Poetics of Village Politics: The Making of West Bengal's Rural Communism 9781032263557, 9781003287926, 9781032263632

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Poetics of Village Politics

Originally published in 2003, this volume studies village politics and the changes brought about in rural society through political developments It focuses on the social, political and cultural circumstances of communist mobilization in rural West Bengal It analyses the emergence of rural communism in the local context of changes in the position of women, in caste practices, in economic conditions and in new efforts to create ‘development’ It investigates how this cultural change interacts with the mechanisms and tools of village politics, and using anthropological methods and oral history as tools, allows for a detailed and intimate ethnographic description of village politics and its changes

Poetics of Village Politics The Making of West Bengal’s Rural Communism

Arild Engelsen Ruud

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Routledge Taylor & Francis Group

First published in 2003 by Oxford University Press New Delhi This edition first published in 2022 by Routledge 2 Park Square Milton Park Abingdon Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue New York NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa usiness © 2003 Arild Engelsen Ruud 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. Publisher’s Note The publisher has gone to great lengths to ensure the quality of this reprint but points out that some imperfections in the original copies may be apparent. Disclaimer The publisher has made every effort to trace copyright holders and welcomes correspondence from those they have been unable to contact.

ISBN: (978-1-032-26355-7 hbk) ISBN: (978-1-003-28792-6 ebk) ISBN: (978-1-032-26363-2 pbk) Book DOI 10.4324/9781003287926

of Village Politics

The Making of \.\lest Bengals Rural Communism

ARILD ENGELSEN RUUD

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

OXFORD \lNIVBllSITY PRESS

YMCA Library Building. Jai Singh Road, New Delhi 110 001 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University's objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide in Oxford New York Auckland Bangkok Buenos Aires Cape Town Chennai Dar es Salaam Delhi Hong Kong Istanbul Karachi Kolkata Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Mumbai Nairobi Sao Paulo Shanghai Taipei Tokyo Toronto Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries Published in India By Oxford University Press, New Delhi © Oxford University Press 2003 The moral rights of the author have been asserted Database right Oxford University Press (maker) First published 2003 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior penuission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this hook in any other binding or cover

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Sandra, Marius and Mathea.

Contents

List ofTables Acknow/edgeme II tJ 1. ANTHR0POl.rn;v ANO HISTORY m VILLAGE POLITICS

Village and che Scace The Village Policies Studies Views from Below What is chis Thing called Culture?

2. SMALL COMMUNITIES IN LANDSCAPE AND HISTORY The Village Setting Gradual Political Radicalization Agrarian Relations and Increasing Poverty The Spark: A New Line ofThinking But Does It All Fit?

3. Two STORIES ABOUT POWER AND INFLUENCE

'We were all in ic Together?' Gopinachpur: The Story of an Enduring Alliance Udaynala? The Story of a Briede Alliance Sources of Individual 'Power' in Village History Money-lenders as Political Leaders? Interested Patron-Client Relationships 'Powee-As in 'Influence'?

4. ROAD, POETRY, AND SOME CRAFTY YOUNG MEN

On Commensalicy and Other Changes The hhadralok and His Making Selimmaster's Notebook and a Critique ofVillage Society Implementing the Modern Tradition in Udaynala Family Ties, Education, and New-found Reading Material From the Epics to 20th Century Novels

tX Xt

1 1

4 7 9

13 13

18 24 28

30 33 33 35

42

47 55 59 63 70 70

72 75

78 84 88

viii

Contents Modern Tradition in Village Drama Language and Status

5. CASTE STEREOTYPES AND COMMUNIST MOBILIZATION

Excesses and Typical Village Politics Udaynala and Gopinathpur and the United Front Period Caste and Class, ca. 1960 Dacoity 'We are bagdis!': The Bagdi Stereotype Bagdis in Udaynala Village Affairs The Shifting Alliances of the l 970s The Bagdi, and Assertion as Identity and Source of Influence 'We Made Ourselves Low': An Untouchable Identity Muchis in Village Public Affairs Hierarchy and Mobilization

95 99

105 105 109 115 118 122 128 130

134

137 142 146

6. FORMAL POLITICS AND INFORMAL POLITICS From the Discussion-House to the Office . New Formal Institutions: 1960s Ohabsaheb's Exit How Important Were the Reformed Panchayats? Bichar-an Informal Institution Informal Politics and Middle-Men 'Symbolic Capital' and Len-den Formal and Informal Politics: Two Interlocked Games

152 152 154 157 160 164 168 175 178

7. GOSSIP AND REPUTATION: THE MAKING OF VILLAGE LEADERS The Importance of Gossip The Making and Unmaking of Individual Reputations Towards Manikbhai's Bichar Gossip and The Village Agenda Manipulation

183 183 188 190 198 200

8. CONCLUSION A Space for Change?

209

References Index

212 221

205

List ofTables CHAPTER

2

T.1blc 2.1. Population and landownership by jati, Udaynala 1993 Table 2.2. Population and landownership by jati, Gopinathpur 1993 Table 2.3. Percentage of votes polled by major political parties and 'Independents' in central and eastern Burdwan, 1952-1982 'E1blc 2./4. 'Mobilized vote' for major political parties and 'Independents' in Central and Eastern Burdwan, 1952-1982 Table 2. 5. Percentage of votes polled: Raina constituency, 1952-1982 'fable 2.6. Percentage of mobilized vote; Raina constituency, 1952-1982 CHAPTER

15 17 20 20 21 21

3

'fable 3.1. Main village political configurations, Udaynala Table 3.2. Main village political configurations, Gopinathpur Table 3.3. Derails of main village leaders, Udaynala, early 1960s Table 3.4. Households by class of landownership, sekh vs other jaris, Udaynala 1957 Table 3.5. Details of main village leaders, Gopinathpur early 1960s Table 3.6. Households (in numbers) by class of landownership, all jaris, Gopinathpur, ca. 1960

49 49 51 51 52 53

List ofTables

X

CHAPTER

4

Table 4.1. Development initiatives in Udaynala in the 1960s Table 4.2. Some innovative bichar decisions in Udaynala in the 1960s Table 4.3. Education and age-groups, men above 16 years of age, of sekh jati, Udaynala 1993 Table 4.4. Education and age-groups, men above 16 years of age, of bamun, kayastha and aguri jatis, Gopinathpur 1993

5 Table 5. t. Landownership per household, by size group

81

82

86

86

CHAPTER

and jaci, in percentage of total, Udaynala, 1957 Table 5.2. Landownership per household, by size group and jaci, in percentage of total, Gopinathpur, ca. 1960

116 116

Acknowledgements People living in cities tend to regard villagers as dour, slow-witted and reactionary-as 'peasants'. Scholars ofpolitical or agrarian change do not of course share this stereotype. Instead, there is a tendency to represent the rural population as the repositories and enactors of structures that are beyond their knowledge or consciousness. The present volume is an investigation of thirty years of local history in two adjacent villages in Bengal, and it seeks to break out of simple representations. What I have specifically sought to do is to combine a study of village politics with the larger question of peasant mobilization and of socio-cultural changes. In other words, to understand the villager as an independent subject-actor and at the same time investigate developments in the larger polity, where the individual villager was not a relevant category. This ambition has led to a number ofproblems, primarily in finding relevant and useful information in order to construct a detailed and informed narrative. To shed light on such issues would require much material of aDt intimate nature. Oral history is problematic at the best of times. It gets even worse when it is strongly inspired by anthropological desires to see the nuances of perceptions· and find the inarticulated ideas. At this point of potential despair I was salvaged by a great stroke of luck. A Bengali friend led _me to his home village, where I found not just 011e but several knowledgeable and forthcoming informants along with a number of other sources of material. I lived in this village for 11 months in 1992-93. I also spent much time in the adjacent village for reasons of comparison, but never lived there. The villages have been fictitiously named Udaynala and Gopinathpur respectively. The information gathered while staying there forms the

xii

Acknowledgements

basis of this study. Hence, a presentation of the material and the manner in which it was collected will at the same time acknowledge my debt to my informants. My main informant for contemporary material and for interpreting current events was Rizia Begum. Her extensive and intimate knowledge of both villages, of births and deaths: of liasons, of land and loans and above all of the latest gossip proved an invaluable source of insight into the village community. She also allowed me access to a survey that had been carried out in connection with a government programme. This survey forms the basis for the contemporary statistical material in this study. Extensive historical material could be collected thanks to two other lucky strikes. It turned out that the late 'Waselmaster' of Udaynala had written an extensive notebook on the village in 1961. It had been written in connection with a teacher training seminar that he attended that year, and events over a few subsequent years had been filled in at the back. In addition, he had maintained diaries over nearly thi~ty years, from 1956 till his death in 1985. His son, Fazlul Hak, made both documents available to me. These two provided huge amounts of detailed information and allowed me to date events and developments that would otherwise have been impossible. The other lucky strike was Nazir Hosen-poet, party member, and village historian. His innumerable hand-written notebooks and records filled seven sacks and covered every thinkable aspect of the village's history and that of the region: peasant movement, religious practices, proverbs, records of every marriage and every death since 1958, a survey oflandownership in 1958, near-forgotten agricultural practices, a village diary, his own life-history, tales and children's stories, village and caste myths, etc., etc. I later discovered that in other villages too I would have found diaries or similar sort ofmaterial. But nowhere else would I have found such riches as I did in Nazirchacha's house. It was the historian's gold mine. Nazirchacha made most of his material available to me besides other kinds of information. He helped put events in perspective and context. He also filled in on some of the more oblique entries in Waselmaster's diaries. I am particularly grateful to Rizia Begum and Nazir Hosen for their friendship, time, and effort, and for their willingness to spend

