Readings in Indian Sociology: Volume VII: Sociology of Environment [1 ed.] 9788132113881

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Sociology of Environment

Readings in Indian Sociology Series Editor: Ishwar Modi Titles and Editors of the Volumes Volume 1 Towards Sociology of Dalits Editor: Paramjit S. Judge Volume 2 Sociological Probings in Rural Society Editor: K.L. Sharma Volume 3 Sociology of Childhood and Youth Editor: Bula Bhadra Volume 4 Sociology of Health Editor: Madhu Nagla Volume 5 Contributions to Sociological Theory Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava Volume 6 Sociology of Science and Technology in India Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik Volume 7 Sociology of Environment Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury Volume 8 Political Sociology of India Editor: Anand Kumar Volume 9 Culture and Society Editor: Susan Visvanathan Volume 10 Pioneers of Sociology in India Editor: Ishwar Modi

READINGS IN INDIAN SOCIOLOGY VOLUME 7

Sociology of Environment

EDITED BY Sukant K. Chaudhury

Copyright © Indian Sociological Society, 2013 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. First published in 2013 by SAGE Publications India Pvt Ltd B1/I-1 Mohan Cooperative Industrial Area Mathura Road, New Delhi 110 044, India www.sagepub.in SAGE Publications Inc 2455 Teller Road Thousand Oaks, California 91320, USA

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Contents

List of Tables Series Note Preface Introduction by Sukant K. Chaudhury

ix xi xv xvii

Section I: Conceptual Issues 1. A Demographic Approach to the Study of Urban Ecology A. Bopegamage 2. Bombay: A Study in Urban Demography and Ecology C. Rajagopalan 3. Ecology and Development in India: A Field and Its Future Amita Baviskar 4. Towards a More Meaningful Study of Ecology, Society and Culture Indra Deva 5. ‘Environment’ in Sociological Theory Indra Munshi

3 16 42 56 73

Section II: Environment and Displacement 6. Parks, People and Protest: The Mediating Role of Environmental Action Groups 89 Ranjit Dwivedi 7. Displacement, Rehabilitation and Resettlement: The Case of Maldhari Families of Gir Forest 123 Varsha Ganguly

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8. Coping with Development Pathologies: Resistance to Displacement T.K. Oommen 9. ‘They are All Set to Dam(n) Our Future’: Contested Development through Hydel Power in Democratic Sikkim Vibha Arora 10. Revisiting the Baliraja Dam Struggle: A Study of an Environmental Movement in Maharashtra Satyapriya Rout

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Section III: Forest and Water Issues 11. Social and Ecological Drift of a Planned Urban Centre: A Study of Rourkela, Orissa Rajkishor Meher 12. How Effective are ‘Pani Panchayats’?: A Fieldview from Maharastra Manish K. Thakur and Binay K. Pattnaik 13. Vosaad: The Socio-Cultural Force of Water (A Study from Goa) Bernadette Maria Gomes 14. Forest Legislations and Livelihood Strategies: Khasi Women in Rural Meghalaya Rekha M. Shangpliang Index About the Editor and Contributors Appendix of Sources

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298 304 306

List of Tables

Chapter 1 Table 1 Percentage Distribution by Age and Sex of Each Administrative Ward Population, Old Delhi City, 1931 Table 2 Proportion of Males per 100 Females at Different Age Periods of Seven Selected Wards Lying along One Arterial Highway between the Centre of Old Delhi and Its Periphery Chapter 2 Table 1 Growth of Population in the City of Bombay, 1872–1951 Table 2 The Proportion of the City-born Population and the Immigrants in the City, 1872–1951 Table 3 Number of Females per 1,000 Males in the City, 1872–1951 Table 4 Civil Condition of the City’s Population, 1921–1951 Table 5 Population of the City Classified According to Languages Table 6 Sex Ratios among the Immigrants from the Nine Contiguous Districts with the Decennial Variation in Their Number, 1921–1951 Table 7 Age Structure of the City’s Population, 1872–1951 Table 8 Age and Sex Composition of the City’s Population, 1951 Table 9 Birth and Death Rates in the City, 1901–1951 Table 10 Average Number of Deaths of Infants under One Year per 1,000 Live Births in the City, 1911–1951

6

12

17 18 19 20 24

25 28 29 30 31

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Table 11 Gross Density in the City, 1872–1951 31 Table 12 Area and Population of the City Classified According to Wards 32 Table 13 Ward-wise Density of Population in the City, 1872–1951 33 Chapter 7 Table 1 Gradual Decline in Resettled Families

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Chapter 9 Table 1 Teesta Hydroelectric Power Projects

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Chapter 11 Table 1 Growth of Population in Rourkela 1951–1991 Table 2 Migrant and Non-Migrant Population in the Class-I Towns of Orissa during 1971 Table 3 Precentage Distribution of Males in the Urban Areas of Sundergarh Born in Other States of India and in Other District of Orissa, 1981 Table 4 Years of Residence of Heads of Households in Rourkela Table 5 Distribution of Personal Support Received by Heads of Migrant Households in Rourkela Table 6 Caste, Religion and Linguistic Distribution of Households in Rourkela Assembly Constituency According to 1984 Voter’s List Chapter 12 Table 1 Taluka-wise Distribution of Pani Panchayats Table 2 Aggregate Details of Pani Panchayats Table 3 Details of Shindewadi Pani Panchayat Table 4 Details of Pani Panchayats in Mahur Table 5 Categorisation of Farmers in Mahur Table 6 Landholding Pattern of Pani Panchayat Membership (Households)

204 208

209 210 211

214

233 233 234 236 236 247

Series Note

The Indian Sociological Society (ISS), established in December 1951 under the leadership of Professor G. S. Ghurye at the University of Bombay, celebrated its Diamond Jubilee in 2011. Soon after its foundation, the ISS launched its bi-annual journal Sociological Bulletin in March 1952. It has been published regularly since then. Taking cognizance of the growing aspirations of the community of sociologists in both India and abroad to publish their contributions in Sociological Bulletin, its frequency was raised to three issues a year in 2004. Its print order now exceeds 3,000 copies. It speaks volumes about the popularity of both the ISS and the Sociological Bulletin. The various issues of Sociological Bulletin are a treasure trove of the most profound and authentic sociological writings and research in India and elsewhere. As such, it is no surprise that it has acquired the status of an internationally acclaimed reputed journal of sociology. The very fact that several of its previous issues are no more available, being out of print, is indicative not only of its popularity among both sociologists and other social scientists but also of its high scholarly reputation, acceptance and relevance. Although two series of volumes have already been published by the ISS during 2001–05 and in 2011, having seven volumes each on a large number of themes, yet a very large number of themes remain untouched. Such a situation necessitated that a new series of thematic volumes be brought out. Realising this necessity and in order to continue to celebrate the Diamond Decade of the ISS, the Managing Committee of the ISS and a sub-committee constituted for this purpose decided to bring out a series of 10 more thematic volumes in such areas of importance and relevance both for the sociological and the academic community at large as sociological theory, untouchability and Dalits, rural society, science & technology, childhood and youth,

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health, environment, culture, politics, and the pioneers of sociology in India. Well-known scholars and experts in the areas of chosen themes were identified and requested to edit these thematic volumes under the series title Readings in Indian Sociology. Each one of them has put in a lot of effort in the shortest possible time not only in selecting and identifying the papers to be included in their respective volumes but also in arranging these in a relevant and meaningful manner. More than this, it was no easy task for them to write comprehensive Introductions of the respective volumes in the face of time constraints so that the volumes could be brought out in time on the occasion of the 39th All India Sociological Conference scheduled to take place in Mysore under the auspices of the Karnataka State Open University during 27–29 December, 2013. The editors enjoyed freedom not only to choose the papers of their choice from Sociological Bulletin published during 1952 to 2012 but were also free to request scholars of their choice to write Forewords for their particular volumes. The volumes covered under this series include: Towards Sociology of Dalits (Editor: Paramjit S. Judge); Sociological Probings in Rural Society (Editor: K. L. Sharma); Sociology of Childhood and Youth (Editor: Bula Bhadra); Sociology of Health (Editor: Madhu Nagla); Contributions to Sociological Theory (Editor: Vinay Kumar Srivastava); Sociology of Science & Technology in India (Editor: Binay Kumar Pattnaik); Sociology of Environment (Editor: Sukant K. Chaudhury); Political Sociology of India (Editor: Anand Kumar); Culture and Society (Editor: Susan Visvanathan) and Pioneers of Sociology in India (Editor: Ishwar Modi). Sociology of Environment (edited by Sukant K. Chaudhury is the seventh volume of the series titled Readings in Indian Sociology. It can hardly be overemphasised that Environment is of great concern to every society since people depend on it for resource mobilisation, livelihood and existence. However, environment or the ecosystem is endangered because of population pressure, migration, technological changes and changes in land use for livelihood practices and depletion, as well as because of destruction of resources due to mega projects. As such, sustainable development has become essential. The present volume consisting of 14 articles is divided into three sections. While section one deals with the conceptual issues, section two covers issues relating to environment and displacement, and section three analyses forest and water

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issues. On the whole, this volume deals with different issues of ecology and environment in a comprehensive manner. It can hardly be overemphasised and can be said for sure that this volume as well as all the other volumes of the series Readings in Indian Sociology, as they pertain to the most important aspects of society and sociology in India, will be of immense importance and relevance to students, teachers and researchers of both sociology and other social sciences. It is also hoped that these volumes will be received well by the overseas scholars interested in the study of Indian society. Besides this, policy-makers, administrators, activists, non-governmental organisations (NGOs) and so on may also find these volumes of immense value. Having gone through these volumes, the students and researchers of sociology would probably be able to feel and say that now ‘[w]e will be able to look much farther away as we are standing on the shoulders of the giants’ (in the spirit of paraphrasing the famous quote by Isaac Newton). I would like to place on record my thanks to Shambhu Sahu, Sutapa Ghosh and R. Chandra Sekhar of SAGE Publications for all their efforts, support and patience to complete this huge project well in time against all the time constraints. I also express my gratefulness to the Managing Committee Members of the ISS and also to the members of the sub-committee constituted for this purpose. I am also thankful to all the editors and all the scholars who have written the Forewords. I would also like to thank Uday Singh, my assistant at the India International Institute of Social Sciences, Jaipur, for all his secretarial assistance and hard work put in by him towards the completion of these volumes. Ishwar Modi Series Editor Readings in Indian Sociology

Preface

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diting a volume on Environment has been a challenging but a pleasing task because it is of great current relevance. No one wants to destroy the earth, yet we hardly seriously deal with preventing such destruction. The recent flood havoc in Uttarakhand, India, has taught the whole humanity a big lesson to prevent mushrooming of infrastructure and the rapid increase in number of tourists in ecologically vulnerable areas. The first and foremost task for the sociologists and social anthropologists is to make a scientific study of the environment of the world including urban, rural and valley areas. The present volume consists of 14 articles besides an Introduction dealing with different issues of ecology and environment. These articles are chosen from Sociological Bulletin and were published between 1951 and 2012. What I have found is that in 60 years of publication of Sociological Bulletin, there are about 20 articles published concerning environmental issues. It mainly started from the 46th Volume; that is, only in the past 15 years, we have taken interest in environmental studies. The oldest was in Volume 9 when two articles on urban ecology were published which are included in this volume. This volume is divided into three sections: Section I deals with conceptual issues, that is, now various aspects of environment can be understood sociologically; Section II covers issues relating to environment and displacement and Section III analyses forest and water issues. For editing this volume, I received generous suggestions from Professor I. P. Modi, President of Indian Sociological Society, and Professor Vinay Kumar Srivastava, Department of Anthropology, University of Delhi, besides many others. I am grateful to all of them.

Introduction Sukant K. Chaudhury

E

nvironment today is of great concern to all of us, particularly in light of the degradations that have taken place in the past century. Environment is a part of ecology. Ecology is the study of relationship between living species and their physical and biotic surroundings through the exchange of calories, material and information. It is concerned with all properties having a direct and measurable effect on the demography, development, behaviour and space-temporal position of an organisation. The study of ecology has been conducted by both biologists and social scientists. In social sciences, geography was the first to have produced some ecological analysis. Later on, anthropology and sociology started working on it. In sociology, the Chicago School of Urban Sociology produced the ecological approach to study of urban areas developed by Park & Burgess. Social sciences today are more concerned about the social–cultural aspect of both environmental degradation and environmental sustainability. Today, environmental crises already have their ill effects on all societies in general and small-scale societies in particular, that is the tribals, hunters and food gatherers, pastoralists and nomads, agriculturists, craftsmen and petty commodity producers. In light of the above, the study of ecology and society assumes great significance. Both sociologists and anthropologists have dealt with environmental issues since long. Anthropological theories have revolved around culture; it has been viewed as the product of adaptation to a given environment. The various approaches have dealt with environmental determinism and environmental possibilism. Determinism tells us about the deterministic role of environment in shaping culture, that is

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variables like distance from sea, climate type, temperature, humidity, wild rivers or mountains. They determine personality, physical features, morality, politics, government, religion, material culture, kinship, marriage and so on. On the other hand, possibilism, mainly started by Boas, says that environment is only one factor; there are other factors like the historical tradition, geographical, biological and psychological factors.

