GTA) 14, 117 – 120, 166 – 167, 170, 176 Gorkha League (GL) 102, 166, 199 Gorkha National Liberation Front (GNLF) 8, 103 – 110, 114, 119, 120, 166 Gorkha Volunteer Corps (GVC) 8 Goswami, Kamalesh 12 Gourbanga 13, 14 Government of India 122 – 123 Government of Nepal 122 Government of Norway 180 – 181 Greater Cooch Behar Democratic Party (GCBDP) 69, 207, 212 Greater Cooch Behar movement 167, 212 – 213 Greater Cooch Behar Peoples’ Association (GCPA) 69, 165, 210 – 212 Greater Cooch Behar Peoples’ Party (GCPP) 213 Greater Kamatapur United Forum (GKUF) 207 Guattari, Felix 16, 198 Haldar, Ipsita 202 Hardt, Michael 49 Harris, John 85 Harvey, David 173 Hegel, G. W. F. 178, 180, 181

Hillmen’s Association (HA) 101 Hindi language 160 Hitasadhini Sabha 162, 163, 199 homeland 51 – 53; claims 17, 32, 33; movement 4 – 7; politics 181 – 187 homeland imaginaries: Cooch Behar 162 – 163; GJM 166 – 167, 169, 171; Gorkha League 166; hallasantras 169; hills of North Bengal 165 – 166; Hitasadhini Sabha 162; Kamatapur state, separate 164 – 165; partition 160 – 161; Siliguri 170; TASO 168 hospitality 36, 54 – 56 HuJI 50 human development, West Bengal 10 identity/identification 130, 131 Indian citizenship 95 – 98; Gorkha League 102; Gorkha vs. Nepali 103 – 9; intimacy 103; Nepali/ Gorkha discourse 98 – 101; race 96 – 97; tribal origins 109 – 114 Indian National Congress 14, 199 intimacy 103 ishtadebata 68 Islamic Ummah 51 Jalpaiguri 2, 14; advent of colonial rule 6 Jalpaiguri Unnayan Mancha (JUM) 171 Jameson, Frederic 86 Jana Chetna Manch (JCM) 14, 170 jiwanar suraksha 186 jotdar/jotedar 141, 168 Kachugach village 71 Kamatapur 161 Kamatapur Gana Parishad (KGP) 201 – 202 Kamatapuri Bhasha O Sahitya Parishad-Shivmandir (KBSP-S) 199 Kamatapur Liberation Organization (KLO) 69, 150, 165, 213 – 215 Kamatapur movement 167 Kamatapur Peoples’ Party (KPP) 69, 150, 164 – 165, 199, 202 – 207, 213

229

INDEX

Kar, D. P. 98, 170 Karnataka Forum for Dignity 50 Kendriya Rajbanshi Samity (KRS) 210 Kishan Mazdoor Sangathan (KMS) 209 Koch-Rajbanshi International 210 Koch-Rajbanshi Students’ Union of Assam (KRSUA) 69 Krishak Mukti Sangram Samiti (KMSS) 147 Kshatriyahood 134, 143 – 145 Kshatriya Samiti (KS) 143 land alienation process 7 land settlement, colonial policy of 6 – 7 Linguistic Minority Rights Committee (LMRC) 57 madhesias 160, 187n1 Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (MGNREGA) 75 Malda 10, 13 Manabadhikar Suraksha Mancha (MASUM) 34 Manita Neeti Pasarai 50 Mann, Michael 96 Marshall, T. H. 97 Mayel Lyang Lepcha Development Board (MLLDB) 116 McDuie-Ra, Duncan 48 Meghalaya 98 – 99 Memorandum of Settlement 38 migration 4, 16, 49 migratory routes 157 – 160 Misra, Tilottama 39 Misra, Udayon 39 mouzas 117, 170 Mukherjee D. P. 38 Mukherjee, S. P. 38 Mukhopadhyay, Rajatsubhra 7, 129 – 130, 167 – 168 Murshidabad 2 Muslim protest 50 Muslim Students’ Union of Assam (MSUA) 47