Acknowledgements

xiii

long hours discussing, chatting, and assisting in what is known as 'information gathering'. My gratitude also extends to pratically all villagers of Udaynala and Gopinathpur (and a few other places) for the huge amount of information given and for the kindness shown. In particular I wish to mention Alok Mandal, Kesto Sarkar, Shyamsundar Malik, Sakti Ohara and Rabiel Hale-all ofwhom generously assisted and guided me. Much of the material and most of the insights were gained, however, when I was not enacting the role of a visiting historiancum-anthropologist, but when I was -relaxing, enjoying myself in the company of others, chatting and gossiping and exchanging stories and views. In accordance with this I also wish to mention Chayna, Chandan, Akram, Ajam, Badam, Saiful, Taleb-bhai, Bulu-bhai, and Mukul-who were all informants, guides, research assistants, and friends. I also wish to acknowledge my debt and gratitude to a number of people who made my stay possible and interesting: Haksaheb and kakima in Udaynala, Dr Girindranath Chattopadhayay, kakima and Mainak in Burdwan town, and Arup and Paramita Maharatna. My debt has also accrued in other corners of the world. John Harriss, James Putzel, and Chris Fuller of the London School of Economics acted as my supervisors while writing my PhD thesisofwhich this book is an outcome. Their lucid readings on my drafts were a constant source of both frustration and motivation. Sudipta Kaviraj and Jonathan Spencer have contributed valuable insight, information, and much needed encouragement to a confused soul. Lastly, I would have failed my duties as a client had I not acknowledged the debt to my guru and patron, Pamela Price, for unfailing support. 'Wifey' Elisabet spent much time helping me with statistics and relentlessly hounded me with theoretical questions far beyond my comprehension. I bow in admiration. All errors, needless to say, are mine.

1

Anthropology and History ofVillage Politics VILLAGE AND THE STATE

M

ost decisions and deliberations regulating life in Indian village communities, whether it is distribution ofscarce resources such as irrigation wat~r, or the normative regulation of society, are taken within the villages themselves. These decisions-as village life in general-are affected by che supralocal state of which they are part and by developments there. Yet, village society is distinct from the state of which it is part. Village society is constituted by multiple face-to-face relationships, and functions along lines that are specific to such societies. Hence they cannot be understood by deducting from developments in the supralocal state. Moreover, the state is affected by the village and by how village society functions as a polity. The village scene is the first and main arena for public participation of the rural population. It conditions thei~ participation and fundamentally influences their outlook. Villagers' participation in the larger polity, whether by foot or vote, is formed at a level which is, in many ways, different from and even alien to the world of civil society, elected office and independent judiciary. The village polity is strongly influenced by the larger world, but it is still very much a polity that functions by itself, for itself, by its own rules, and following its own concerns. Consider for instance Ashutosh Varshney's point about how rural power in the Indian policy is 'self-limiting'. Peasants may have common economic interests but they are split along a number of divisions that prevent cooperation. As the peasant leader Sharad Joshi _points out, if one village participates in the peasant movement, the next

2

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

village may not because of local animosity and rivalry (Varshney 1995: 196). Joshi contrasts 'India' to 'Bharat' to underline the difference in outlook, goals, and means of how politics is conducted and what the aims are. The contrast is evocative and reflects a wider debate on the nature of the Indian policy. The innocence of the post-Independence period is felt to have been lost to an increase in unrest, communal divisions, and unconstitutional means of achieving political aims. There is a sense ofa division between the culture and ideology of the modernizing Indian elite, on the one hand, and those of village society, on the other; a division which the modernizing elite was not able to bridge. Sudipta Kaviraj argues that there·seems to be 'some incompatibility between the institutional logic of democratic forms and the logic of popular mobilisation' (Kaviraj 1991). The inability to bridge the cultural gap while at the same time extending rights of participation to the villages, created a situation in which the fundamental building blocs of secular democracy were undermined. The paradox formulated byT. N. Madan holds that the more democratic India became, in terms of participation, the less democratic it became, in terms ofconforming to secular and democratic principles (Madan 1987). The points in this debate, to which many scholars have contributed, constitute a dramatic view of the modern Indian polity and its contemporary health. Sharp divisions are drawn between the political cultures of the villages and those of the state to explain a lack of adherence to an ideal performance. It is a very pessimistic view. We need to ask whether or not the dichotomy is too sharply drawn, whether or not it allows for an understanding ofpolitical mobilization in the Indian countryside. A fundamental problem with the dichotomy is that it does not allow for any gradual change, any pieceby-piece development by which values and norms are altered, by which the outside influences the inside and not just vice versa. The dichotomy tends to obscure that village society has an ability to change. The present study seeks to investigate the relationship of village to state and vice versa, co·investigate a case of mutual adaptation. This is a story of the meeting of political cultures from both sides of the dichotomy. It is the story ofinfluences, opposition, and reaction;

Anthropology and History ofVillage Politics

3

and of meetings, adaptations, and adjustments. Thirty years of history of cwo adjoining villages in Burdwan district in West Bengal and these villages' place in the history of communist mobilization, will be used to investigate the mechanisms and tools of village politics, and how village politics affected and was affected by political or ideological changes in the larger society. I will, in particular, focus on the circumstances-social, political, and cultural-of communist mobilization, institutional change and changes in political culture and on the broader context in which political change cook place. The aim is to put the contemporaneous political issues, ideological values, and ocher inventions into the time and society they were received or rejected, where old ways were challenged, and compromises and conflicts took place. The emergence of rural communism was perhaps the most striking development in West Bengal in this period, but it was not the only change. Together with it came changes in the position ofwomen and in caste practices, efforts cowards economic improvements and 'development', and, interestingly, an increase in the incidence of village poetry recitals. Were these changes connected? I shall argue that they were, if not in any other way than by coming at the same time and being associated with one another. The changes were also associated with a particular social group; but one that was urban and distant from even the village 'elite'. Or were they? Perhaps social distance is not the relevant issue. As we shall see, social distances may be bridged by ocher means, such as cultural adoption or ideological affinity. The issue is how values reached the village and what changes they brought about there, and how they, in turn, were changed and reinterpreted in the process. Poetry recitals may seem peripheral to the theme of peasant mobilization, but both co villagers themselves and to chis researcher, che appropriation ofsymbols through poetry recitals formed part ofa drawn-out history of struggle over status and power and ultimately over the criteria for leadership and the moral basis of society. Poetry recitals became an arena for the portrayal ofindividuals as adherents to a particular and increasingly prominent ideology and implicitly as erect moral beings and holders of the right values. This potent role of poetry co leadership draws·from the face that village leadership is not

4

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

only based on power and the ability to enforce, but also in the ability to appear (or be) legitimate, to possess authority. In these villages, as in probably most Indian villages, there is rivalry over leadership positions. Rivals of similar economic and ritual status have to fight in the world of values, morality, and symbols in order to gain an upper hand. But even rivals of very different socio-economic status find themselves locked in combat over issues of morality, mainly in order to attract support from the many who are not tied by strong bonds of reciprocity with one or the other rival. These considerations make for a much more fluid picture of village politics and allow us to pose questions about the usefulness of the elite-subaltern dichotomy. Most researchers would agree that village politics is crucial to the developments of the Indian state. How- · ever, it is a little understood field, understudied, and often quite misunderstood. A simplistic dichotomy-based model does not allow an understanding of the interplay of local to supralocal society, or the ability of the local to cha.nge and adapt. But more importantly, it does not allow us an informed understanding of how village society in turn influences the larger polity. In a country where the majoriry of people still live in villages and where the countryside is one of the crucial premises for political life, little is understood of the hows and whys of changes in political culture. A long-term study of political change or reactions will allow us to see villagers as subjects, and not just objects, of change. Cultural change takes place as much in local society as elsewhere, and values are appropriated, fought over, forwarded, or disclaimed. This study is an effort in that direction. THE VILLAGE POLITICS STtJDIES As the reader will have understood, I employ a fairly broad understanding of politics, of what it is about. I regard all activities related to struggles over material, social, or symbolic resources to fall within politics. This is becau~e all such struggles affect the relationship between individuals or groups and their influence in village society. A different and more common, although somewhat restricted understanding, would be to regard village politics as merely a set of social mechanisms for the daily regulation of community affairs and