Theories of Ecology Radha Kamal Mukherjee (1930, cf. Guha 1994) tried to develop an ecological approach to sociology. He said that [t]here is a balance between the natural and the vegetable and the animal environment, including the human, in which nature delights . . . . However, the balance is upset both by natural fluctuations such as are caused by cycles of rainfall or changes of landscape and river or by long continued human actions such as the destruction of forest, non-conservative agriculture, and artificial interference with natural drainage . . .

He focused on the interaction between human beings, their culture and nature population increase leads to environmental problems in the sense natural resources are heavily plundered. These are cultivation, falling of trees, forest clearing, indiscriminate stock-grazing and intension farming. Further, artificially improved plants are more useful to human beings, to which Mukherjee says that they are fitted to survive particular conditions of climate and soil. Men destroy those plants which they do not tolerate men continuously expanded the yield of crops and cereals. This led to over exploitation of the natural resources and which force to bring a type of ecological disequilibrium.

Further Mukherjee says that “increasing population will bring in more significance of relationship between human beings and the entire range of ecological forces”. In Anthropology, theoretical orientation has been given by many including Daryll Forde, Julian, Steward, Leslie White, Edmund Leach, Roy Rappaport, Roy Ellen and Clifford Geertz.1 All of them have focused on the interplay between culture and environment in one way or the other. Forde speaks on habitat and says that technological and

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economic elements are closely related to habitat than the expressive culture. Steward (1955) analysed the ‘culture core’ which consisted of economic and subsistence activities. Here eco-culture adaptation becomes paramount and the ‘cultural type’ is the product of these two factors. Clifford Geertz (1963) spoke about the ecosystem, which is the logical conclusion to the idea of constant interplay between culture, biology and environment. Rappaport’s (1968) ecosystem theory tells us about the way in which human population and the environment form an interacting system. According to him, small-scale societies have a homeostatic system out of the cultural, biological and natural variables, in which disturbances are eliminated to produce a balanced system. For environmental possiblism, one can refer to Edmund Leach’s (1954) study of Kachin of highland Burma. Broadly, three socio-political systems are found there: (i) Shan Aristocracy: It is a type of feudal system having cultural sophistication; it is characterised by Buddhism. They had trade routes with the Chinese. One of its communities did tea plantation and were prosperous. They practised wet paddy cultivation which probably they learnt from the neighbouring Hill Kachins. (ii) Gumlao Democracy: It is found among the Hill Kachins having a kind of political integration. It is not exactly the modern democracy, but has some sense of egalitarianism. (iii) Gumsa: Practically, both Shan and Gumlao are not constant and consistent. Ideally, a third type exists called Gumsa that is a compromise between Shan Aristocracy and Gumlao Democracy. It is feudal in nature having ranked hierarchy, political integration and fixed relationship with the groups. The Kachin area has three ecological zones, having three economic types. The first type has a kind of Jhum cultivation having a long fallow period, called monsoon taungya. Here wet rice is grown. The Hill Kachin controls the area. Both Gumsa and Gumlao organisations are found here. They are economically self-sufficient. Therefore, ecology cannot be taken as the basis of these organisations, rather it may be one of the factors. The second type is called grassland taungya, that is crop rotation is found here. They also have cash crops. It has only the Gumsa type of organisation. Rice cultivated here is not sufficient. Therefore, they depend on the Shans of valley area for supply of rice. In this manner, the ecological situation here requires compulsory cooperation between the hill area and the valley area. Sometimes, in Shan valley that is feudalism dominated, hence, prevented the development of Gumlao type of

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political organisation. The third type is irrigated hill terraces. Here, both monsoon taungya and grassland taungya are found along with irrigated hill terraces. Both Gumsa and Gumlao are found which are ecologically not distinguishable. It has a high population concentration because it lies on the trade routes of China and India. Their important source of income is collection of toll tax from the caravans. Hence, it is not related to any ecological facts. Further, when British Rule came, toll tax system was scrapped, interestingly, terrace cultivation declined. In this manner, Leach said that ecological conditions are not determining factor for the creation of social organisation, rather it is one of the possible conditions. However, Clifford Geertz criticised Leach and said that Gumsa organisation cannot emerge, without a solid economic resource base. For example, pastoralism cannot emerge in tropical forest areas, because it is ecologically impossible to raise animal herds in such environment. On the other hand, environmental determinism gives environment a place of prime mover in shaping the culture and its organisation. It gives a view of dynamic interaction between culture and environment. Julian Steward’s (1955) theory of cultural ecology is very important here. He spoke about the ecologically determined culture core, which consisted of features clustered around subsistence economic activities. Further, he emphasised the fact that societies are organised differentially according to the complexity of their eco-cultural adaptation. Therefore, the levels of socio-cultural integration are different in different cultures. The combined product of culture core and the level of socio-cultural integration is nothing but a culture type. Thus, cultures are formed through economic and ecological factors. For him, a similar culture core gives rise to similar culture types. For example, cultures evolving in riverine valley surrounded by arid regions, such as the Nile, Tigris and Euphrates, and Indus valley, shared a common culture core. They displayed common traits like irrigation, agriculture, city states, temple-centred religious system. They might differ in specifics, but they would tend to follow the same evolutionary sequence. Culture, evolving in tropical forest zone or in central desert will have different sequences because their ecologically based core differs. For him, culture may follow any of the several distinct lines of development rather than a single sequence or a universally prescribed one. His analysis of ecological adaptation of patrilineal band and composite bands is unique. According to him, partrilineal band appeared in semi-arid, tropical, forest and humid coastal environments. It accounted

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for exploitative patterns of South African, Bushman, Congo, Negritos, Australians and Tasmanians. Patrilineal band is a local group of genealogically related people who worked together because of subsistence needs. Males were integral to the organisation of the group, since they furnished primary food. They had simple technology, and knowledge was acquired through the clustering of males. Therefore, partrilocality was the natural choice. In this manner, patrilineal band came into being which was exogamous in nature. Similarly, composite band is an eco-social adjustment or adaptation to the hunting and gathering of food that were seasonally cultured in good quantity. It comprises unrelated nuclear families and was found principally among hunters, fishers, gatherers and simple cultivators. Plentiful supply of food permitted special arrangement that affiliated other families (unrelated) with patrilocal base and brought about a composite social group. Modifications were possible on social and demographic grounds; for example, if a man had no son or brother, then matrilocal arrangement could be made. They had a flexible approach to residence, shifting bases for membership and band exogamy. Steward says that these were largely product of pragmatics of ecological adaptation. In this manner, Steward gave prime importance to ecological adaptation and cultural change. Clifford Geertz’s work on Indonesia (1963) is a kind of study of ecosystem. As a result of Dutch rule, in which Javanese labour was substituted by Dutch capital, a new cultural system in Indonesia was introduced. It led to a process of involution rather than diversification or lineal groups because of the unique ecological condition in this area. Cash crops like sugar and coffee were introduced, the population increased tremendously, but the peasant subsistence remained static. Geertz traced a close relationship between sugar, rice and population. Sugar and rice require same ecological condition; therefore, companies supporting sugar tried to improve irrigation facility in the area. It led to a better rice production in the area. However, the level of consumption was minimal because of rising population, notwithstanding increasing rice production. Thus, the local people continued to work in rice terraces—it is called agricultural involution, that is a process by which a cultural pattern, instead of developing and transforming into a new pattern, stabilises its basic form, but continues to become more and more complicated internally. Thus, Geertz’s ecosystem idea showed a constant interplay between culture and environment.

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The ecosystem theory had been fully developed by Roy Rappaport (1966). His book entitled Pigs for the Ancestors (1968) is the study of Tsembaga Maring community of New Guinea. They are basically farmers, but pig husbandry is very dear to them. It involves various rituals, satisfies consumption needs and also helps in warfare. It is a unique example of ecosystem theory according to which the human population, the natural and biological environment form an interacting system. It forms a homeostatic system in which disturbances that tend to eliminate any of the variables are balanced out through the process of negative feedback. It is a coherent system. Change in the state of any simple components immediately results in proportional changes in the states of all other components. For Rappaport, there are two models of environment: operational and cognized. The former is anthropologist’s construct of how the system actually works. The latter is the conception of the people who act in it. For the people, the second model is very important because it guides their behaviour. The more suited it is to the actual conditions of existence, the better adopted the people are to the environment (cf. Channa 1994: 144). Thus, anthropological theories of ecology provide a clear construct to understand the interplay among the people, culture and environment. Thus, we have broadly two aspects: social ecology and cultural ecology. The former is mainly environmentally oriented sociology as Guha (1994) calls it, that is ecology of the sociologists, whereas cultural ecology is being dealt by anthropologists. However, they cannot be put into watertight compartments. Guha provided a five-fold scheme, that is he called basic categories of social ecology: (i) Ecological infrastructure (soil, water, forests, etc.); (ii) Economy (forces of relations of production, trade); (iii) Social structure (family and kinship, caste and community); (iv) Polity (relations of power, law, the state); (v) Culture (religion, ideology). Guha has raised four important problems out of ecological research (Guha 1994: 6–7): 1. Class and the use and abuse of natural resources: here the analysis is to examine class influences on natural resource use and abuse: of how rich farmers, industrialists and bureaucrats selectively channelise water, forests and other natural resources for their own benefit, but only at a substantial cost to the environment and disadvantaged social groups. 2. Social structure and natural resources: here the question arises with the role of traditional institutions in mediating human interactions with nature. Guha asks, did, for example, the division of labour between the sexes in

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different peasant and tribal communities give rise to fundamentally different attitudes to nature on the past of women? Again, what were the responsibilities of caste and village institutions in regulating the use of forests, water and other common resources? What have been the effects of recent environmental degradation on gender relations, or on the autonomy of the caste and the village. 3. Conflict and natural resources: Conflicts over natural resources are an increasingly visible presence in the social landscape of contemporary India. At the time of writing, conflicts over forest—so prominent in the 1970s and early 1980s—are now being superseded by conflicts over water, in particular the popular opposition to large dams. The ongoing movement against the Sardar Sarovar dam on the Narmada River, which will displace tens of thousands of villagers, is a recent of this. The Indian environmental movement has its genesis in these conflicts, in contrast to the West where aesthetic and biological concerns have been more important in creating a constituency for environmental protection. For the sociologist of conflict and social movements, past and present conflicts over nature are an important—if neglected—field of enquiry. 4. Culture and environment: A distinction should be made between folk culture and high culture. In case of the former, one may ask what are the various representations of nature in folk cosmology and art? What kinds of knowledge have local communities had of their natural environment? Are recent patterns of social and environmental change affecting folk cosmology and knowledge systems? Whereas high culture is the proper environment debate, that is the study of the altitudes of different religious and political philosophic to nature and the emergence of the new theories of environment and development. Thus, there is a rich ideological debate on development options in contemporary India. At one end of the spectrum stand technological optimists who reject the notion of ecological limits to growth; at the other end, romantic environmentalists who wish India to turn its back on economic development altogether. There is in between a vast middle ground, occupied by those who try to reconcile, through technical and institutional means, the often competing claims of environmental sustainability and rapid economic growth.

Following Raymond Dasmann, Gadgil and Guha (2004) in their book Ecology and Equity spoke about three categories of people concerned with ecology of environment: (i) ecosystem people, (ii) ecological refugees and (iii) omnivores. 1. Ecosystem people are those who depend on the natural environments of their own locality to meet most of their material needs. They are India’s poor masses numbering about four-fifths of India’s rural people and over half of the total population. According to Gadgil and Guha (ibid.), they earn

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Sukant K. Chaudhury barely enough to fill their bellies. They have to scratch the earth and hope for rains in order to grow their own food, must gather wood or dung to cook it, must build their own huts with bamboo or sticks of sorghum dabbed with mud and must try to keep out mosquitoes by engulfing them with smoke from the cooking hearth. 2. Ecological refugees are those who are the victims of shrinking capacity of ecosystems. They are the displaced millions of India’s peasants and tribals constituting about one-third of the population. They live on the margins of islands of prosperity, as sugarcane harvesters in western Maharashtra or farm labourers in Punjab, as hawkers and domestic servants of Patna or Hyderabad. 3. Omnivores are the remaining one-sixth of India’s population who are the real beneficiaries of economic development. They include rich landowners, entrepreneurs, urban professionals, government and semi-government employees. They are rapidly gaining wealth and prestige and have good purchasing power. They enjoy the produce of the entire biosphere.