National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) 81 National Union of Plantation Workers (NUPW) 110 Negri, Antonio 49 Nepalis: of Darjeeling 100; Gorkha vs. 103 – 109; hounded of 98 – 99; language 160 NGO Bonapartism 83 – 87 nomadic politics 18 – 20 North Bengal (Uttarbanga) see Uttarbanga (North Bengal) North Eastern Foundation for Social Science Research- Jalpaiguri (NEFSSR-J) 199 opposition 130 – 131 Oraon, Kaku Baba 11, 117 Other Backward Class (OBC) 116 Pakistan 177 patta 8, 45, 118 Pegu, Jadav 40 permanent nomads 35 Phansidewa 159 Plains Tribal Council of Assam (PTCA) 38 Planning Commission 9 – 10 Police Commissionerate 171 politics: deterritorialisation of 84; homeland 181 – 187 Ponzy schemes 72 Popular Front of India 50 population 159, 160 population migration 157 – 158 Pradhan, Tushar 169 Pranta Parishad 166 Private-Public Partnership (PPP) 73

Namashudras 15 National Democratic Front of Bodoland (NDFB) 33, 41 – 42, 214

raij 186 Rajbanshi Kshatriya movement 6 – 7 Rajbanshis 132 – 133; adhiars 141 – 2; Bagharu 145 – 148; fiasco of Kshatriyaization 135; identification 137 – 138; jotdars 141; jotes, control of 7; Kshatriyas 143 – 145; movements by 5 – 6; politics of 141, 208; population 159; principle of differentiation 133 – 135 Rajshahi and Cooch Behar Division 2

230

INDEX

Rangpur Literary Council 3 Rao, Aparna 87 Rawat, Ajay S. 174 Ray, B.C. 1 – 2 Raychaudhury, Sushmita 47 – 48 Ray, Dipak 212 Ray, Subhajyoti 7 Rohingiyas 50 Roy, Anupama 107 Said, Edward 31, 173 – 174 Saikia, Smitana 57 Samajwadi Jana Parishad (SJP) 201, 208 Sanmilit Janagoshthi Sangram Samiti (SJSS) 43 Sarkar, Sudhanshu Kumar 15 Scheduled Tribe 43 sedentarization 19 Sengupta, Arjun 21 shatter zones 3 shelter-seekers, absconding 44 – 48 Shillong Mazdoor Sangathan (SMS) 99 Siliguri (North Bengal) 65 – 67; absentee settlers and evicted tea labour 78 – 79; Cooch Behar and 81; globalization 79 – 83; immigrants and Rajbanshis 70; industrialization 72 – 73; and Malda 81; nouveau riche of 78; Police Commissionerate 171; population 65 – 66, 70 – 71; sex economy 81 – 82; smuggling in 82; tea industry 67, 70 – 72; traditional and postmodern cities 86 Siliguri Corridor 4 Siliguri-Jalpaiguri Development Authority (SJDA) 73 Siliguri Zonal Committee 164 Simon Commission 101 Singh, Ujjwal Kumar 107 Sishabari 76 Sixth Schedule 43 – 44 Soja, Edward 56 South Bengal (Dakshinbanga) 1 South Dinajpur 13 Special Services Bureau (SSB) 39 States’ Reorganization Commission (SRC) 102, 105, 162 – 164 Surjyapurias 15, 167

tea industry 67, 70 – 72; labour 75 – 78; trafficking, women’s 76 Teestaparer Brittanta 145 tenurial system 6 Terrorist and Disruptive Activities (Prevention) Act (TADA) 39 Transferred Area Surjyapur Organization (TASO) 167, 168 Trinamool Congress (TMC) 14 umaihotiya 186 Unique Identification Number 131 United Liberation Front of Assam (ULFA) 52 – 53 United Tribal Nationalist Liberation Front (UTNLF) 38 Uttarbanga (North Bengal): after Partition 10 – 12; colonial rule 2; discourse of 3, 13; as gateway 3 – 9, hills of 165 – 166; home and homeland 174 – 175; migratory routes 157 – 160; population 1, 159, 160; problems 5; rail link 14; society and politics 18 – 20; tenurial system 6 Uttarbanga Jharkhandi Sangharsh Samiti (UJSS) 201 Uttarbanga Sambad 46, 55, 84 – 85, 174, 183 – 184 Uttarbanga Sanskritik ParishadTufanganj (USP-T) 199 Uttarbanga Tapasheeli Jati o Adivasi Sangathan (UTJAS) 149 – 150, 199, 208 – 209 Uttarbanga Unnayan Sangram Mancha (UBUSM) 208 Uttarkhanda Dal (UKD) 164 – 165, 199 – 201 Weiner, Myron 96 West Bengal 54 West Bengal Human Development 10 Yuva Chhatra Sangathan (YCS) 209 zamindars 164 Ziarek, E. 44

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