Anthropology and History ofVillage Politics

5

distribution of scarce resources. This is the approach we meet in 'traditional' village politics studies of the 1950s and 1960s, 1 where concepts such as 'dominant caste', 'faction' and 'patron-client relationship' were developed. These concepts as well as much of the literature that gave them to us, have been much criticized and in many cases rightfully so. They do easily land us in an anthropological never-never land where the normative system within which conflicts arise and are solved is seen as largely unchanging and unaffected by external political developments. Nonetheless, we need to investigate the usefulness of these concepts and also consider some of the very interesting ethnographical material and observations they contain. 'Dominant caste' is perhaps the lease controversial of the concepts. It refers co the phenomenon chat in many villages or regions certain castes are economically and politically dominant. These castes also often have a reasonably high ritual status in the local hierarchy and enjoy social pre-eminence in their localities. How to precisely define and identify a dominant caste is debated, but that it refers to an observable phenomenon seems accepted. The question is whether or not it is interesting. As many have noted, most 'dominant castes' are corn by internal rivalry and factionalism. According to Oommen, it is 'a matter ofcommon knowledge [that] there exists a high degree of factionalism in Indian villages...' (Oommen 1970: 76-77). It is not che caste that is dominant, but a group of individuals within that caste-or even from several castes (Miller 1975, c£ Mandelbaum 1970b: 358ff). The notion of a dominant caste cannot be maintained unless one assumes the unity of that caste. This we can do, at least in some cases and with some modifications. But mostly the unity is not political. It is beyond doubt chat political cleavages in Indian villages cut through the dominant caste. The unity of the caste is cultural, a matter of a strong identity and an ethos. As Mayer observed, a particular codex deemed appropriate to a historically elevated position was shared by the whole caste, not just a few powerful individuals, and was an element in the perpetuation of their dominance. 2 The dominant caste in many and perhaps most regions of India, ideally fill a role in society and vis-a-vis its subjects, which is akin co the role of a king. Dominant castes, as kings, have a right to rule, to

6

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

deliberate, to take pre-eminence (in rituals, for instance). They also have an obligation to protect subjects, to nourish and sustain. Kings have an elevated position because they are protectors of society. This position is particularly well represented in the king's special relationship with the Brahmin-priest, where the king represents society and where, at least in one interpretatiqn, the priest removes pollutants from the whole ofsociety by taking gifts from the king (Raheja 1988a and 1988b). The king as protector is also the king as benevolent provider, the distributor of boons, engaging in magnanimous acts of largesse. He generously gives paddy to the needy and land to his subjects. He is annapurna (in Bengal at least), the 'destined provider of subsistence' (Greenough 1982: 19). Given the importance of this construct in Indian thought (replicated in the God-devotee relationship for instance, or that of father-son), it is not surprising that we find it in common usage in villages where big landlords are referred to as 'king' and smaller ones as 'father'. These forms ofaddress evoke the construct where the superior's obligation to protect and nourish is as prominent as the subordinate's obligation to show respect and to obey. Two considerations make it imperative to rethink the importance of this construct. One is that the position ofdominant castes all over India is reported to be fast waning. As far back as ·the 1960s, it was suggested that although certain castes had enjoyed social, economic, and political positions of privilege, this was changing with the emergence of electoral democracy. Numerically large, lower castes have had much to gain from political engagement, and have in many places introduced party politics. 3 This development may not be universal though, and 'in many places the former dominant castes have preserved their clout by engaging in new activities-from business to electoral politics (Frankel 1993). Another consideration has to do with the village faction, and the individual follower's loyalty to his group. Factions are held together precisely by patron-client relationships, by the glue of kinship or caste, credit or laoour, or the mere expectancy of future patronage. Although some writers see the village-level faction as a stable and enduring formation, 4 others have regarded them as circumstantial and shifting alliances, occasionally appearing to be permanent, but

Anthropology and History ofVillage Politics

7

ultimately 'transactional', i.e. where membership in a faction 'depends on a return for support given'. 5 In reality the client may not always have much choice even where patronage is not forthcoming. Still, it is often the case that there are rival leaders and many potential clients who are not immediately in dire need of patronage. Patronclient relationships are thus not necessarily the reality they are made out to be, but are more in the nature of cultural constructs evoked, applied, used and manipulated in different contexts and by different actors. This makes the possibility of 'investing' in subordination a political reality. Subsequently, the construct of the king-subject has much potential bearing on the subordinate's perception of what the patron should be like. This is a line of thinking that has recently enjoyed renewed support from unexpected quarters, namely what has been termed the Subaltern Studies school. VIEWS FROM BELOW

Initially the Subaltern Studies school 6 focused on the not-soeveryday-although related questions about culture were taken up and hotly debated. But in the 1990s the everyday was drawn in, as part ofthe larger history-from-below project (e.g. Haynes and Prakash eds. 1991). An important source of inspiration and premise for the lacer development was James Scott's study Weapons ofthe \.'%ak. Here Scott argued that in local societies values are not shared even where they appear on the surface to be so. Poor people cannot afford to express open opf>osition to the moral claims of the powerful, but they still do so at home and amongst themselves. Contrary to Antonio Gramsci, Scott argues that the poor are able 'to penetrate and demystify the prevailing ideology' by which the powerful legitimize their favoured position and exploitation (1985: 3 I 7). Here Scott sees 'culture' not as shared but as an arena for contest, where the poor appropriate paternalistic claims in order to extract concessions with contesting interpretations over what is correct and justified. We find the same topic raised in several works belonging to the Subaltern Studies school. 'Subalternicy'-the state of being subaltern, chat is in the receiving end of a power relationship (poor, low caste, worker, woman)-is in Dipesh Chakrabarry's interpretation understood

8

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

as 'the composite culture of resistance to and acceptance of dominance and hierarchy' (Chakrabarty 1985: 376). This is well visualized in Chakrabarty's own later study, Rethinking Working-Class History, in the relationship between jute-mill workers and both their shop-floor superiors and the trade-union leaders. Even as an emerging industrial proletariat, the jute-mill workers' attitudes to and expectations of superiors were moulded by the village culture whence they came, a culture of inequality, dominance, and violence, a culture where 'only masters could represent' (Chakrabarty 1989: 141). But this representation-that is, by the masters-was subjected to notions of what was just, fair, or customary, to notions that the subordinates themselves had about superiority and the obligations ofthe superiors. By exercising their own understanding of the conditions of their subordination, the jute-mill workers themselves created the environment within which 'the masters' had to act. Workers could act within the accepted rules of domination, showing respect, but had strong notions about what to expect, and could abstain from lending support, by mere non-compliance. On a more active note, Sumit Sarkar has in a separate study coined the term ~assertion-wichindeference' to denote the ability of the subaltern to use the terms of subordination to his or her own advantage (Sarkar 1989). This is echoed in the term rajdharma in Gautam Bhadra's contribution on 'The mentality of subalcernity', a term that describes the evocation of norms for superiority and rule, norms that include the obligation to protect and rule justly (Bhadra 1989). The Subaltern Studies school has contributed substantially to the debate on the role of culture in defining the possibilities of action for subordinates in hierarchical societies. It is not existing cultural categories-dominance and subordination-chat are challenged, but perceived non-conformity to ideals. Since ideals by necessity are vague and fluid, they are open to circumstantial interpretation and to manipulation, even by those subordinated. Unlike Scott who sees culture as an arena for contest, the subalternists presented here do not see culture as the arena ofcontest; but as the setting within which contest takes place. Expectations, demands, obligations, complaints, are all culturally constituted and formed. It is in this manner that subordination can be understood; not as a separate field of thought

Anthropology and History ofVillage Politics

9

and values, but as a real-life experience nonetheless mediated in culture, a culture which is persuasive yet manipulable. Cultural categories are contested, their application even challenged, but they are not evaded. WHAT IS THIS THING CALLED CULTURE? Whether subalterns (or whatever term we may choose) are part of culture or indeed do escape it, is a question framed in such a manner chat we cannot solve but only adhere to one or the other position. The question is whether or not it helps us explain situations other than those in which one side 'wins' over the other. Can it help explain situations where values are confused, where norms are conflicting, and change is imperfect? Probably not, and in order to do so we need a more differentiated understanding of culture. The society under study here-rural West Bengal-has undergone extensive sociocultural change over the last three to four decades,..with a high level of awareness of normative variations and changes. There were efforts at reform, and there was resistance, and there was indifference. There was alignment between village leaders and followers, both among reformers and among the resisters. Conflicting values thrived side by side, adhered to by unexpected individuals and groups. When the reform line eventually prevailed, it was under middle-class leadership, a leadership that was partly shedding its middle-classness in order to remain leaders. The dichotomy between elite and subaltern, however analytically undtrstood, can be applied only with difficulty to complex situations where questions like 'Who is really in power?' can be impossible to answer. Gayatri Spivak pointed out that the subalternists 'perceive their task as making a theory of consciousness or_culture rather than specifically a theory ofchange'. 7 It is to this consciousness we must turn. A refreshing insight can be gained from Je~n and John Comaroff's study on African identities under emerging colonialism. They argue that culture cannot be seen as a given whole: ' ... far from being reducible to a closed system of signs and relations, rhe meaningful world always presents itself as fluid, often contested, and only partially integrated mosaic' (Comaroff and Comaroff 1991: 27).