For Gadgil and Guha (2004), the system-wide difficulties arise out of six root causes: 1. Ecosystem people have been suffering from an increasingly circumscribed access to natural capital, the resource base on which they still depend to fulfil many of their basic needs. This is because of the shrinkage of this resource base, as grazing lands are encroached or overgrazed, or natural forests give way to eucalyptus or Acacia auriculiformis plantations, and because the ever-growing state apparatus increasingly hinders them from using resources, as when ‘open-access’ revenue wastelands are taken over as strictly controlled reserved forest lands. 2. Ecosystem people have very limited access to human-made capital, that is the resources of the organised industry-services sector. This is because employment in this sector has grown at a much slower pace than the population, and because education has failed to reach the large masses of ecosystem people, who must therefore eke out a living through unskilled labour on farms or in the informal sector. 3. The process of building of human-made capital has been highly inefficient and greatly destructive of natural capital. This is because it has been conducted as a monopoly of a state apparatus without any public accountability, because the beneficiaries of these state-mediate interventions are given access to resources at highly subsidised rates and, therefore, do not care if the process is grossly inefficient, because the state apparatus has failed to force private enterprise to internalise environmental costs and finally because the cost of destruction of natural capital is passed on to the masses of people who are largely asset-less, illiterate and, despite the democratic

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system, have no role in deciding on the direction in which the development process is moving. 4. Omnivores are establishing, with the help of state power, an ever-stronger hold over natural capital, as witnessed by the displacement of Narmada refugees against their wishes, without any appropriate plans for their resettlement. Since the omnivores can pass on to others the costs of degradation of natural capital, their stranglehold promotes patterns of inefficient, non-sustainable use. 5. Omnivores have a strong hold over human-made capital to the exclusion of both ecosystem people and ecological refugees. This means that the masses must subsist primarily through unskilled labour. In consequence they have no incentive to invest in quality of offspring, but instead produce large numbers of them, contributing to continuing population growth and adding to the resource crunch. 6. There are large-scale outflows adversely affecting natural capital, whether this be iron and manganese mining silting up estuaries, overfishing in the sea or overgrazing to support the export of leather goods. These pressures are a result of the country’s heavy dependence on import of technology and petroleum products, rooted in excessive concentration of economic development in a few islands of prosperity, as well as of high levels of demands for imported military hardware.

Three among the existing political ideologies in India are, at first sight, comprehensive enough to address the whole range of issues pertinent to the development debate. These are the Gandhian, Marxist and liberal–capitalist philosophies. Gandhism, which is very much the dominant strand in India’s environmental movement, is grounded above all in a moral imperative. With respect to the six issues raised above, it proposes that 1. ecosystem people should be given far greater access to and control over the natural resource base of their own localities. Ecosystem people should also be given an important role in a new, largely decentralised system of governance; 2. ecosystem people should remain content with their requirements of subsistence, without aspiring to greater access to material goods; 3. the process of building up human-made capital at considerable cost to natural capital should be halted, by simply giving up the endeavour to step up resource use, to industrialise or to intensify cultivation; 4. omnivores should not aspire to enhance their own material consumption and, in consequence, give up their attempts to establish a stronger hold over the nation’s natural and human-made capital;

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Gadgil and Guha (ibid.) say that while Gandhians view environmental problems as being caused primarily by materialistic greed, Marxists lay the blame at the door of simultaneous capitalist exploitation of nature and the working classes. By and large, they wholeheartedly approve of a concerted, nation-wide effort at stepping up natural resource use, so long as this is controlled and guided by a state acting on behalf of the people. With respect to the six key issues outlined above, the Marxist approach may be summarised as follows: 1. Ecosystem people should be given far greater access to and control over the natural resource base. The leftist governments of West Bengal and Kerala indeed lead the country in efforts at land reform, involving local people in forest management, and in the establishment of decentralised political institutions at village and district levels. 2. Ecosystem people should have better access to human-made capital. Again the left-oriented government of Kerala leads the country in taking literacy to all and in providing fuller access to employment in the modern industries service sectors. 3. Leftist state governments have, however, been no more successful in tackling the great waste and inefficiency in the process of conversion of natural into human-made capital. This problem arises in part from the native Marxist faith in an all-powerful state apparatus which in practice behaves as irresponsibly (in an environmental sense) in India as it did in the erstwhile communist countries of Eastern Europe. 4. Indian Marxists, while in power, have indeed taken some steps to break the monopolistic access of omnivores to the capital of natural and humanmade resources, but have not done enough to curb the state apparatus, which has become a significant component of the omnivore complex. 5. Marxists wish to reduce the drain of natural resources to capitalist countries, and are active today in opposing what they view as the US-led conspiracy to lay India open to further exploitation through General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) and the series of economic reform measures demanded by the World Bank. But in the past, they were happy enough with hefty exports of natural-resource-based goods such as tea and leather to the Soviet Union; nor have they any clear analysis of how to tackle India’s compulsion to earn foreign exchange.

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The liberal–capitalist philosophy is dominating today. In India too, economic liberalisation is at the centre stage of the national debate on development. The proposals for liberalisation call for a loosening of bureaucratic control and opening up of the economy to the outside world by the abolition of tariff barriers and restrictions on the operation of foreign capital. What implications does this operation programme have for the six root causes we have identified by Gadgil and Guha (2004: 122) as lying behind the degradation of India’s environment? 1. The world capitalist system thrives on passing on the costs of environmental degradation to the ecosystem people of the Third World; the Indian version of economic liberalisation is, therefore, quite unlikely to enhance the access of India’s ecosystem people to natural resources. 2. Economic theory claims that, under ideal conditions, market forces result in an efficient pattern of resource use, which leads in turn to the maximisation of the level of satisfaction of the parties concerned. So in theory, ecosystem people and ecological refugees too should, under a system of privatisation, enjoy greater access to the human-made capital of India. The reality is far from such an ideal. In India’s grossly inequitable society, the market assigns a far lower weighting to demands by weaker segments of the society, so that resources flow towards production of commodities in demand by the omnivores. Moreover, the market is so manipulated that labour or commodities which the weaker segments have to offer are obtained from them at a very low value, with organised trade and industry usurping the larger share of profits accruing from economic transactions. 3. The philosophy of economic liberalisation advocates pruning the bureaucratic apparatus, doing away with state subsidies, permitting market-driven competition to operate more freely. These are all measures that ought to enhance the efficiency of conversion of natural capital into human-made capital. But piecemeal application is unlikely to achieve this to any significant degree. Today, the size and powers of the Indian bureaucracy are hardly being pruned. Subsidies are being only selectively pared down; thus, cutting down on subsidies for the supply of water to industry, to city dwellers or to rich farmers is a subject conspicuously absent from policy debates. Nor are private enterprises being compelled to act in an environmentally responsible fashion. This does not augur well for long-term improvements in the efficiency of resource use in India. 4. Economic liberalisation is not likely to cut down the power of omnivores to capture the country’s capital of natural resources; rather, this power may increase as indigenous omnivores ally more strongly with those of the First World.

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5. Economic liberalisation will not put a brake on the omnivore’s appetite for, and access to, human-made capital either, especially as omnivores are likely to hold on to their ability to pass on the costs of production to the ecosystem people and ecological refugees of the country. 6. Economic liberalisation may further accelerate the drain of the country’s natural resources abroad, unless it sufficiently strengthens capabilities of exporting products of manufacture or high-technology services.

However, Gadgil and Guha (2004) gave an alternative development paradigm flowing out of conservative-liberals-socialism: 1. India should move towards genuinely participatory democracy where the political leadership as well as the bureaucracy is made accountable to the masses of people. This requires the strengthening of grass-roots democracy, conferring substantial powers on mandal panchayats and zilla parishads. It would also be desirable to reconstitute the existing states of the Indian union into smaller, more homogenous units, breaking up huge provinces like Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. Following Gandhi’s vision, the country might come to be made up of self-governing village republics with no powers available to higher-level political authorities arbitrarily to dissolve or suspend elections to their panchayats. The zilla parishads and state assemblies should be similarly protected against arbitrary interference from higher levels. 2. The process of control, planning, implementation and monitoring of natural resource use should be radically restructured to render it an open, democratic process with full public accountability, and with substantial powers of controlling the resources of each locality being devolved to the local population. This calls for a pruning of bureaucratic authority and a transfer of most of its powers to local grass-roots-level democratic institutions. Thus, forests, grazing lands and irrigation tanks should revert to management by local communities, on their own or in partnership with the state. The government should be relieved of its draconian powers to acquire land and water resources without the consent of the local people, without paying due compensation, or without appropriate arrangements for resettlement. Instead, the local people should be empowered to work out plans for developing natural resources and managing local environmental affairs in a manner fine-tuned to the specific local situation and in accordance with their aspirations. Such a system would permit a much more fruitful utilisation of the traditional knowledge and wisdom possessed by ecosystem people. The programmes of natural resource development so formulated should also be implemented largely by local people, closely supervised by them to ensure proper public accountability. 3. Decentralisation and wider public involvement can also put a stop to the widespread undervaluing of natural resources. In numerous localities of the southern states of Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh, for instance, the

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quarrying of granite has emerged as a lucrative business. Leases are granted by the state government to private operators, without taking into account the wishes of the villagers in whose vicinity these lands lie. But granite quarrying has contributed greatly to environmental degradation, through deforestation and the blockage of streams used for both drinking water and irrigation. At present, the concessionaires of stone and sand quarries pay a very small royalty and that too to the state. So they have little interest in careful, efficient use of the resources. Rather, they would blast or dig away as rapidly as possible, quickly carting away whatever they can. If the resource was properly priced, a goodly share of the profit were to come to the local communities. 4. We are quite clear that such a development process could succeed only in a far more equitable society than India is presently. Halting the pace of environmental degradation, then, depends on progress towards a more equitable access to resources, to information and to decision-making power for ecosystem people and for ecological refugees. In India’s predominantly agricultural society, a key reform to promote equity is radical land reform. At the same time, we need to reverse the current inequitable pattern of flow of state-sponsored subsidies—a flow which is at present biased towards the better-off omnivores, at the cost of the weaker sections. Industry, chemicalised agriculture and urban islands of prosperity must all pay a fair price for the resources they utilise and must bear the full cost of treating the pollutants they discharge into the environment. 5. The collapse of communist regimes in Eastern Europe and the recent shifts towards private enterprise in China are striking proof of the failures of state socialism. Here the Indian experience, with its corrupt, inefficient and wasteful bureaucratic apparatus, is entirely in consonance. It is clear, therefore, that we should continue the shift towards encouraging private enterprise on all fronts, for producing goods and services which people would pay for on the market, while increasingly providing social services such as health and education through the voluntary sector. While freeing the private sector from undue restrictions such as licensing, we must also withdraw all state-sponsored subsidies, adopting instead pricing policies to promote environment-friendly behaviour. 6. The appropriate scale of economic enterprises, especially of development projects, has been a major subject of controversy. Proponents of ‘small is beautiful’, Gandhians and appropriate technologists have challenged the overwhelming bias in development projects towards the large scale. This preference has undoubtedly favoured the concentration of benefits in the hands of a small number of people. However, the opposition to big projects, for their own sake, is not always productive. It is not so much the scale of enterprise as the way it is conducted that is at the heart of the deprivation of ecosystem people and the degradation of their environment. Carefully treating individual watersheds, and building a series of small dams, may

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Sukant K. Chaudhury indeed be, in a technical sense, a more optimal solution than building one huge dam. 7. Technological advances thus far have supported a continual increase in the scale of economic enterprises: bigger dams, giant power projects and larger ships. Technological advances have also permitted larger resource fluxes from more remote areas. These developments have permitted a small proportion of the world’s population to capture resources at the cost of the rest of the people. Technocrats have often been in league with the small number of omnivores, turning a blind eye to both social deprivation and environmental degradation. Many environmentalists, especially those of a Gandhian persuasion, have therefore come to reject technology altogether, dreaming of a return to an idyllic pastoral–agrarian system (Nandy 1989). But pre-colonial, agrarian society in India was beset with its own set of evils, including untouchability and the oppression of women. It is not at all clear if it was indeed in the idyllic state of Ram Rajya as some Gandhians believe it to have been. But that apart, control over technology is a potent force of domination in the world today. Any society that turns its back on advances in technology will quickly find itself exploited and subjugated by others. Thus, the opting out of scientific and technological advance, which after all is a thrilling adventure of the human spirit, is not a route that India could possibly follow. What is needed instead is to look for ways in which this advance could be directed away from the current path of speeding up the drain of the country’s natural resources, producing more polluting substances and concentrating power in the hands of ever narrower elite. We believe that this can be achieved by taking advantage of the tremendous possibilities of rapid communication opened up by modern technologies to put in place a genuinely participatory democracy with decentralised political institutions endowed with decision-making power. 8. Environmental change is clearly related to human demands on the sources of the earth; these demands have been escalating both because of increase in human numbers and because of rapidly increasing per capita demands. The increase in numbers may be largely attributed to the ecosystem people of the world; while the increase in per capita resource demands has largely occurred because of the omnivores, whose own numbers have been growing at a far slower rate. Now the transition to smaller families will take place only when parents can fruitfully invest substantially in enhancing the quality of their offspring, in equipping them to compete in the market for skilled labour. Ecosystem people would thus become motivated to rear a small number of offspring only when a more equitable development process gradually draws them into the ambit of modern industry, services and intensive agriculture. But with India’s huge population, the resource demands of such a large number of people in these modern sectors may simply become too large a drain on the country’s resources. Industrial nations today get away with their own huge demands by passing on the consequences to Third World countries. This option can be open to only a

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small minority of the global community; it is certainly not open to India as a whole. The massive expansion of the resource demands of Indian omnivores has been enabled only through a type of internal colonialism. If India is to move towards a sustainable pattern of development, then the omnivores will have to accept restraints on their own consumption levels. 9. During the colonial period, India suffered grievously from a drain of its natural resources, while serving as a market for goods of British manufacture at adverse terms of trade. The Second World War greatly improved India’s position vis-à-vis Britain and, on independence, concerted attempts were made to protect India from the drain of its resources by creating tariff barriers against imported goods. This created a sellers’ market, actively helped by state-imposed restrictions on production through licensing. On top of this, Indian industry was pampered by state subsidies in the supply of natural resources. As a result, industrialists have concentrated on making huge profits through obtaining licences and government subsidies by manipulation and bribery, while using imported, if often obsolete, technologies. They have completely neglected to use resources efficiently, or advance technologically. This lopsided industrial development has created a high-cost, low-quality economy unable to hold its own in the global marketplace. Meanwhile, India’s demands for foreign exchange have gone on soaring with the increasing consumption of petroleum products and military hardware. That has led India into a debt trap, from which the only escape route is to beg for further loans by agreeing to demolish the barriers keeping foreign business out of India.

Where should India go from here? The solution favoured by Marxists, to renege on the international debt and to continue behind closed doors, is quite unworkable, unless the country is drastically able to cut down on its import bill. That would call for a new strategy of far more dispersed development of agriculture and industry requiring much lower level of energy inputs, as well as a matrix of international relationships that would permit a deceleration of investment in the defence sector. Both of these developments would be highly desirable. But if they were to come about, then little would be gained by keeping out of global trade, provided only that India does take good care that this trade does not impose undue pressures on its resource base (ibid).

Deep Ecology The concept of deep ecology was given by Norwegian philosopher Arne Naess. It recognises human beings with their all values and well-being as essential part of ecology non-human lie also have similar value. There is

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a diversity and richness of life forms. Human beings have no right to reduce this richness and diversity except to satisfy their vital needs. However, at present an adverse situation is found where human beings are interfering excessively with the non-human world. Therefore, non-human must be protected through the policy change. It will result in changes in economic, technological and ideological structures. Those who agree to the above ideas should have an obligation directly or indirectly to try to implement the necessary changes (Devell and Sessions 2002).

Climate Change Anthony Giddens in his book The Politics of Climate Change comprehensively dealt with the environmental problem, particularly leading to global warming and climate change. The green thinkers have been lamenting on excessive growth model, resource depletion and pumping toxicity. They disagree with the notion of gross national product (GNP) as an indicator of welfare, particularly in the developed countries. On the one hand, oil and gas prices are growing up and, on the other, global warming and climate change are intensifying, hence attention should be given to increasingly green factors. It is a question of responsibility and accountability which lies with the politicians. Giddens supports the idea of ‘Limits to Growth’ and ‘Polluter Pay’. Brian Davey, a freelance ecological economist, wrote in 2009 (www. opendemocracy.net) that Giddens does not like risk management approaches and green emphasis on localism, decentralisation and participated democracy. Further, he does not like a typically green distrust of corporate interest. He provides a list of new ideas for an establishment of real politic approach to climate change. In fact, the then president of USA, Bill Clinton, hailed the book as a landmark. Giddens wants both public and business to change and adopt a lower carbon way of doing things. However, this is not an alarming vision because the climate scientists speak about radical majors, which requires tougher targets. Giddens is interested to change the public policy climate scientist Fred Pearce earlier said that there will be alarming scenarios concerning environmental degradation and climate change. Adding to that, he also said that nature may take revenge and there may be violent and sudden changes. In fact, the recent flood in Uttrakhand valley in India has been totally violent and changes were sudden.2 Giddens question that now

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does one know ‘Nature will take revenge’ for our influence? I think Giddens was taken by surprise with regard to the above question in light of many natural calamities. In 2007 James Hanson wrote that “[t]he earth’s climate is very sensitive to global forcing. Positive feedback predominates. This allows the entire planet to be whipsawed between climate states . . . . Recent green house gas emissions place the earth preciously close to dramatic climate change that could run out of our control with great dangers for humans and other animals. Thus, it is clear that climate has been changing faster than any previous estimate. Thus, both politicians and peoples do not gauge the alarming danger ahead. The last time the word’s temperature rose by 6 degrees Celsius, 95 per cent of all species became extinct. Therefore, political will is required to rise to the challenge posed by the climate science.

Green Party This party has come up recently, and is an urbanised political party based on principles of green politics such as social justice, grass-roots democracy, non-violence and environmentalism.3 Greens believe that for establishing world piece, the above issues are intricately linked with each other. Green Party exists in about 90 countries. Green Party is a party which emphasises on environmental causes, whereas formally organised green parties follow a convenient ideology which includes not only environmentalism but also other factors such as social justice, consensus decision-making and non-violence. The Global Greens Charter has six guiding principles: ecological wisdom, social justice, participatory democracy, non-violence, sustainability and diversity. Depending on the local conditions or issues, the platforms and alliances may vary. Green parties are often formed in a given jurisdiction by a coalition of scientific ecologists, community environmentalists and local or national leftist group or groups concerned with piece or citizen rights. The world’s first political parties to campaign on predominantly environmental platform were the United Tasmania Group which contested the April 1972 State Election in Tasmania, Australia, and the Values Party of New Zealand, which contested the November 1972 New Zealand general election. The name ‘Green’ derives from the ‘Green Bans’: an Australian movement of building workers who refused to build on sites of cultural and environmental significance. The first Green Party in Europe was the Popular Movement for the Environment, founded in

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1972 in the Swiss Canton of Neuchatel. The first national Green Party in Europe was PEOPLE, founded in Britain in February 1973, which turned eventually into the Ecology Party and then the Green Party. The first Green Party to achieve national prominence was the German Green Party, famous for their opposition to nuclear power, as well as an expression of anti-centralist and pacifist values traditional to greens.

Ecofeminism It deals with the relationship between feminism and ecology. There is a connection between women and nature as both of them have faced the oppression of the patriarchal society in general and the western society in particular. It was mainly propagated in India by Maria Mies and Vandana Shiva, through their book Ecofeminism (1993), who criticise modern science and its acceptance as a universal and value-free system. Modern science projects are mainly western men’s values because scientific knowledge is controlled by men; they provided the examples of medicalisation of child birth and the industrialisation of plants reproduction. Earlier child birth was dependent on midwife knowledge and now it is dependent on specialised technologies and experts. Agriculture today is dependent on technological input including industrially produced seed and fertiliser. The patriarchal structure justifies the dominance through religious and scientific constructs. Women have a special connection with environment, particularly in small-scale societies where they worship trees, and hence, nurture them; local knowledge should be given priority over technological knowledge for which ecofeminism would be more effective.4

Sustainable Development As said earlier, there is an intimate link between ecology and culture in human societies in general and small-scale societies in particular. Economy forming the cultural core is conditioned by changes in ecological cycle for small-scale societies as people mainly depend on nature and its products. Hence, any attempt to control externally the ecological system culminates in a disastrous situation. Such a situation has come in our country because of two chief reasons: (i) large-scale destruction of

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environment due to construction of river dam projects, heavy industries and other developmental activities and (ii) maddening consumerism. Here we do not want to undermine the small-scale consumers like the tribals. They are also involved in the sequential exhaustion process through their continued dependence on forest resources. For instance, the Bhutias of Chamoli use the stem of a freshly cut mid-sized tree for the Devi worship every month. Large-scale shifting cultivation, use of minor forest produce among other things are only a few instances of such consumption. For instance, among Kondhs, shifting cultivation still continues (Chaudhury 2004). No doubt the unscrupulous consumption is only by the civilised modern people. Hence, the concept of sustainable development pertaining to ecology becomes supreme (see, for details, Chaudhury 2006). Sustainable development has come as a sigh of relief in the light of large-scale depletion of forest cover. Brundtland Commission firmly puts forward that all must ensure that sustainable development meets the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future generations to meet their needs. It tells us about the use of eco-friendly technology, and at the global level agreements have been reached upon among the nations to respect each other’s needs. There are few important concepts in it—population, resources, environment and development. Poverty is antithetical to sustainable development. As poverty increases, the environment is degraded, and when environment is degraded, prospect for further livelihood decreases. Environmental degradation generates more poverty, thus accelerating the cycle. Two main problems of sustainable development are (i) people do not believe in an alarming future where resources are finished and (ii) political parties in power always see spectacular achievements now and inaugurate many projects, without any proper social cost–benefit analysis. Further, economic inequality persists and it is increasingly found with the rising globalisation of culture. Earlier, the Ninth Five Year Plan of Government of India Strategy on Environment mentioned multi-pronged strategies: (i) Empowering the people through information generation, dissemination and access; (ii) Involving the industry in both private and public sectors; (iii) Integrating environment with decision-making through valuation of environmental impacts, evolving market-based economic instruments as an alternative to the command and control form of environmental regulation:

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appropriate pricing of natural resources based on their long-term marginal cost of supply; appropriate fiscal reform and natural resource accounting; (iv) Evolving the right for common property resources; (v) Inter-sectoral cooperation and coordination; (vi) Ensuring scientific and technical inputs; (vii) Participation of people (particularly women) in the management and sharing of usufruct through Joint Forest Management; (viii) Involvement of NGOs for awareness building as an interface between forest department and the people would be encouraged during Ninth plan and (ix) Integrated development of villages in and around forest. After a decade, the Eleventh Five Year Plan of Government of India (see Government of India 2008) says: Sustainable development in India now encompasses a variety of development schemes in social, cleantech and human resources segments, having caught the attention of all government, public and private sectors. Social sector, cleantech investments into green energy and fuel alternatives and development schemes for backward and below the poverty line (BPL) families are being touted as some of the more heavily invested segments in India in 2009, despite the economic slowdown. The Twelfth Five Year Plan aims for achieving low carbon strategies, more use for wind power and other aspects of sustainable development. Climate change poses a big challenge to the whole society and it affects the ideological cycle. Sustainable development will fail in India if proper management of water resources is not implemented. Raising forest cover to 33 per cent is a big joke in light of its rampant depletion. The recent devastation in Kedarnath, Badrinath valleys of Uttrakhand is nothing but a man-made tragedy. Landslides are not uncommon in the area in the past four decades, going pressure on population, greedy tourism and other commercial interests have made the hills of Uttrakhand look like brown patches instead of a green forest. The government has formulated the National Policy on Bio-fuels and given its approval for setting up the National Bio-fuel Coordination Committee and Bio-Fuel Steering Committee. Under the policy, it targets increasing the blending of bio-fuels with petrol and diesel to 20 per cent by 2017. Some time back, the UN Secretary General Ban Ki-moon, while pushing for a trilateral partnership (government and inter-governmental agencies, business corporations and civil society organisations) to fight the brunt of climate changes, said that India can provide effective leadership in the space. Several Indian companies have become part of a