10

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

Hegemony is seldom total, and resistance is not necessarily very clear. A very good example of the kind of ambivalence vis-a-vis hegemonic values that the Comaroffs discuss, is found in American labour studies. Interviewed labourers express views that in one sentence blame themselves arid in the next the system. The term 'contradictory consciousness' gains a whole new meaning in the fluctuations that graphically describe the inability to express systematically the relationship between an experienced reality and the largely but not fully internalized dominant values. 8 A hegemonic ideology may preclude the articulation of connected sets ofalternative values, but not prevent dissatisfaction. Alternative values, where they appear, often appear as unconnected, fragmented, and incohesive. And 'resistance' is similarly fragmented and incohesive, as in what Michel de Certeau calls 'poaching', small unconnected attacks that result in nuisance rather than cohesive opposition that could alter the system (de Certeau 1984, c£ Mbembe 1992). De Certeau has been criticized for entertaining a simplistic notion of power, one where there is no mutuality between the rulers and the ruled (Frow 1991). There may be many worlds where culture is not as hegemonic as individualism in ·today's America. 'Hegemony' itself then is to be questioned. 'Dominance' easily becomes too rigid a concept and 'culture' needs to be broken up in order to escape the win-lose equation. To achieve this, we need first of all to distinguish what Gellner calls 'the really big -thing' (Gellner 1979: 130), the totality ofour signifiers, from more conscious bodies of norms and values. There is a difference between values and norms that are so basic as to permeate our total thinking-the quality that Chakrabarty gives to hierarchy in the case of Indian villagers would be one exampleand the explicit, conscious, values ~nd beliefs that we can think, talk, and argu·e about. The difference, pace Comaroff and Comaroff, is not a dichot(?my but appears as two ends of a continuum, as 'a chain of consciousness'. in between which lies the most fascinating realm, namely, [T]he realm of partial recognition, of inchoate awareness, of ambiguous perception, and, sometimes, of creative tension: that liminal space of human experience in which people discern acts and facts but cannot or do not order them into narrative descriptions or even articulate conceptions about the world (Comaroff and Comaroff 1991: 29).

Anthropology and History ofVillage Politics

11

This is a dynamic field, where seeds of alternative interpretations may slowly be born into awareness or where signs and symbols may recede into the unremarked taken-for-granted. Here the Comaroffs refer the graduation of protest to its practice and to the response of the dominant, which can in the end lead to the making ofconsciousness, a recognition ofa different interpretation of reality. Thus hegemony is never entirely dominant. It is made and remade, it will seek to dominate conflicting norms, to press them away. There will, however, always be a field where alternative values hibernate and where dissatisfaction caused by an experienced reality creates a fertile g-round for potential reinterpretations. Reinterpretations, like protest and resistance, do not always take place, but remain as a backdrop for an unarticulated sense of obligation and reciprocity, even in societies characterized by inequality and hierarchy. However, group cohesion and the intrinsic nature ofidentity may also effectively dampen deviation or rethinking, even among subordinate groups. Think only of 'the lads' in P. Willis' study of school boys in an English industrial society (1977). These 'lads' took great pride in refusing to identify with the values of thrift of mainstream society, frowned upon those who did, and created for themselves an alternative set ofvalues that were complex and satisfying. In effect they condemned themselves to a life as unskilled labourers. What is interesting for us here is not that they 'learned to labour' but that they actively chose labour-class values as a lifestyle, proudly identifying with it, knowin§it as good.9 The relative permanence ofidentity markers derives from their embeddedness in broader patterns ofsignifiers, concerned with social roles, interests, humiliation, or pride. Using an understanding of the 'cultural field' as a minefield of signs and norms, some not immediately available as justification for action, we can handle the striking and tangible differences in the appropriation of new ideologies and political opportunities displayed by groups ofvillagers, including the differences in response to a changing political environment by groups ofpoor. Recognizing 'rajdharma' as suggestive of the dominant but complex theme of rank and mutuali cy in Indian culture should not mean ignoring alternative norm systems or the possibility of alternative interpretations of any one situation, even if these interpretations do not appear to contradict

12

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

the theme ofhierarchy and dominance. Although I have relied much on both the village politics studies tradition and the Scott/subalternist school for understanding socio-cultural changes in rural West Bengal, only the aid ofa flexible conception ofculture has made it possible to break through the monolithic views of hierarchical cultures to grasp the dynamics of change. NOTES Village politics studies have unfortunately been out offashion since the late 1970s, early 1980s. Cf Fuller and Spencer 1990. 2 Mayer 1958, see also Cohn 1990: 554-557, Dumont 1980: 160-163, Mandelbaum 1970b, Ch. 20. 3 Beteille 1965, cf. Bailey 1963, Gough 1989, Kothari 1970. 4 Carter 1974, for instance, in spite of his more nuanced view of factions at higher levels. 5 Except for kin relations; Davis 1983:163, cf. Pocock 1957. 6 The Subaltern Studies school is wide and varied but comprises above all the Subaltern Studies series edited by Ranajit Guha (Vols I to VI), Chatterjee and Pandey (Vol. VII), and Arnold and Hardiman (Vol. VIII). A number of monographs by the same editors plus the contributing authors would also be included. 7 Spivak 1985:331; cf. Rosalind O'Hanlon (1988:211) who criticises the school for essentialist interpretations. 8 Lears' 1985 survey ofAmerican labour historiography has much interesting and evocative material on this. See in particular the paragraph (pages 577578) quoted from Sennett and Cobb The Hidden Injuries of Class, New York 1972. 9 It is from Knights and Willmott (1977 [1985]) that I have taken the suggestion that Willis's study can be made even more interesting by considering how 'the lads' are not only reacting to mainstream society's values but actually creating their own oppositional but complex and satisfying identity. 1

2 Small Communities in Landscape and History THE VILLAGE SETTING r-r1}iis chapter introduces and situates the villages under study, .l fictitiously named Udaynala and Gopinathpur. Both are seemingly peaceful villages in a placid and uneventful landscape. They are, however, like thousands ofother villages in West Bengal, locations for the emergence and sustained support for the Communist Party of India (Marxist)-CPM-which has governed the state as the dominant party of the ruling Left Front Government since 1977. This is the longest running Government in any state in India, and it is among the few popularly dected communist governments anywhere in the world. As far as I know it is also the only communist government re-elected several times over. The state and its government have attracted much scholarly attention over the years, some ofwhich also deals-for the most part indirectly-with the issues of peasant communist mobilization and what has been called Bengal's 'exceptionalism', its radical middle class. After describing the villages in some detail, the chapter will review the existing literature on West Bengal's agrarian relations and political change. Udaynala and Gopinathpur are adjacent villages, at slightly less than one kilometre's distance from each other. They both fall within the Raina No I Development Block located in the Dakshin Damodar region of Burdwan district. 1 The district stretches in an east-westerly fashion, starting an hour or so by train west of Calcutta. Eastern Railways' main line from Calcutta to Delhi runs through the district in its full length, and so

14

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

does the parallel Grand Trunk Road. This is the Rarh Bangla region of West Bengal, that is, a very Bengali region, predominantly agricultural and home of many of Bengal's best writers. In spite of the presence ofconsiderable heavy industry in the far western portion of the district, in the Durgapur-Asansol subdivisions, the district of Burdwan in its central and eastern portions lives almost entirely from its agriculture or from supplying services to cultivators. As the saying goes, 'The only culture in Burdwan is agriculture'. The towns are few and small with the exception of Burdwan Town. However, although Burdwan Town has a population of a quarter of a million, the proportion of employment not directly or indirectly connected to atriculture is negligible. It is a bazaar town overflowing with lively markets, repair shops, medicine stores, and doctors' reception rooms. The town is also the focal point for innumerable bus lines that crisscross the flat landscape around. In the rural parts of the district, villages are separated by vast paddy fields and rarely anything else. The forests that once were are gone, and only a few major rivers break up the monotonous landscape. These vast tracts of paddy land constitute a granary of great importance to the state, particularly since the early 1980s, when the output more than doubled. 2 Gopinathpur and Udaynala are located in a field, an hour or so by bus south of Burdwan Town. 3 Frequent buses ply to and from Burdwan Town along two south-going roads, one that passes about one kilometre west ofGopinathpur and the other which passes about one kilometre east of Udaynala. Buses have operated on these two roads since the 1960s and have become the main means of transport to the outside world for villagers. Another means of transport was a narrow-gauge railway line, two kilometres to the north of these villages. It ran from Bankura Town in the west, only to end up in the middle ofa field some kilometres northeast of Udaynala. 4 It was long underused and eventually closed down in 1995. The bus line running east of Udaynala passes through the village Hatpur, which has a 'twice~weekly market (hat), while the line running west of Gopinathpur passes Bajarpur, which has a permanent market. These two market villages are at a few kilometres' distance from one another, and a small unmetalled road runs between them.