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global initiative under the World Business Council on Climate Change (WBCCC). Indian Renewable Energy Development Agency (IREDA) will be investing around US$3.39 billion for the development of renewable energy (RE) sector projects during the Eleventh Five Year Plan. As per the Planning Commission estimates, RE projects worth US$15.97 billion, (expected to generate 15,000 MW power), is likely to come up in the Plan. While the government plans to install an additional 78,577 MW of power generation capacity by the end of Eleventh Five Year Plan, it has set a target of 13,500 MW to come from RE sources. Ten RE projects with a combined capacity of 100 MW are likely to be custom-built in West Bengal by the end of 2009. These 10 projects include the proposal to build a 50 MW wind park project and a solar park with a capacity of 26 MW. A National Sample Survey Organisation (NSSO) report reveals that more than half the 33.5-million strong workforce in the country is rural, 60 per cent of all enterprises are actually located in Indian villages. The villages in India contribute more to the services sector, including financial, than urban India. Development plans and programmes to reduce the gap between rich and poor have failed to yield results (Chaudhury 1993). Sustainable development requires a meaningful coordination between the government and NGOs who can work together and not parallel to each other. Sustainable development is a difficult task and several issues emerge here. It is a multidisciplinary task where sociologists are lacking methodological tools. I think we must enter into training in economic analysis, social cost-benefit analysis, man-management and human resource management skills as well. There should be maximum use of rural resources by blending of both modern advanced technologies with traditional technology. It will lead to maximum use of rural resources. Further rural-urban migration can be controlled. For development and dissemination of rural technology, principals of eco-sustainability with eco-efficiency and social equity should be integrated. Besides this the organizational and delivery system in the rural areas should be strengthened. Undoubtedly sustainable development should aim at promoting just consumerism, integration of conservation with development and achievement of equity and social justice. The above discussion leads us to some abstract as well as some concrete ideas: we cannot continue in the same manner as we have been doing

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so far. Like-minded people, civil society activists, academicians and also bureaucrats and politicians have to rise above vested interests and work towards a better ecological equilibrium to make reality a good society.

Organisation of this Volume Sociology of Environment has drawn attention of some scholars who wanted to analyse how, as a field of its own, it has been gradually established in India. Guha (1994) pointed out that Environmental Sociology is more or less synonymous with sociology of the environmental movement. He said that it has studied the evolution and articulation of urbanisations committed environmental preservation by using social movement theory. Part I deals with conceptual issues and has five papers. In the beginning, studies were made on urban ecology following the famous Chicago study by Park & McKenzie. There are two articles in this section dealing with urban ecology of Delhi and Bombay. Bopegamage studied Delhi and tried to examine the hypothesis produced from the Chicago example: Patterns of age and sex distribution are associated with basic social character of the area in which they are found. In the Delhi study, he said that like American cities, the pattern of age and sex distribution is associated with the social character of the ecological area in which they are found: unlike large American cities, in Delhi, wide disproportion is not found in the main business district; the presence of a high proportion of adults in one local area of the city is not always related with the commercial life of the main business district as in Chicago; in Indian cities too, an area with a very high proportion of adult males typified an area of transient population; and like in American cities, there is a definite pattern of distribution of sex proportion as found in Delhi, further as one proceeds from the centre to the periphery of the city, a tendency towards an even proportion among sexes is found. Analysing the urban demography and ecology of Bombay, Rajgopalan, way back in 1960, said that large population is the only big problem of the city. He said that while the city has grown by accretion, invasion and succession have been the two fundamental factors; they have governed the physical expansion of the city; the ecological structure of the city shows that the principal office district functions as the nuclear of the city, beyond which is located the business-cum-residential area

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characterised by disorganisation and physical deterioration. Then comes the Industrial district beyond which emerges the better class residential distinct. In this manner, he said the Burgess hypothesis of concentric zone holds good as far as the sequences are concerned in the city of Bombay. Amita Baviskar in her paper `The Political Uses of Sociology, Ecology and Development in India: A Field and Its Future’ analyses the growth of the field of `Environmental Sociology’ in India with a special focus on its relationship with Development Sociology. She says that though the sub-discipline is young, it is not a marginal specialisation, rather it holds a good potential. Indra Deva urged sociologists to study the interplay between ecology, society and culture. Today’s reckless development model is destroying the ecology of every society in general and of India in particular. The industries are poisoning the rivers and making the fields barren. Development is only achieved at the cost of continued devastation of environment. Thus, modern industrial society is suffering from levels of alienation and anomy besides straightening the ecological balance. In light of this, he has argued to use small and efficient machines and environment-friendly technology. Social sciences must explore new possibilities for the society. Writing on ‘Environment’ in Sociological Theory, Indra Munshi, like Indra Deva, said that economic expansion of the past 150 years gave rise to alarming consequences for the global environment. It led to the depletion of ozone layer, air pollution, loss of forest and bio-diversity, extinction of plant and animal species, loss of marine life, soil and water pollution of late environmental movements/conflicts and environmental politics has played an important role in checking the deterioration of our environment at the local and global levels. Several sociological writings including those by Anthony Giddens, Ulrich Beck, Clause Offe, Jurgen Habermas have addressed environmental issues. Munshi analysed the explanations given by these social scientists and pleads to the sociologists to start a course on Environment and Society at both the post-graduate and under-graduate levels. Part II deals with Environment and Displacement. In sociology of environment, there is a growing interest in studying development-induced displacement leading to environmental degradation. Ranjit Dwivedi’s paper ‘Parks, People and Protest: The Mediating Role of Environmental Action Groups’ deals with the creation of the

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National Park and Wild Life Centuries. It has led to resource conflict in protected area. It is leading to a new discourse of conservation: government’s top-down, non-participatory strategies have been questioned, urban environmentalist have been dubbed elites for the failure to take cognizance of the social roots of environmental use and abuse. The recent trends of conservation movement give importance to grass-roots activism and demand that attention to be given to human rights along with animal rights. Dwivedi has focused on collective action programme in Central and Western India, called the Yatra. Varsha Ganguly deals with the impact of the displacement on the Maldhari (Pastoral) Families of Gir forest of Gujrat rehabilitated during 1972 and 1986. It was the first of its kind in the State covering more than 300 kilometres. Socially and culturally the residents of this forest were kith and kin. Discussing the impact, she says that about the 20 per cent of the families became economically better off; 40 per cent of the families became economically week and struggling hard for survival; and the rest 40 per cent of the families could not adjust and suffering from the effects of the traumatic experiences of unsatisfactory rehabilitation. It has led to a decline in Maldhari population; she has suggested promoting the concept of minimising displacement, rehabilitation as the fundamental right and in fond and rational choice by the affected people. Oommen in his paper ‘Copying with Development Pathologies: Resistance to Displacement’ says that displacement is cognized and has a development pathology, yet it is widely perceived as inevitable in the course of development. He says that the rural is to be displaced by the urban, agriculture by the industry, low, simple or traditional technology by high, complex or modern technology. We observed two aspects have: (i) the unanticipated consequences of displacement become visible only gradually, and (ii) the legitimation accorded to high-technology-driven development rendered their task of interrogating it particularly problematic. He discusses the trajectory of resistance movements against displacement caused by dams. Further, he says that the development pathologies at the macro level are caused by the rash application of high technology and manifest as degradation of environment. At the meso level, development pathologies take the forms of disparity and discrimination and in the micro context they appear as distress and displacement. Vibha Arora in her paper tries to analyse the contested formulations and perceptions of public interest and development in Sikkim. In Sikkim the waters of Rangit and Teesta rivers were to be used for

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development purpose by the government; for example, power projects were planned on the Teesta but people protested. She tried to establish the fact that in public interest government should not ignore to integrate culture in various development projects. Satyapriya Rout dealt with the environmental movement due to Baliraja Dam in Maharashtra where people protested against the construction of the dam; however, the author agrees that movement is an unfinished haphazard struggle with partial success in terms of its objective, namely, conservation, equity and sustainability. However, it qualifies to an environment movement in India because its private face represented struggle for ensuring social justice and constant endeavour by drought-affected peasants to guarantee a sustainable source of livelihood. On the other hand, its public face highlighted the concern for environment, ecological degradation due to excessive sand-mining, and issues on sustainability in the face of unregulated ground water extraction for commercial cultivation. Rajkishor Meher studied the urban cities of Rourkela, Orissa, in the context of social and ecological drift. The establishment of the steel plant in Rourkela could not be contained by the neat land use plans. Large-scale immigration into the town led to social unrest. Outsiders occupied prominent jobs and positions and the local tribals got uprooted owning to the construction of the steel plant and extensive mining. There was exploitation of huge natural resources of the region. About 2,000 acres of land were given free of cost, 2,500 families of the 30 villages were uprooted. Urbanisation in the city including facilities is not up to the mark. The plant and the other allied industries have increased pollution in the city; the authorities have invested a large amount of money to install precipitators and dust catchers, but they have not been maintained properly. There is a pall of dust hanging over the city. It has led to irreparable environmental damage. Manish K. Thakur and Binay K. Pattnaik in their paper evaluate the role of pani panchayat in bringing about watershed development initiative. It was pioneered by the Gram Gourav Pratishthan, a voulantry agency based in Purandar Taluk of Pune district. Definitely it is a success story of Rural Development Programme and other states of India should emulate such model to solve their water crises. Bernadetter Maria Gomes in her article deals with the socio-cultural forces of water. She says that natural resources are the biggest assets for a community and they have a bearing on the culture of the people. She has taken the

xlii

Sukant K. Chaudhury

case of Goa where water is abundantly available resource and it has shaped different aspect of social life of people. Rekha M. Shangpliang dealt with the livelihood strategies of Khasi women in rural Meghalaya in light of the forest legislations. Undoubtedly, there is a close link between land resources and rural livelihoods. Khasi women play a significant role in the domestic sphere. Women inherit property like land and forest but lack the power to manage them. The various forest laws deprived the tribals right over minor forest products and other livelihood opportunities causing poverty among them.

References Chaudhury, Sukant K. 1993. Myopic development and cultural lens: An evaluative study of tribal development programmes among Kondhs of Orissa. New Delhi: Inter-India. ———. 2004. Tribal identity: Continuity and change among Kondhs of Orissa. Jaipur: Rawat Publications. ———. 2006. Culture ecology and sustainable development. New Delhi: Mittal Publications. ———. 2008. ‘Do Kondh constitute a tribe? The question of identity’, The Eastern Anthropologist, 61 (4). Chaudhury, Sukant K. and Soumendra Mohan Patnaik. 2008. indian tribes and the mainstream. Jaipur: Rawat Publications. Devell and Sessions. 2002. International encyclopedia of environmental politics. Gadgil, M. and R. Guha. 2004. The use and abuse of nature. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Geertz, Clifford. 1963. Agricultural involution: The Process of change in Indonesia. Berkeley: University of California Press. Giddens, Anthony. 2006. The politics of climate change. Cambridge: Polity Press. Government of India. 2001. Ninth Five Year Plan. New Delhi. ———. 2008. Eleventh Five Year Plan. New Delhi. Guha, Ramachandra (ed.). 2000. Social ecology. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Mies, Maria and Vandana Shiva. 1993 Ecofeminism. Halifax, NS: Fernwood Publication. Rappaport, Roy A. 1968. Pigs for ancestors. New Haven: Yale University Press. Steward, Julian. 1955. Theory of culture change. Illinois: University of Illinois Press.

SECTION I Conceptual Issues

1 A Demographic Approach to the Study of Urban Ecology A. Bopegamage

I

n urban ecological studies the population pyramid exhibiting the differences in age and sex groups is a very useful device in social exploration as the actual increase and overturn in the population get themselves registered well in the population pyramid. With the aid of this device urban sociologists have shown that given proportions of age and sex groups typify certain areas in the city characterizing people belonging to various occupational and social classes. One of the first of this kind of study was done by Charles Booth in his Study of the Life and Labour of the People of London during 1890’s. With the help of figures and graphs he went on to point out that the age distribution is characteristic of certain areas of London having a particular type of trade or manufacture, and further, the relation between social conditions of different geographical areas of the city and the high or low birth and death rates which also affect the age distribution.1 About twenty-five years later R. E. Park and R. D. McKenzie in an approach to urban ecology by re-examining the research methods of Booth pointed out the importance of the use of the age-sex composition pyramid as an index of movements and changes of population. With the help of population census tracts of Chicago, Park showed that cities sift and sort, like in a great sieve, and redistribute their ill-assorted populations into new groups and classes through competition and these overturns of population get marked on the pyramids obtained from the study of the age-sex groups in different natural areas.2

4

A. Bopegamage

R. D. McKenzie while commenting on the selective processes which go to help the age-sex segregations in various areas of a city says about Seattle, “In the city of Seattle, which has in general a sex composition of 113 males to 100 females, the downtown district, comprising an area inscribed by a radius of half a mile or so, has from 300 to 500 males to every 110 females. But in the outlying districts of the city, except in one or two industrial sections, these ratios are revised Females predominate in numbers in suburbs of the city. This same condition is true with regard to the age distribution of population. The school census shows an absolute decline in the number of children of school age in the central districts of the city although the total population for this area has shown an increase for each decade. It is obvious, then, that the settler type of population, the married couples with children, withdraw from the centre of the city while the more mobile and less responsible adults herd together in the hotel and apartment legions near the heart of the community.”3 These results arrived at by McKenzie were tested by Charles Newcomb with the census tract data of Chicago city. While arriving at more or less the same conclusion that patterns of age and sex distribution are associated with the basic social character of the area in which they are found he observes in one place, “If we divide the population areas into two classes on the basis of age grouping we find that all areas having a greater proportion of children than the population of the United States fall into the same general type of area in the city. On the south side of Chicago in 1920 the district embracing the steel mills and factory district had children in excess of the distribution of population of the United States. In these areas in which there is a large proportion of children, almost without exception males are in excess over females. This is accounted for by the predominance of immigrant families with large numbers of male boarders and lodgers. The areas characterised as adult can be sub classified according to the predominant sex. The Loop and part way out on each branch of the “T” are predominantly male. In the areas where there are many children the economic life of the population is bound up with mechanical and manufacturing trades. Where the adults characterize the area the economic life of the population is related directly or indirectly with the commercial life of the Loop, with the exception of the casual workers who represent a minor part of this population.”4 The main purpose of the present paper is to test whether the tendency existing in large American cities holds true for some Indian cities

A DEMOGRAPHIC APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF URBAN ECOLOGY

5

too. Some of the handicaps which the author faces unlike his American counterpart are the lack of (i) detailed Indian city census data compiled on the basis of census tracts, i.e., small geographically constant areas representing more or less homogeneous social and economic conditions,5 and (ii) age-sex composition, civil condition, fertility, mortality rates etc. of at least the administrative wards. However, the author expects here to present and analyse some detailed data available for each administrative ward of at least one Indian city, Old Delhi, for 1931. During the course of field observation and the study of growth of certain areas of the city by the author some years ago it was noted that the administrative wards of 1931 of Old Delhi City represented particular homogeneous economic and social conditions and had not undergone radical changes in their economic or social structure during the course of the last two decades.6 In the year 1931 Old Delhi City (population—365,527) was well known for its industrial and commercial functions and the Census of 1931 furnishes us age-sex composition data for nineteen administrative wards out of which seventeen wards with an area 5.96 sq. miles had a population 347,539. Out of the total nineteen, one area, Fort Notified Area, is excluded from this study as some parts have been occupied by military personnel and the other part by the museum. The Table 1 given on pages 86–87 shows the pattern of distribution of age and sex in different wards of the Old Delhi City. They are arranged for the purpose of comparison in the order of distance falling within arbitrary circles (numbered) drawn from the centre of the city, Fountain. When several wards fall more or less within one circle they are grouped as a, b, c, etc., under each number and only one of such wards to represent all is taken here for detailed study. For example, out of the wards Farrash Khana, Bazar Sita Ram, Churi-walan, Sui Walan and Faiz Bazar, all located within the old walls of the city and within a distance of 1/2 mile to 1 mile from the centre, only Bazar Sita Ram is selected for comparison. Similarly, each ward selected for detailed study is from the wards falling within each circle. Age-sex statistics for the whole city and also the country for 1931 are given along with them in order to compare the proportions. In general, in the age-sex population statistics for the city as a whole we find that as in other cities of India7 the population of Delhi City is masculine and not feminine as in American cities8, the proportion of children under 5 years is fairly high, possibly because of the high birth rate (Cr. B.R. 45.2), and the adults, specially the males in

6

A. Bopegamage

Table 1 Percentage Distribution by Age and Sex of Each Administrative Ward Population, Old Delhi City, 1931 0–4

5–9

10–14

15–19

Name of Ward and Circle Number

M

F

M

F

M

F

M

F

Railway Station(Ia)

4.1

3.5

3.6

2.5

4.6

2.2

10.0

3.2

Dariba (Ib)

6.4

5.9

5.7

4.9

5.8

4.6

6.0

4.2

Mali-Wara (Ic)

5.2

5.3

5.2

4.7

5.8

4.5

6.0

4.3

Charkhe-Walan (Id)

6.1

6.2

6.3

5.1

6.3

4.7

6.3

4.2

Queen’s Road (Ha)

6.1

5.5

5.6

4.2

5.6

3.9

6.8

4.0

Lothian Road (IIb)

6.5

6.0

6.0

4.3

6.2

3.8

7.1

3.7

Sui-Walan

6.9

7.5

6.4

5.4

6.4

5.0

5.3

4.4

Farrash-Khana (IIIb)

6.9

6.8

6.6

5.9

6.4

5.2

5.7

4.5

Bazar Sita Ram (IIIc)

6.8

6.3

6.2

5.4

6.0

5.1

5.7

4.9

Churi-Walan (IIId)

6.7

6.7

6.4

5.4

6.3

5.1

5.9

4.3

Faiz Bazar (IIIe)

7.2

6.8

6.7

5.5

6.9

5.2

6.3

4.5

Mori Gate (IIIf)

6.4

5.6

6.3

4.8

6.2

4.5

6.8

4.1

Sadar South (IVa)

6.9

6.8

6.1

5.2

6.1

5.1

6.1

4.9

Pahar Ganj (IVb)

6.5

6.7

6.0

4.9

5.9

4.5

6.0

4.5

Civil Lines (IVc)

5.6

5.3

4.4

4.0

4.3

3.6

6.8

3.6

Sadar North (V)

6.3

6.5

5.6

4.8

5.8

4.4

6.8

4.4

Sabzi Mandi (VI)

7.0

6.7

5.9

4.7

5.9

4.4

6.7

4.7

Qarol Bagh (VII)

8.1

7.2

5.7

4.2

5.7

4.3

6.4

5.4

Delhi City

6.6

6.4

6.0

5.0

6.0

4.6

6.3

4.4

India 1931**

7.4

8.0

6.6

6.4

6.0

5.6

4.4

4.7

* Figures in brackets are the numbers of circles drawn from the centre of the city (see text). ** For India excluding Burma.

A DEMOGRAPHIC APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF URBAN ECOLOGY

20–29

30–39

40–49

50–59

7

60+

M

F

M

F

M

F

M

F

M

F

Males per 100 Females

26.0

6.1

17.2

3.1

7.9

1.4

2.6

0.8

0.9

0.5

330

12.9

8.2

10.7

5.8

6.6

3.7

3.2

2.1

1.8

1.3

145

13.9

8.3

11.1

6.0

6.8

4.1

3.2

2.2

2.0

1.8

143

13.4

8.2

9.7

5.6

5.7

3.5

3.2

2.0

2.0

1.5

145

15.0

8.3

12.1

5.4

6.5

3.3

3.1

1.9

1.8

1.1

166

15.2

8.1

11.9

5.2

6.6

2.7

3.0

1.4

1.6

0.9

178

10.6

8.4

8.4

6.0

6.4

3.7

3.2

2.0

2.3

1.7

126

11.3

8.4

8.6

5.5

5.7

3.4

3.2

2.1

2.2

1.4

131

11.6

8.8

9.0

5.8

6.2

3.7

3.2

2.1

1.8

1.3

131

11.2

7.9

8.7

6.0

6.2

4.2

3.2

2.1

2.2

1.5

131

11.9

8.4

8.7

5.7

5.2

3.3

2.5

1.7

2.2

1.2

136

14.2

7.9

10.6

5.4

6.5

3.2

2.9

1.6

1.8

1.2

161

12.9

9.1

9.6

5.5

5.5

3.2

2.5

1.6

1.6

1.1

134

13.0

9.2

10.1

5.8

6.0

3.2

2.7

1.7

1.7

1.2

139

23.1

7.6

12.2

4.6

6.9

2.5

2.9

1.1

0.6

0.8

202

14.6

8.5

10.5

5.6

5.7

3.3

2.6

1.8

1.7

1.1

148

14.2

9.2

10.1

5.4

5.6

3.0

2.5

1.6

1.5

1.0

145

12.8

9.9

8.7

5.8

5.5

3.6

2.4

1.9

1.1

1,3

130

13.4

8.6

10.0

5.6

6.0

3.3

2.9

1.8

1.7

1.2

144

8.8

9.3

7.1

6.8

4.9

4.5

2.8

2.7

2.0

2.1

106

8

A. Bopegamage

the most productive years of life, that is between 20 and 39, is high, because of the high percentage of immigrants living in the city without their wives and children. The proportion of old people over 60 is not so high when compared with the population of India. A study of the figures for various wards separately shows that the Railway Station area has a lower proportion of children under five and between 5 and 14 years of age than the population of India. The highest percentage of persons are found in the adult group specially in the 20–29 age bracket. In this group too what we note is the excessive proportion of adult males. In addition, among the sexes of different age groups, there is a high proportion of males in all the age groups between 10 and 59 years, the highest number of males per 100 females reaching in the 40–49 age bracket. This is mainly because of the fact that the Railway Station area forms an area close to the Loop or Chandni Chowk, the main business district of Old Delhi. The age-sex composition of this area with its several residential hotels and eating houses where people, mostly adults, visiting the Loop or the other parts of the city stay for a few days, is more or less comparable to the age-sex composition of the transient hotel area in the Loop of the American city. If we study the age-sex distribution of Qarol Bagh, an area lying on the suburbs of Old Delhi City within the Vllth circle (see Table) we find the prevalence of almost the reverse conditions. Here children below 5, probably due to high birth rate occurring in areas occupied by families and also those between 5 and 14 form a high proportion of the population of the ward. Those below 5 are more or less double the number of those in the same age group of the Railway Station ward. The number of adults, specially those in the 20–29 year bracket, forms half of those living in the Railway Station ward and the aged persons over 60 are also proportionately high. In the sex composition too, though the males outnumber females in this ward no excessive proportion of males are found as in the area closer to the business district. The highest disproportion is found in the 40–49 age bracket—compare ratio of 156 males per 100 females in Qarol Bagh with 573 males per 100 females in Railway Station ward. These facts indicate the presence of families with women and children in the suburb of Old Delhi City like in many other large American cities.9 This area is purely a geographically concentrated residential locality mostly consisting of two types of immigrants, the recent arrivals and the old settlers.10 In 1931, some of them, each with the help of wife and children, ran their own cottage industries like leather-rope

A DEMOGRAPHIC APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF URBAN ECOLOGY

9

making, tanning and shoe-making, some worked in government offices and a few in the industries of a nearby ward.11 Even now the occupational structure of these residents have not changed very much. In the areas lying between the above suburban and central wards, we find more or less an even age-sex distribution, with a few pronounced disproportion seen here and there. But one important fact to be noted here is that certain areas lying close to the Loop or the main business district in Old Delhi City, viz., Dariba, Maliwara, etc., unlike in the American main business district, have a somewhat higher proportion of children below 5 and between 5 and 14, and adults specially those in the 20–29 age bracket are not excessive as in the Railway Station ward. For instance, in Dariba the percentage of both sexes under 5 years is 12.3; 5–14 is 21.0; 20–29 is 21.1 and over 60 is 3.1; in Maliwara, the percentages are 10.5, 20.2, 22.2 and 3.8 as against 15.4, 24.6, 18.1 and 4.1 respectively for India. And the disproportion among sexes in different age groups of these wards is also not so marked as that in the Railway Station ward, e.g., in the Dariba and Maliwara wards we find 186 and 185 males respectively per 100 females in the age group 30–39 years against 548 males per 100 females in the corresponding age group of the Railway Station ward. This is a very distinctive feature of the age-sex composition of the population of the areas lying close to the main business district of some of the existing ancient cities and also of a few modern ones of the Orient.12 It is mainly because of the fact that in these unplanned cities there is little physical separation between the residence and place of business or workshop of people. They are mostly located either in the same building or in the same area. In the above-mentioned wards in Old Delhi City the ground-floor and sometimes the second floor of a building are used as shops and business offices and the rest of the floors are occupied by families working in them. This analysis leads us to conclude, firstly, that the observation13 “that the inner and older sections of a city, particularly those lying close to the main business centre, are usually inhabited by the weaker and less stable elements of the population” is only partly true in case of Delhi as such elements are found only in a nearby area close to the Railway Station ward and not in all the wards close to the main business district mentioned above, and, secondly, that at least, in one American city, Chicago, where the adults characterize the area, the economic life of the population is related directly or indirectly with the commercial life of the Loop, is not wholly true in the case of Delhi.14