Small Communities in Landscape and History

15

This road is mainly a mud road (although 'mud' does not fully convey its condition during the rainy season), while small portions have been or are in the process ofbeing upgraded with sand (moram). It is along this road that one finds the two villages Udaynala and Gopinathpur, at about one kilometre's distance from one another. The villages can be reached by this road-on foot, by bicycle, or by ox-cart. Both Gopinathpur and Udaynala look like any other mediumsized village in Burdwan. There is nothing distinctive or remarkable about either's appearance: Mud-tracks wind along between the houses, the ponds and the tall trees. Most houses are made of mud and straw with only a few in brick. Male villagers~almost all cultivators or agricultural labourers-mostly wear the {originally Muslim) 'sarong' or lungi, while the women invariably wear saris. From a distance the large number oftrees dearly mark the villages from surrounding fields, but on closer scrutiny, plots ofcultivated land in between the houses blur the distinction between cultivated and inhabited land. Although the two villages look quite similar, a number of differences need to be noted. Udaynala is a Muslim-majority village, although the majority is slim and 45 percent of the population is 5 Hindu. Population and land-owning statistics are given in Table 2.1. TABLE

2.1. Population and landownership by jati, Udaynala 1993

Jati Bamun Kayastha Bene Kalu Sekh (Muslim) Namasudra (SC) Mallik (Muslim) Bagdi (SC) Muchi (SC) Saotal (ST) Total Source: field-data

Population N

41 4 43 6 935 299 190 304 91 93 2006

%

2.0 0.2 2.2 0.3 46.6 14.9 9.5 15.2 4.5 4.6 100.0

Landownership {in percent of total)

1.2 0.3 4.4

0.8 62.0 8.3 5.5 14.2 2.8 0.7 100.0

16

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

The Muslim population is divided into two groups-jatis (castes or sub-castes) seems an appropriate term. 6 One is the sekhs (who constitute a 'dominant caste' in terms ofland-owning and political clout), and the other is the malliks, who are much poorer. The malliks live in a separate para (neighbourhood, hamlet) in the northern end of the village, while the sekhs dominate the central portions of the village as well as a number ofother paras. The Hindus of the village are divided into several jatis: among the high and 'clean' castes we find several bamun (or Brahmin) and bene (Baniya) households as well as one kayastha and one kalu household. 7 These four jatis live in close proximity to one another, in the bene ·and bamun paras in the central portion of the village. The rest of the Hindu population is Scheduled Caste, the major groups being the namasudra, the bagdi and the muchi, who all live in separate neighbourhoods, mainly in the south part. The bagdis (also called Barga-Kshatriyas) live at a distance from the main village, and so do, a bit further north, the saotals (Santals), a Scheduled Tribe (ST) group settled in the village since the 1950s. Although the saotals acknowledge certain distinctly saotali customs, they consider themselves Hindu. Not all Hindus accept this claim. Gopinathpur borders on Udaynala in the west. Its population is all Hindu, and numerically quite evenly divided between lower and upper castes (table 2.2). The aguri jati (also known as UggraKshatriya) forms the village's dominant caste, numerically large and economically and (formerly) politically dominant. The aguris occupy the central portion of the village. Of other clean or high castes, we find a few bamun families, and a fairly large number of kayasthas, mainly living in three paras in the western end. The bamun and kayastha jatis together have ·contributed a large number of important village leaders and landlords and could well be counted· among the 'dominant castes' ofGopinathpur. Among the lower castes, we fin4 bagdis and muchis as in Udaynala, as well as the dules, a jati closely related to the bagdis (S. Dasgupta 1986). The bagdis exceed the aguris in terms of numbers and constitute the largest jati of the village. They live in the densely populated Bagdi-para in the south of the village. The 'home' paras of the aguri and the bagdi communities border on each other and together constitute·the centre and the bulk

Small Communities in Landscape and History TABLE

17

2.2. Population and landownership by jati, Gopinathpur 1993

Jati Bamun Kayastha Aguri Napit Bagdi (SC) Dule (SC) Muchi (SC) Total

Population N

15

96 214 165 371 85 165

1111

%

1.4 8.6 19.2 14.8 33.4 7.7 14.8 100.2

Landownership (in percent of total)

4.7 8.5 29.1 23.1 28.9 2.8 2.9 100.0

Source: field-data

of the physical village. The muchis contribute a larger proportion of the total village population than their Udaynala counterparts but live in a small para to the south of the village. A few muchi families also live in the recently formed North-para. The dule neighbourhood constitute the western end of the village, while further away from the main village, to the east and along the road towards Udaynala, is the large and nowadays quite prosperous napit community (Barbers). Paddy cultivation is the ·main source of income and livelihood in both villages. The late summer/autumn crop (am.an) is irrigated by rainwater from the monsoon and the flooded rivers and ponds. Increasingly mini deep-tubewells and various other diesel or dectricityrun pumps are used to irrigate the smaller but crucial boro crop (winter). This ,rop was nearly non-existent until some 20 years back, when a few individuals first invested in pumping equipment. In the l 980s and l 990s, mainly with the help of subsidized government loans to village cooperative societies, the number of mini deeptubewells has increased fantastically (and the water-level sunk comparatively), so that for the boro season of 1994-95, Udaynala planned to pump-irrigate about one half ofits total acreage, while Gopinathpur planned for about one third. For the period under study, this is the single most important economic change. To the north of both villages runs an irrigation canal. It was dug in the early 1960s as part of the Damodar Valley Corporation (DVC) scheme to provide irrigation for the adjoining areas, but it turned out that the plans

18

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

were grander than the water supply, and so this canal has been dry for the last 20 years-except during the rainy season. The main crop for both the aman and the boro seasons is paddy, although we find crops such as potato and sunflowers (for cooking oil) for the commercialized and intensive boro season. But paddy remains the main crop for the region, and the Dakshin Damodar has as many as 15 private, government, and co-operative rice mills, mostly located around Bajarpur and another village somewhat closer to Burdwan Town. Burdwan Town has a university and a large university hospital and is the commercial and political centre of the district. It is to Burdwan that people of Udaynala and Gopinathpur turn for what they cannot get locally, in particular medical expertise and college or university education but also finer goods. In the main, however, daily needs are satisfied in the immediate vicinity. Both villages have primary schools; Udaynala even has a secondary school. Both villages have a number ofdoctors, Gopinathpur has a 'health centre' with a resident health worker, and both villages have several small shops selling--occasionally even for barter-a wide range of items for daily consumption (cooking oil, chillies, biris or country cigarettes, flour, cheap plastic toys, soap, detergents, etc.). For the not-so-everyday items or services, villagers can also turn to the twice-weekly market in Hatpur or the permanent market in Bajarpur. There are higher secondary schools both in Hatpur and Bajarpur, and even a small college in Bajarpur. To the north of Hatpur, easily accessible on bicycle from Udaynala and Gopinathpur, is another larger college. Close to this college are the new buildings of a full-fledged 'country hospital', which has, 'however, not opened due to lack of funds. GRADUAL POLITICAL RADICALIZATION The above description, which has sought however inadequately to situate these two villages in their landscape, gives an impression of a placid, unremarkable, sleepy village society. And in many ways it is. But it is also an area of broad support for a communist party, the CPM, which has ruled West Bengal for over two decades now. Burdwan district is jocularly but not inaccurately known as the CPfyfs fortress (durga). People in Gopinathpur and Udaynala have

Small Communities in Landscape and History

19

consistently supported the party. The Panchayat Samiti8 under which Udaynala and Gopinathpur fall did not elect even one non-CPM Panchayat member between 1978 and 1998, although there have been opposition candidates. But it was not always so. The Indian National Congress dominated West Bengal's political life after Independence, invariably winning a majority ofseats in the West Bengal Legislative Assembly in Calcutta. It lost this majority only in the fourth general election, in 1967. The years following that water-shed are commonly referred to as the United Front period after the two non-Congress coalitions that ruled the state for short intervals. That period saw a turning of the electoral tide for the communist parties (Ruud 1994). We turn our attention to the years preceding the events of the United Front period, and to the period itself The first impetus towards radical political change seems, at first glance anyway, to have taken place in Calcutta. After a split in the Congress in 1966, that party lost its majority in the state Legislative Assembly in the 1967 election, and the two opposition fronts that had been running for election merged to form the United Front (including the Congress splinter group and both communist parties). This front formed the state's first non-Congress government that year but was ousted later the same year. The Front ran for re-election in the 1969 mid-term elections, won, and again formed government. The second UF Government was ousted in 1970, and the Front broke apart following inner squabbles before the 1971 elections. In the 1971 mid-term elections, the CPM emerged as the single largest party in the Assembly but was prevented from attaining power by· a combination of foes and former allies. A little later the same year; repression started to be unleashed on communists, and police and para-military troops were stationed in rural localities and reversed many land occupations. The 1972 elections were rigged in favour of the Congress in many constituencies, including some in Burdwan. 9 Table 2.3 gives the election results from the central and eastern portions of Burdwan district (that is, the subdivisions Sadar, Kaina and Katwa). 10 Table 2.4 reports figures of 'mobilized vote' for the same area, i.e. the percentage of all those with a right to vote actually mobilized into voting for the various parties. 11 These figures are