10

A. Bopegamage

In the wards falling within circle III located on the outer part of the main business district and represented here by Bazar Sita Ram, the proportion of children below 5 and 5–14 is high, and the proportion of adults, specially those in the 20–29 age bracket, is comparable to that of the Qarol Bagh ward. The number of people over 60 is also not very low. These are areas where descendants of the oldest immigrants of the City live and a few small-scale manufacturing industries are also found. Within the circular area IV we find Sadar South, Pahar ganj and Civil Lines wards. The first two wards do not show any wide disproportion either in the age-groups or among the sexes. Pahar Ganj ward which is one of the oldest suburban residential localities of Old Delhi City has similar proportions as found in the wards like Sita Ram Bazar lying within circle III. Some of the worst slums are also found in this ward. In the third ward, Civil Lines, again a contrasting situation is revealed. Here we note a wide disparity between children and the adults and a greater proportion of adults belonging to the age group between 20 and 29 years than that of the population of India. And in this group too it is the males who predominate in numbers—302 per 100 females—as in the Railway Station ward. The proportion of older persons of over 60 years is also comparatively very low. This ward in 1930’s was an area occupied by the social elites of the European population in the City. They were stationed in this part of Delhi mostly for administrative purposes and had their wives and children either in the cool Hill Stations of Northern India or left behind in England. Only a very few of those who retired stayed back and hence the very low proportion of aged persons. The wards, Sadar North and Sabzi Mandi, falling within the circles V and VI lie between residential Qarol Bagh and Sadar South. In the age composition of the people in these wards what we note is the presence of somewhat high proportion of adult males in the 20–29 age group. The proportion of children below 15 is more or less equal to that of the population living in the oldest residential quarters of the city in circle III. Sabzi Mandi is the main industrial area lying along the highway to Karnal and the above age-sex disproportion is accounted for by the presence of a large number of immigrant families and also unmarried adult males or married males without their families working in industries and also in the central vegetable market about which this area can boast. The sex disproportion in the middle aged groups of Sabzi Mandi is not very high—compare highest 188 males per 100 females in Sabzi Mandi to 548 and 267 of the corresponding age group in the

A DEMOGRAPHIC APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF URBAN ECOLOGY

11

non-industrial Railway Station ward and the Civil Lines ward—a fact which goes to disprove the general observation made about certain areas of Indian cities by Kingsley Davis that “occasionally in highly industrial districts it [the sex ratio] rises to very high numbers.”15 Even in Bombay City, from where Kingsley Davis drew a part of his data to make such observations, very high disproportion among the sexes is found only in the commercial districts and not in the industrial districts. For instance in 1951 the commercial districts like Fort South, Fort North of A ward have 241 and 210 males respectively per 100 females and many high industrial districts like Parel of F ward and Prabhadevi and Worli of G ward have 183, 178 and 168 males respectively.16 If we study the proportion of sexes for the total population of each ward and for each age group of the ward we notice the significant feature in regard to many areas: the highest disproportion is found in the area close to the main business district and it gradually narrows down when traced towards the periphery of the city. As lack of space does not permit us to attempt a detailed analysis for different sections of the city, a study of the figures of wards geographically located in one direction along two of the principal arterial roads, Delhi-Karnal and Delhi-Rohtak, running from the Railway Station to the north and north-west part of the city bifurcating from a point near Sadar South ward but both touching at two different points of the wards, may serve to illustrate this point. The wards in the order running from the centre are: Railway Station ward, Queens Road ward, Mori Gate ward, Sadar South ward, Sadar North ward, Subzi Mandi ward and Qarol Bagh ward, and the proportion of males for each 100 females for the corresponding wards are: 331, 166, 161, 134, 148, 145 and 130. Moreover, when the sex proportions in each age-group of wards placed in order are compared as shown in Table 2, what we see is that even in each age group, except in one area, the disproportion narrows down when proceeding from the centre to the periphery. This pattern is more or less similar to the one found in some large American cities.17 What has been stated above is graphically represented by figures given on page 92. They are the typical age-sex structure of the populations of each ward located along the arterial roads stated in the above paragraph. The series when followed down from the top to bottom show the geographical location of various areas starting near the main business district and advancing out towards the north-western periphery of the city. The broken line triangle superimposed on each diagram shows the general age-sex structure of India. Note the type of area as determined by the

0–4

118

110

114

101

98

105

113

103

Selected Ward and Circle Number

Railway station (Ia)

Queen’s Road (Ha)

Mori Gate (IIIf)

Sadar South (IVa)

Sadar North (V)

Sabzi Mandi (VI)

Qarol Bagh (VII)

Delhi City

121

137

124

117

118

132

133

143

5–9

130

132

133

134

119

137

146

204

10–14

143

120

141

156

124

166

170

312

15–19

Period

157

129

155

172

141

180

181

428

20–29

Age

180

150

188

186

174

196

225

548

30–39

180

156

184

174

170

203

196

573

40–49

160

124

152

146

154

182

158

325

50–59

141

84

150

146

148

143

163

191

60+

Table 2 Proportion of Males per 100 Females at Different Age Periods of Seven Selected Wards Lying along One Arterial Highway between the Centre of Old Delhi and Its Periphery

12 A. Bopegamage

A DEMOGRAPHIC APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF URBAN ECOLOGY

Age and Sex Distribution of Selected Local Areas of an Indian City—Old Delhi

13

14

A. Bopegamage

age-sex structure of the population of 1931 and the tendency for an even age-sex distribution towards the periphery of the city. On the basis of this study it can be said, firstly, that at least in Delhi, as in certain large American cities, the pattern of age-sex distribution is associated with the social character of the ecological area in which they are found; secondly, that not in all the areas of the main business district do we find such wide disproportion as in similar areas of large American cities; thirdly, that the presence of a high proportion of adults in one local area of the city is not always related with the commercial life of the main business district as in Chicago as shown by Charles Newcomb; fourthly, that in Indian cities too an area with a very high proportion of adult males typify an area of transient population; and, fifthly, as in some American cities, so here there is a pattern in the distribution of sex proportion, i.e., a tendency towards an even proportion among sexes, as one proceeds from the centre of the city to the periphery.

Notes 1. Loc cit., Second Series: Industry, Vol. V and Final Volume: Notes on Social Influences and Conclusion, p. 16 ff. See also index map of London facing page 18. 2. R. E. Park, “Sociology” in Research in the Social Science (ed.) by Wilson Gee (New York, 1929), pp. 12–14. Park says that the use of population pyramid as an index of movements and changes of population seems to have been made for the first time by Italian students of population. In 1920 Raymond Pearl devised a similar population index in terms of age and sex. See Raymond Pearl, “On a Single Numerical Index of the Age Distribution of a Population,” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, VI, (1920), pp. 427–431. 3. R. D. McKenzie, The Ecological Approach to the Study of Human Community,’ in The City by R. E. Park E. W. Burgess and R. D. McKenzie (1925), p. 78. 4. Charles Newcomb, “Graphic Presentation of Age and Sex Distribution of Population in the City,” in Cities and Society ed., by Paul K. Hatt and Albert J. Reiss (Illinois, 1957), pp. 389–390. 5. Niles Carpenter, T. Earl Sullenger, James A. Quinn, “The Sources and Methods of Urban Sociology” in The Fields and Methods of Sociology (ed.) by L. L. Bernard (New York, 1934) pp. 336, 344; Pauline V. Young, Scientific Social Surveys and Research, 3rd edition (1956), pp. 418–423. 6. A. Bopegamage, A Study in Urban Sociology, (Bombay, 1957). 7. Kingsley Davis, The Population of India and Pakistan (New Jersey, 1951) p. 140. 8. Amos H. Hawley, Human Ecology, (New York, 1950), pp. 142–143, W. S. Thompson, Population Problems, 4th edition (New York, 1953), p. 108. 9. R. D. McKenzie, The Metropolitan Community, (New York, 1933), p. 180, 181, 182. 10. A. Bopegamage, “Village Within a Metropolitan Area”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. V, No. 2, 1956, pp. 103–109; “Neighbourhood Relations in Indian Cities, Delhi” Sociological Bulletin, Vol. VI. No. 1, 1957. p. 36.

A DEMOGRAPHIC APPROACH TO THE STUDY OF URBAN ECOLOGY

15

11. “Village Within a Metropolitan Area”, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. V, No. 2, 1956, p. 109. 12. R. L. Singh, Banaras: A Study in Urban Geography (Banaras, 1955), p. 87; A. Bopegamage, op. cit. p. 72; O. H. K. Spate, “Rangoon”, Geographical Review, 1942, pp. 56–74; Paul Cressey, “The Ecological’ Organization of Rangoon, Burma,” Sociology and Social Research, Vol. 40, 1955–56, p. 168; K. N. Venkatarayappa, Bangalore (Bombay, 1957). 13. R. D. McKenzie (1933), op. cit., p. 182. 14. Charles Newcomb, op. cit, pp. 389–390. 15. The Population of India and Pakistan, p. 140. 16. The Greater Bombay District Census Hand Book, 1951. 17. R. D. Mckenzie, op. cit., p. 182.

2 Bombay: A Study in Urban Demography and Ecology C. Rajagopalan

O

ne of the most pressing and distressing problems confronting the City of Bombay, and also one to which all the other problems primarily owe their origin is that of population aggregation. The fact that this is not a feature peculiar to the City of Bombay, but one associated with the modern urban phenomenon all over the world cannot in any wise minimise its magnitude. Though a large population is undoubtedly a mark of a city’s economic affluence, it cannot serve as a true measure of its greatness. Instead of judging a city by the number of its inhabitants, we shall ask what part of its people have a chance to have real homes in which a wholesome family life is possible and in which they will be willing to raise at least enough children to replace themselves.1 The study of population from a historical perspective, apart from affording a stable background for projecting the future demographic trends, also sheds light on the vissicitudes in the life of a city, which enables the student to locate the particular periods in which the contemporary problems of the city had their specific origins. Although various estimates have been made of the City’s population at different intervals, the earliest of which relates to 1661, detailed and reliable data regarding population are available only from 1872, the year in which the first regular and systematic census of the City was undertaken. Our analysis in this paper is therefore confined to the period 1872–1951.

BOMBAY: A STUDY IN URBAN DEMOGRAPHY AND ECOLOGY

17

Table 1 Growth of Population in the City of Bombay, 1872–1951 Net Increase (+) Decrease (−)

Percentage Increase (+) Decrease (−)

Year

Population

1872

6,44,405

...

...

1881

7,73,196

+1,28,791

+20.0

1891

8,21,764

+48,568

+6.3

1901

7,76,006

−45,758

−5.7

1911

9,79,445

+2,03,439

+26.2

1921

11,75,914

+1,96,469

+20.0

1931

11,61,383

−14,531

−1.2

1941

14,89,883

+3,28,500

+28.3

1951

23,29,020

+8,39,137

+56.3

In contrast to the first two centuries from 1661–1872 when the population of the City is estimated to have multiplied sixty times, the increase during the eight decades ending 1951 amounted to a little less than four times, as will be seen from Table 1. It may be noticed that the increase was more or less steady, though slow, with however two exceptions in the decennial 1891–1901 and 1921–1931. While the decrease in the former decade may be attributed to the outbreak of plague and the great famine of 1899–1901, the latter decline was brought about by the trade depression which led to the exodus of the unemployed to their native villages. With the single exception of the decade 1881–1891, the normal decennial increase varied between 20 to 28 per cent. The decade 1941–1951 which registered the greatest increase, viz. 56.3 per cent seems to strike a new direction in the City’s demographic trends. Though this abnormal growth is generally attributed to the influx of displaced persons consequent upon the partition of the country, such a view is not supported by actual figures. The number of displaced persons in the City being 50,457,2 they account for hardly 6 per cent of the increase. It is true that war and post-war conditions have contributed in a large measure to this increase; but it must be admitted that the natural increase resulting from excess of births over deaths has been a factor of no mean importance.