20

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

relevant because ofthe remarkable decrease in the percentage ofnonvoters. It was during the UF period that the vote for the CPM grew substantially. The growth followed an increase in voter turnout, a near doubling of the total 'mobilized vote' from 1967 to 1971. 2.3. Percentage of votes polled by major political parties and 'Independents' in central and eastern Burdwan, 1952-1982

TABLE

Political party

1952 1957 1962 1967 1969 1971 1972 1977 1982

Congress 43.0 Janata Dal Bangla Congress CPI 11.3 CPM (since 1964) Forward Bloc · 3.1 Socialists* 11.3 Independents 20.1

48.7 48.2 46.5 30.3 26.6 68.6 22.7 39.3 16.4 3.9 9.2 21.7 31.l 2.7 4.3 2.2 2.7 34.7 42.4 52.6 26.2 51.7 51.9 4.8 4.2 2.0 8.2 3.4 8.0 4.5 6.3 14.2 9.4 7.9 4.4 2.5 4.7

-

-

For asterisk and sources, see table 2.4 TABLE 2.4. 'Mobilized vote' for major political parties and 'Independents'

in central and eastern Burdwan, 1952-1982 Political parry

1952 1957 1962 19671969 1971 1972 1977 1982

Congress Janata Dal Bangla Congress CPI CPM (since 1964) Forward Bloc Socialists* Independents Voters

17.7 23.0 24.0 4.6

10.2

1.3 4.6 3.8 8.3 6.7 41.1 47.2

28.1 25.4 19.6 44.3

13.0 30.6 9.4

-

2.5 6.8 1.6 2.8 1.6 1.7 15. 5 20.9 27.4 38.8 17.0 29.6 40.-4 2.3 2.1 1.2 4.7 2.7 2.2 3.8 1.6 3.6 4.7 4.8 2.2 49.8 60.4 64.6 73.7 64.6 57.2 77.9

-

• Figures for 'Socialists' combine the results for the Kisan Mazdoor Praja Party (KMPP), the Praja Socialist Party (PSP), the Samyukta Socialist Party (SSP), and the Socialist Parry. Results of less than one per cent are indicated by a dash. Compiled and calculated from Baxter 1969, Field and Franda 1974, and Singh and Bose 1987.

Small Communities in Landscape and History

21

Tables 2.5 and 2.6 give the comparable figures for Raina constituency (which comprises Udaynala and Gopinathpur). It may appear rhat in Raina the CPM did not achieve much in terms of mobilization during the UF years, and that its increase from 1967 to 1969 merely reflected the demise of the Praja Socialist Party (PSP), the old party of the opposition. However, the increase in mobilized vote for che Congress probably came mainly from former PSP voters, following rhe lead of the main PSP figure at the time, Dasarathi Tah. Tah had been Member of the Legislative Assembly (Ml.A) and elected on a PSP ticket from Raina since 1952 but switched to the Co'ngress in 1969. A number ofex-PSP voters also voted for the INDF, a party of Jissatisfied ex-PSP organizers. There is reason to believe that most of TABLE

2.5. Percentage of votes polled: Raina constituency, 1952-1982

Political party

1952 1957 1962 1967 1969 19711972 1977 1982

Congress KMPP/PSP• CPM Other..,

40.5 45.8 66.0 41.6 54.3 30.5 18.0

3.5

36.0 37.4 36.6 56.4 22.3 32.7 37.9 1.7 23.4 52.2 60.3 43.6 63.4 65.4 14.3 1.9 2.7 8.7 3.2

For asterix and sources, see table 2.6

2.6. Percentage of 'mobilized vote'; Raina constituency, 19521982

TABLE

Political party

1952 1957 1962

1967 1969 1971 1972 1977 1982

Congress .KMPP/PSP• CPM Other*• Voters

14.6 23.6 37.5 15.0 28.0 17.3

20.5 24.6 23.5 35.9 12.9 26.2 21.6 1.1 13.3 34.3 38.8 27.7 36.7 52.3 8.3 1.5 1.5 5.7 2.1 57.0 6S.7 64.3 63.6 57.9 80.0

6.5 36.0

2.0 51.6 56.8

• The Kisan Mazdoor Praja Party (KMPP) merged in 1952 with the Socialist Party co form the Praja Socialist Party (PSP). •• 'Other' includes independent candidates plus the Jana. Sangh and Bolshevik Parer. (both ran in 1952), the Indian National Democratic Front (1969), the Congress (0) (1971), and theJanata Dal (1977 and 1982). Compiled and calculated from Singh and Bose 1987

22

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

the increase in mobilized vote went in the direction of the CPM, as it did in most of Burdwan. The tables give only the figures up to the 1982 election. The subsequent elections (in 1987 and 1992) have not yielded very different figures, although the support for the governing parties are slowly declining while still keeping them comfortably in power. But despite this slow decline, the largely sustained support for the Left Front Government (LFG) and the CPM constitutes a remarkable feat and a remarkable feature in West Bengal's modern history. The literature on post-1977 West Bengal mostly attributes this fact to the series of reforms implemented by the LFG. These reforms, to which I will return in a later chapter in the context ofUdaynala and Gopinathpur, included: implementation ofalready existing legislation on land questions (maximum ceiling for household ownership, restrictions on exceptions) and redistribution of land; the famous Operation Barga which registered most sharecroppers (bargadars) to ensure them their legal share of the crop and other rights; and a substantial raising of minimum wages to agricultural labourers. There was also a muchdiscussed reform of the Panchayat system, which was simplified and giveh more relevance and means. 12 As we can see from the tables,, the main shift in political allegiance in West Bengal came during the unrest of the late 1960s and not after the 1977 reforms. The reforms may have been important in generating sustained support for the CPM and the LFG, but the foundations were laid during a period of massive political mobilization efforts, forceful land occupations, incidents of looting, killing, or burnif!,g, and short-lived governments, interspersed with spells of President's Rule. 13 The CPM i.ncreased 'its voter-turnout from 21 percent of electors to 39 percent between 1967 and 1971, and the membership tally of the party more than doubled from. about ten thousand to about twenty-three thotisand in a year (1968-69). When the All India Kisan Sabha (CPM-affiliated) held its 1969 annual conference in Burdwan district, five hundred thousand were reported to have attended. It was common for people to join in thousands, often tens of thousands, in the CPM-led activities such as demonstrations or land occupations (Ruud 1994). The CPM, its affiliated organizations, and the number ofvolunteers that the party commanded,

Small Communities in Landscape and History

23

grew immensdy during this short but volatile period. For these reasons che remainder of this chapter will focus on the pre-1977 history of West Bengal, and on the explanations or sets of explanations that have been offered to understand the emergence--and sustenance-of rural communism. I will return to the post-1977 situation in Chapters Six and Seven. What were the reasons for this relatively s•Jdden shift of political allegiance among broad sections of the rural population? Why at this juncture? Why should such an unusual thing as rural communism suddenly bloom? What is it about the soil in West Bengal that has proved so fertile to political radicalism? During the period itsdf, according to one line of analysis, inner squabbles in the UF and struggles over positions made the various constituents ofthe Front use their government posts and whatever other means at their disposal to strengthen and widen their strongholds. This was probably true, particularly during the second UF Government in 1969-70. 14 But this in itself can hardly be seen as much of a deviation from previous practice. The patronage system was extensive and elaborate under the Congress, 15 but patronage itselfhad not been sufficient to keep the Congress in power. Decades later, this period has mostly been mentioned in passing or analysed from stereotypical assumptions about mass political behaviour, particularly as we turn away from the urban scene, towards the question of peasant mobilization and of the emergence ofcommunism in villages. In the existing literature there are a number of hypotheses, focusing in general on two broad historical themes. One has to do with the history of economic development and increasing economic pressure on the lower classes during the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The other theme starts with the emergence of a radical 'elite'-or middle class, as one may choose to see it-and goes on to suggest that an incipient unrest in the countryside and/or political compulsions brought about by events elsewhere, 'opened' the eyes ofpolitical parties to the potential available in rural mobilization. These two themes will be presented over the following pages, and the arguments that go with them briefly addressed. More space will be given to the theme ofagrarian relations since that is of interest not only to the scholarly arguments, but also forms a background for the history ofthe village societies under study.

24

POETICS OF VILLAGE POLITICS

AGRARIAN RELATIONS AND INCREASING POVERTY The first and major impact ofBritish colonial rule on Bengali society and economy came with the so-called Permanent Settlement in 1793. This Settlement was to facilitate tax collection and governance in general. Having tried other models first, the East India Company carved up the province into a fixed number of 'estates' over which designated individuals-already existing rajas, maharajas, etc.-were given ownership rights and the title zamindar. 16 Failure to pay the full tax could mean, and in some cases did, that the estate was auctioned away to the highest bidder. In the British scheme the zamindars were expected to develop into English-type landlords, closely managing the estate, posing as the patron of their subjects, and reinvesting surplus in improvements. Most estates, however, were large and unmanageable. The Burdwan raja was the first, soon followed by others, to carve his estate into smaller units in order to ease rent collection. 17 Each holder of a lease under the zamindar, known as a patnidar, was to give the zamindar a fixed annual amount. Soon, the patnidars subdivided their areas, leased out to darpatnidars, who again subdivided further. By the 1930s the number of holders of intermediary rights was over 5,000 under the Burdwan raj (Chatterjee 1982a: 129). Most were quite small, a kind of superior raiyat (cultivator). It is obvious that the zamindar was not the controlling man he was supposed to be. The British anyh9w restricted zamindari rights. Even in the mid nineteenth century the zamindars were criticized for mismanagement and maltreatment from various corners. Broad dissatisfaction among tenants as well as a series of revolts in the 1870s and l 880s in eastern Bengal (K. Sen Gupta 1970), ied colonial authorities to pass protenant legislation. The Bengal Tenancy Act of 1885 inter alia gave established tenants some protection against eviction. Historical studies, in particular by Rajat and Ratna Ray, 18 have suggested that the real masters-exploiters-of the peasantry were the stratum below zamindars or holders ofzamindari rights, namely a stratum ofvillage dominating landlords-called jotedar or jotdars. They held large tracts ofland cultivated by sharecroppers or similar types of tied labourers. With intimate local knowledge, using local networks of caste and

Small Communities in Landscape and History

25

family and superior economic clout, the jotedars were well-positioned to extract the optimum from suppressed tillers. Sugata Bose challenges this 'jotedar-thesis' in his Agrarian Bengal study (BQse 1986). Here he shows that in the case of rurn-of-thecenrury western Bengal (and eastern Bengal, which I do not consider here) the image of the village- and credit-controlling landlord with superior tenancy rights does not fit. Instead he finds a three-tier system, in what he calls 'the peasant smallholding-demesne labour complex'. This complex consisted of, at the top, a small segment of landlords who had their lands tilled by hired-in hands.; then a fairly broad but so far ignored segment of peasant smallholders, owner-cultivators who employed hired-in labour for peak seasons; and lastly, a broad and more or less landless segment that supplied the tilling labour. There were of course no sharp lines between these three segments, with some intergenerational mobility, and with caste and other social ties often reaching across economic divisions. But the situation was fast changing, Bose suggests. Already by the late nineteenth century a differentiation was taking place. Population growth and shifting rivers contracted the acreage, and caused increased pressure on land. A section of the richer owner-cultivators was able to take advantage of a credit-market, an expanding market in grain and possession of surplus land, to financially rise above others, approaching 'the gentry' ~n riches and life-style. This slow development continued into the ·first decades of the twentieth century and sent many poor peasant households who relied on credit for seeds into poverty and debt. The flnahcial depression of the 1930s adversely affected an already squeezed ·credit-dependent and increasingly market-producing peasantry, forcing many into selling land and becoming part- or fulltime sharecroppers. The situation after Independence, as several studies have shown, was one of a continued pressure on land, swelling the ranks of the poor and landless. Estimates vary considerably, but it is clear that there was massive poverty in rural West Bengal in the 1950s and l 960s. The percentage of households holding 2.5 acres of land or less increased from 73 in 1954/55 to 77 in 1971/72. 19 The official poverty line was five acres for a family of five. Most land~poor or landless families would supplement their income by hiring out their

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labour force, that of women or children as domestic servants, cow herders, or similar work, and that ofadult males normally as agricultural labourers. A few ofthe latter were on long-term contracts, lasting perhaps as much as a year at a time, while most were on short-term contracts, for the season, for a week, for a particular job, or mostly just for the day. Their dependency and vulnerability are obvious. A feature that further enhanced their dependency but possibly mitigated their poverty, was the high incidence of sharecropping. In these parts of Bengal sharecropping mostly consisted of a sharing of output, commonly fifty-:fifty between landowner and tiller. Fixed crop tenancy was quite unusual. Although there is evidence to suggest that sharecroppers increasingly came to form their own class, with people being born into such a status and earning a living mainly as sharecroppers throughout their lives, it is dear that it was also in many instances :t temporary arrangement that people moved in and out ofwith some frequency. Surplus labour in a family would make it agreeable to take up sharecropping. Or, from the owner's angle, inconv~niently placed land could be hired out until it could be sold or exchanged for a plot closer to one's main land. Then of course there were also the big landowners, who had all or most of their lands sharecropped. Also in this case, sharecropping came to be more of a temporary arrangement than it had earlier been, in the sense that the sharecroppers would be exchanged for others with more frequency and at shorter intervals. The reason for this trend is to be found in pro-sharecropper legislation. This legislation was passed but not rigorously implemented. The Bargadar Act of 1953, later incorporated into the West Bengal Estates Abolition Act of 1955, gav1,! the sharecropper security against eviction, a stipulated share of the crop, and ·rights of inheritance. The negative effect of this legislation and a source for the political pressure for land reform was that it did not secure the sharecroppers their rights but rather ~ade landlords unwilling to retain sharecroppers for long periods. 20 Landowners instead made sure that the sharecropping. arrangement a:lternated between different individuals. Independent India abolished the zamindari system. Most states passed legislation aimed at redistributing the huge demesne lands held by ex-zamindar landlords. The·class of rural rich survived for

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27

some time due to lax implementation of the legislation, a corrupt bureaucracy and political system, and by 'hiding' excess land under false names (benamt') or false charities. However, the sustained political pressure for land reforms dampened further investment in land. Instead resources were diverted into business or education. As a result the number of landlords and the size of land held by them, decreased substantially over the period. The percentage oflandholders in the 10 acres or more category, was almost halved over the 1954/-551971/-72 period, from 5.35 to 2.44. The proportion of all owned land held in this class declined from 40 percent to slightly below 20 percent over the same period. 21 Although figures are not entirely reliable-landlords did have good reason to hide the size of their holdings-the figures suggest a real decline in the number oflandlords and in their capacity to extend patronage. This development came in addition to the dampened interest in extending patronage. It is significant that agricultural labourers had become surplus labour in the village economy, and many were unemployed for much of the year. Their precarious financial situation made them vulnerable and probably all the more willing to submit to patron-client relationships. But while the demand for employment and patronage grew among the landless, the capacity to extend it diminished among the land-owning sections. It is commonly accepted that tied labourers such as sharecroppers or long-term labourers were more loyal to the landowners and also received larger amounts of patronage than untied labourers. Hence tied labourers were more willing to follow the landowner even politically, by abstaining from voting or by voting for the party that he favoured. 22 Untied labourers, on the other hand, were more volatile, and could be found supporting different landlords in their intravillage rivalries. These developments have interesting implications for interpretations of this period in Bengali history. Bhabani Sen Gupta, a prominent student of Indian communism, points precisely to these developments in agrarian relations, a 'disintegration of the peasantry', in seeking to understand communist peasant mobilisation in West Bengal (B. Sen Gupta 1979: 151). Atul Kohli, another prominent scholar of Indian politics, also finds that economic inequalities and 'massive

28

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poverty' had caused a deep cleavage in rural society, a 'hostility of the lower classes to their superiors' (Kohli 1990: 377). Absentee landlordism had caused, according to Kohli, a lack of landlord political control over the village population, and subsequently the countryside lay open to radical mobilization which reactionary forces no longer had sufficient local clout to suppress. THE SPARK: A NEW LINE OF THINKING It was at this juncture that the urban elitist radical parties and an impoverished peasantry could link with one another, according to the literature. All that was needed, was the ignition. The poor did not automatically surge forward because of increased incidence of poverty, but tended to depend on leadership from other social groups before acting. Increased poverty had only prepared the ground, and radical politicians in the urban centres were about to discover this fertile ground. This understanding is shared by Bhabani Sen Gupta, who believes that what specifically made peasant mobilization possible was 'a new tactical thinking' on the part of communist parties. After their involvement in the food movement of 1965-6-6, the CPM leadership had 'discovered-to the surprise of their own leaders', that rural support bases tended to be more stable than urban ones (B. Sen Gupta 1979: 53). After coming to power in 1967, and in reality only after being ousted from power later the same year, the party leadership gave a 'call' for mobilisation. Much along the same lines, Marcus Franda asserts that by the time of the UF period, the CPM 'showed a new flexibility' which allowed for different strategies in localities with different socio-economic structures (Franda 1971a: 184). In some localities they focused on agricultural labourers, in others on a collaboration between landless and middle-class peasants. A crucial development was the emergence in this period of the so-called Naxalites, an insurgence in north Bengal by a break-away group of China-supported CPM activists mobilizing the rural proletariat. The CPI had split in 1964, and the splinter group, the CPM, emerged the stronger in West Bengal, with a heavier bag23 gage ofactivism and dislike for collaboration with established powers. When despite this heritage, the CPM joined the United Front to

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form a government, it caused disappointment to many ofthe party's activists. The insurgence in north Bengal, which happened at this rime, proved to be a very attractive alternativ:e to many activists. This caused severe rethinking within the CPM (Franda 1971a, Ch. 3). This point is also raised by Atul Kohli, who asserts that the CPM's ideological reorientation, under pressure from Naxalite-inspired wings of its own organization, made it turn towards the rural masses and in 1969 give a call for occupation of illegally held land. By these events, forces were 'let loose [...] that the CPM itself could not control' (Kohli 1987: 101). Evidently, both Atul Kohli and Bhabani Sen Gupta hold quite simple views about the peasantry. What they seem to say is chat given the right socio-economic circumstances, the peasantry can be mobilized by a suitably inclined middle class. These two otherwise eminent scholars' views are shared by many observers, and also by many leading political activists in West Bengal. There is nothing ostensibly wrong in these observations: There was economic pressure on large sections, and when there finally was mobilization, then it was under a middle-class leadership. We need co ask however, why economic pressure led to support for organized forms of party politics and not other forms, such as disorganized acts of looting or robbery, or just passivity. And why would the village middle classes let themselves be involved in a radical movement? How did they perceive their own position in the battle of ideologies chat was going on? Also not explained in the existing literature is how the urban-rural divide became bridged. Most former party activists ,vere educated and self-conscious urbanites. From a village perspective, in particular, these activists would be bhadralok, men of refinement and high status, whether they wanted that status or not. How then did the mobilized poor and low-caste population perceive their own participation under the leadership of the educated middle classes? These types of questions become particularly interesting in light of the recent contributions by the Subaltern Studies school and other practitioners. of what we with a somewhat old-fashioned concept might term a history of mentality.

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BUT DOES IT ALL FIT? What I wish to draw attention to in this book is the perceptions involved in the different groups' participation, both of the poor and of the rural middle classes, so that we might come closer to an understanding of the process of dissemination of new ideas, 1 whole ideologies, and their translation into practice. This was adissemination ofnew ideas into villages and social groups that were initially alien to the urban educated culture in which the ideas had first been formed and gained prominence. We are concerned not only with the nature of the emerging radical ideologies, but also with how they interacted with those already prevalent in the countryside-group identities, modes of political organization, formal and informal political structure-and the process by which the two sets hinged upon one another and came to form one another. I shall try to fill out the picture by looking back, into the immediate and not so immediate past of village society. I shall point to how a heterogeneous cultural environment specific to Bengal formed its history in interaction with political events and ideological currents, constantly changing and interpreted through the process of village politics. As is the thesis of this study, such important political (and in effect cultural) changes in an overwhelmingly agrarian polity cannot be understood without dose investigation ofhow the peasants themselves perceived the various political actors and their ideologies and of how these perceptions came to influence the course of events. We need to be much more sensitive to the complex reality of interaction, even in seemingly placid villages, and steer away from easy stereotyped images of peasants willy-nilly following leaders or automatically responding to economic changes in a particular fashion. NOTES When questioned, villagers will locate their village in 'Raina', identical with the old Raina than4 (area of police jurisdiction, also a name for the station itself) and which has been split into Raina I and Raina II development blocks. 2 For a debate and references, see articles in Rogaly et al eds. 3 Both Udaynala and Gopinathpur were technically divided into two distinct 1

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mouzas (revenue villages) and panchayat seats. For the sake ofsimplicity, I have merely called these Udaynala North and Udaynala South, and Gopinathpur East and Gopinathpur West, respectively. Both villages appear physically as one village, ~d are commonly referred to as such. Udaynala South is still often referred to as 'the south para', and with historically only one literate family, the Kajis, it could previously not be considered a proper village. Also Gopinathpur West is quite small and was considered but a para under Gopinathpur East. It got its own Panchayat seat as late as 1993. 4 The line's official name, Bankura Damodar River Railway, was abbreviated to BDR and hence the local name bara duhkha rel ('The railway of great sorrow'). It ran infrequently and was ofminimal commercial interest. It has been closed since my visit. 5 I have placed the different jatis in an approximate socio-ritual ranking. Though Muslims and Hindus do not rank on the same ritual scale, Muslim 'jatis' still tend co be ranked where Hindu jacis ofa comparable social status would. 6 Ac least following the common understanding of jati, as an endogamous group, see Kolenda 1978. For 'caste' among Muslims, see Ahmad 1977. 7 I prefer the colloquial jati names since many of the 'sanskritized' names are long (such as Barga-Kshatriya for bagdi) and little used. Lower case initial letters will be used for the colloquialisms, upper case for sanskritized names. 8 The 'Panchayat system' of elected bodies of local government has in West Bengal three 'tiers': Gram Panchayat (or village council, covering some 1015 villages), Panchayat Samiti (covering sbme 8-12 Gram Panchayacs), and the Jela (or district) Parishad. 9 For a discussion on the extent of rigging, see Field and Franda 1974. Although they are lukewarm cowards the CPM's tall claims of rigging, they acknowledge extensive rigging in some areas, including in Burdwan district. 10 Substantial industries are located in the western regions of the district. The figures are taken from Ruud 1994. 11 For the concept of'mobilized vote', see Vanderbok 1990. 12 For some contributions to the debate and literature, see Lieten 1988, 1990, 1992 and 1994; Webscer-1992; Biplab Dasgupta 1984a and 1984b; Ross Mallick 1990, 1992; the articles in Rogaly et al eds; Dwaipayan Bhattacharya 1993; Harihar Bhattacharya 1997; Gazdar and Sengupta 1997. More of this in Chapter Six. l.l President's Rule is when the Central Federal Government imposes its own rule on a state-a constitutional provision for situations of political breakdown in individual states. 14 This line of argument formed the tenor of newspaper reports and analysis

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during the UF period, as well as some books; see for instance Sajal Basu 1974, Anjali Ghosh 1981, or Sankar Ghosh 1971. 15 See in particular Franda 1970 and 1971: Chapter 7; and S. Chakrabarty 1978:304-46. For a large study of 'the Congress-system', see Weiner 1967. 16 The British thought they were building on the system as it existed under the Mughal Nawabs ofBengal. However, the total ownership rights conferred on the zamindars, as well as the notion ofa permanent and non-negotiable rent were novelties. 17 For a detailed study on the politics and economy of the Burdwan raj and zamindari, the largest single unit in Bengal Presidency, see Mclane 1993. 18 In particular in their 1975 article, but see also Ratna Ray's 1980 book. 19 Based on National Sample Survey figures, as compiled and presented in Sanyal 1988:150. 211 As argued in for instance S. Sengupta 1979, Ch. 5; K. Dutt 1977; B. Dasgupta 1984b; and Frankel 1972:167. 21 Based on National Sample Survey figures, as compiled by S. K. Sanyal 1988: 150; see also N ripen Bandyopadhyaya and Associates 1985: 12. 22 For references specific to West Bengal, see Davis 1983:202-9, S. Sengupta 1979: 130-9. 23 Franda 1971 b has a good analysis of the ideologies behind the split and formation of the CPM.

3 Two Stories about Power and Influence

'WE WERE ALL IN IT TOGETHER'

'"\VTe were all in it together', uttered in public, is a standard answer W by village leaders to queries about who initiated or led one or

the other project. Other villagers will, in private, be more explicit: 'This road was built by Ohabsaheb', or 'Bhaskar Mandal organized the building of this school'. Ohabsaheb and Bhaskar Mandal will themselves understate their own role and instead emphasize the community or the collectivity, 'We were all in it together'. In a society as p~eoccupied with rank and hierarchy as rural India, would a village leader not seek to underline his own role and contdbution to enhance his status and prestige? Would there be anything co gain from wooing supporters in this manner? Did wealth, political contacts, and traditional status not yield sufficient clout? Ir does not seem so. It is the intention of this chapter to disaggregate the 'power' or 'powe.t'-base' of Bengali vlllage leaders. How did they become leaders and how did they 'recruit' followers? From village ethnographies it seems that the utterance 'We were all in it together' is not an unusual statement. The same self-denial is mentioned in several studies, the same humility on the part of the leaders. Oscar Lewis, for instance, wrote from a village in north India rhat 'A fundamental requisite for leadership in this village is humility, self-abnegation, and hospitality, especially within the in-group. [... ] Leaders will never refer to themselves as such and will make a point ofattributing leadership qualities to the others who are present' (Lewis 1958: 129). In F. G. Bailey's description, the leader of an Orissa

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village, 'seemed to me extremely self-effacing [and] rarely had anything to say, (Bailey 1988: 43). Leaders publicly present themselves as, just one among many, as perhaps not important at all. On the decision-making process in the 'traditional panchayat', H. S. Dhillon wrote that 'The Yajmans [here: leaders]_ must make decisions in consultation with all concerned, and the confidence in them must be constantly reaffirmed by the people' (Dhillon 1955, cited in Mandelbaum 1970a: 292). This looks like some sort of rudimentary democracy. The people 'elect' their leaders through extending or withdrawing support. Dhillon may have overstated his case, but his basic argument is nonetheless sound; that there is a substantial degree of'consultation' between leaders and the led. This also seems a fitting description of Bengali village politics, as we shall see in this chapter. But rather than commoners. electing leaders by extending or withdrawing support, the pro