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C. Rajagopalan

Table 2 The Proportion of the City-born Population and the Immigrants in the City, 1872–1951 1872

1881

1891

1901

1911

1921

1931

1941

1951

Percentage of city-born population

31.2

27.8

25.0

23.4

19.6

16.0

24.6

27.4

27.9

Percentage of immigrants

68.8

72.2

75.0

76.6

80.4

84.0

75.4

72.6

72.1

Natural increase and immigration are the two factors responsible for the growth of population. Table 2 shows the percentages of the cityborn population and the immigrants in the City from 1872–1951. The percentage of city-born population was highest in 1872, from which year it declined progressively in successive decades until the lowest percentage of 16 was reached in 1921. From 1931 onwards the city-born population has been increasing, though the rate of this increase has tended to be slower. The abnormal increase of population in the decade 1941–1951 did not materially affect the proportion of city-born population which remained substantially the same. But though there is no appreciable variation in the percentage of the city-born population between 1941 and 1951, in terms of absolute numbers, it has risen by 58.9 per cent as against the increase of 56.3 per cent in the total population of the City. In other words, the natural increase exceeded the actual growth of population. Natural increase as a result of excess of births over deaths being a factor of only recent importance, the City has been demographically fed by the perennial source of immigration. A glance at Table 2 would reveal that during the last eighty years, more than two-thirds of the City’s population was composed of immigrants. The percentage of immigrants after a gradual increase from 1872 onwards seems to have turned the corner in 1931 from which year it shows a tendency to decline. Since more than two-thirds of the City’s population is composed of immigrants, it is important to understand the character of immigration. In the absence of any definite data on this point, we have to deduce this information from such sources as the sex composition, civil condition and linguistic composition of the population.

BOMBAY: A STUDY IN URBAN DEMOGRAPHY AND ECOLOGY

19

Table 3 Number of Females per 1,000 Males in the City, 1872–1951 1872 1881 1891 1901 1911 1921 1931 1941 1951 No. of females per 1,000 males

612

664

586

617

530

525

554

581

574

By sex ratio we mean the number of females per one thousand males. In Bombay the sex ratio has always been in favour of males.3 It is said that “the sex ratio of any city’s population is a function of its migration stream—in other words a function of how fast the city has grown . . . . . . . in general the faster a city (has) grown during the decade the more masculine (is) its sex ratio at the end of that decade.”4 It will be seen from Table 3 that the sex ratio in the City is characterised by sharp fluctuations. A comparison of column 4 of Table 1 with Table 3 makes it at once clear that there is no necessary correlation between the decennial rate of population increase and the sex ratio. The decades of high increase in population are not invariably accompanied by a fall in the sex ratio. In 1872 there were 612 females per 1,000 males. In 1881 while the population increased by about 20 per cent, the number of females per 1,000 males, or the femininity index as we may call it, went up to 664. The next great increase in population took place in 1911 and 1921 when there was a corresponding decline in the femininity index. But in 1941 with an increase of 28 per cent in population, the femininity index also rose from 554 in the previous decade to 581. Compared to the phenomenal growth of population during the decade 1941–1951, the fall in the femininity index was rather negligible. It may also be pointed out that while between 1872 and 1951 the population of the City rose by 260 per cent, the fall in the femininity index hardly amounted to 6.2 per cent. The sex ratio by itself offers but a vague indication of the character of migration. From a lower sex ratio it is difficult to infer that the immigrants are temporary residents in the City, in the absence of other relevant data such as their civil condition, their willingness to bring their families and rear their children in the City, which are closely associated with the more vital questions of the availability of houses in the City and their ability to pay for them.

57.3

87.3

72.2

70.4

55 & over

Total

66.4

Total

15–55

69.7

55 & over Age unspecified

0–15

83.4

64.4

Total

15–55

69.3

55 & over Age unspecified

56.5

82.7

15–54

0–15

51.5

Males

0–14

Age Group

Note: Data for 1941 are not available.

1921

1931

1951

Year

29.6

27.8

12.7

42.7

33.6

30.3

16.6

43.5

35.6

30.7

17.3

48.5

Females

Unmarried

34.5

0.3

43.3

56.3

37.2

0.2

36.6

63.2

45.8

0.5

40.8

58.6

Total

Table 4 Civil Condition of the City’s Population, 1921–1951

67.2

81.3

67.7

29.6

66.4

78.2

66.9

36.1

65.6

82.0

65.0

21.5

Males

32.8

18.7

32.3

70.4

33.6

21.8

33.1

63.9

34.4

18.0

35.0

78.5

Females

Married

58.4

3.2

94.2

2.7

57.6

2.4

96.0

1.5

48.2

4.8

94.5

0.6

Total

29.2

37.2

29.5

21.1

23.7

22.5

23.7

23.2

31.7

27.8

33.7

27.2

Males

70.8

62.8

70.5

78.9

76.3

77.5

76.3

76.8

68.3

72.2

66.3

72.8

Females

7.1

20.8

78.2

0.8

5.2

24.2

74.9

0.3

6.1

34.6

65.2

0.2

Total

Widowed/Divorced

65.6

58.0

68.8

55.2

64.3

52.5

67.6

55.8

62.9

56.9

68.0

51.9

Males

34.4

42.0

31.2

44.8

35.7

47.5

32.4

44.2

37.1

43.1

32.0

48.1

Females

Total

100.0

3.5

75.4

21.1

100.0

2.7

72.8

24.3

100.0

4.6

68.2

27.1

Total

20 C. Rajagopalan

BOMBAY: A STUDY IN URBAN DEMOGRAPHY AND ECOLOGY

21

The data relating to the civil condition of the population are presented in Table 4. It will be observed therefrom that between 1921 and 1951 the proportion of the unmarried population increased by about 33 per cent while those of the married and the widowed/divorced decreased by 17.5 and 14.3 per cents respectively. Of the married people in 1951, 94.5 per cent was in the age-group 15–55 which, though smaller in comparison to 1931, was actually slightly higher than 1921. Of the rest, 0.6 per cent was between the ages of 0–15 and 4.8 per cent in the age bracket of 55 and over. Compared to the corresponding percentages in 1931 and 1921, the former shows a continuous decline while the latter after a decrease in 1931 has risen in 1951. In other words, during the four decades ending 1951, while the married people belonging to the age group 15–55 remained with little or no change, those belonging to 0–15 have definitely decreased. This leads us to one obvious conclusion that the tendency to marry early is gradually disappearing. Turning to the unmarried population, we notice that in 1951 it formed 45.75 per cent of the total population—i.e. an increase of about 23 per cent over that of 1931 and 33 per cent over that of 1921. Of this unmarried section, those belonging to the age period 15–55 formed 40.8 per cent which, though higher than the corresponding percentage for 1931, was smaller when compared to that of 1921. The age group 0–15 formed 58.6 per cent—ignoring the small discrepancy that might result from the difference in the age category—which, though smaller in comparison to 1931, was in fact slightly higher than the corresponding percentage for 1921. The variation in the old age group 55 and over which accounts for a fraction of a per cent was very negligible. Thus there is no consistent tendency of either an increase or decrease in any of the age periods among the unmarried population. With regard to the widowed/divorced whose proportion is slowly diminishing, we observe that majority of them belong to the age group 15–55 and 55 and over. The age group 0–15 contains hardly 0.2 per cent. But so far as the age group 55 and over is concerned, the percentage of the widowed/divorced belonging to it has risen by about 70 per cent between 1921 and 1951 while during the same period those belonging to the age period 15–55 have decreased to the extent of 17 per cent. In other words, there appears to be a shift from the age group 15–55 to 55 and over so far as the widowed/divorced are concerned. The above analysis affords only a rough idea of the civil condition of the population, in as much as it is based on the total population. In

22

C. Rajagopalan

order to arrive at a more accurate picture of the situation, we have to restrict our analysis to that section of the population which can be said to be within the age group eligible for marriage which, for our purpose is taken as the age period 15–55. Such an analysis is also significant in relation to another aspect of the problem under discussion. We have seen that more than 70 per cent of the City’s population is composed of immigrants. Assuming that most of the immigrants come to the City in search of employment, the vast bulk of them may be considered to belong to the age bracket 15–55 since it represents the productive period in the life of an individual. It therefore follows from the above that the number of immigrants below the age of 15 must be relatively smaller as they are too young to do any work. Likewise, those above the age of 55 must also be fewer since they are too old to be gainfully employed; and if they are immigrants, they would normally have returned to their native Places after their superannuation. We may therefore assume a priori that the two age groups 0–15 and 55 and over represent nonimmigrants, while those belonging to the age group 15–55 may be immigrants. Our conclusions regarding marriage in the City may therefore be taken as typical of the immigrants. Bearing this in mind, if we refer back to Table 4, we find that the percentage of people belonging to the age group eligible for marriage has progressively declined from 75.4 per cent in 1921 to 68.2 per cent in 1951. On the other hand, the age group 0–15 has stood to gain the benefit of this decrease, since it has increased from 21.1 per cent in 1921 to 27.1 per cent in 1951. On the basis of the above assumption, these changes are consistent with our earlier finding that the proportion of the non-immigrant or city-born population is gradually increasing. So far as the three categories of the married, unmarried and the widowed/divorced belonging to this age group are concerned, in 1951 they formed respectively 66.8 per cent, 27.4 per cent and 5.8 per cent. Compared to the corresponding percentages in the earlier decades, we find that while the percentage of the married people after a small increase of 4.2 per cent in 1931 fell in 1951 by 11.9 per cent, that of the unmarried after a decrease of 6.1 per cent in 1931 rose sharply to the extent of 47.3 per cent in 1951. It is, therefore, clear that the proportion of the unmarried population belonging to the age group eligible for marriage is increasing at a rate almost four times as fast as that at which the married population belonging to the same age period is decreasing. This

BOMBAY: A STUDY IN URBAN DEMOGRAPHY AND ECOLOGY

23

fact, coupled with our earlier finding that the percentage of people marrying before the age of 15 is dwindling, conclusively points out that on the whole the proportion of the married people in the City population is on the decline. With regard to the sex ratio in the city, in 1921 the males and females formed respectively 65.6 per cent and 34.4 per cent of the total population. During the course of the four succeeding decades, the ratio has slightly improved in favour of females, so that in 1951 the respective percentages stood at 63 and 37. A similar improvement in the sex ratio is also discernible among the married and the unmarried which, however, is more marked particularly in the case of the latter, so that by 1951 the difference in the sex ratios of the married and the unmarried population has tended to be very small, being 1.2 per cent. Were this trend to persist, the proportion of females is likely to increase more rapidly among the unmarried than among the married. Among the widowed/ divorced no consistent tendency is visible as the sex ratio has fluctuated. But the fact that even among them the sex ratio is lately improving in favour of males may be taken as corroborating our contention that a larger section of the City’s population is tending to be local, non-immigrants. Within the particular age group 15–55, the sex ratio is very poor among the unmarried, the males and females forming respectively 82.7 per cent and 17.3 per cent in 1951. Among the married, 65 per cent was males and the rest females. Compared to the sex ratios of these two categories in 1931 and 1921 there is evidence of a steady but slow improvement in favour of females. A similar improvement in the sex ratio is also seen among the widowed/divorced section. But in contrast to the trend in the unmarried section among whom the proportion of females is increasing in all age periods, in the case of the widowed/divorced it is decreasing in the first two age periods and increasing in the third. On the basis of our assumption that the age group 15–55 represents the bulk of immigrant population in the City, the improving trend in the sex ratio in this age group reveals that more females are tending to migrate to the City and that migration to the City no longer remains a male monopoly. The fact that between 1921 and 1951 the percentage of the unmarried population belonging to the age group eligible for marriage has risen from 19.8 to 27.4 further suggests that the immigrants are mostly young people, among whom the proportion of females is gradually increasing.

24

C. Rajagopalan

Table 5 Population of the City Classified According to Languages

Languages

Males

Females

Total

No. of Females per 1000 Males

Percentage to Total Population

Languages spoken within the State Marathi

6,41,751

3,90,838

10,32,589

609

44.33

Gujarati

2,45,460

1,79,316

4,24,776

731

18.23

Konkani

64,142

45,879

1,10,021

715

4.72

Kachchi

19,778

15,431

35,209

780

1.51

Principal North Indian Languages Hindi

1,41,426

23,505

1,64,931

166

7.08

Urdu

1,61,363

78,574

2,39,937

487

10.30

Sindhi

22,262

19,909

42,171

894

1.81

Punjabi

13,680

8,654

22,334

633

0.95

Rajasthani

10,048

2,786

12,834

277

0.55

145

40

185

277

0.008

25,649

65,506

643

2.81

Others

Principal South Indian Languages Telugu

39,857

Tamil

31,758

18,477

50,235

581

2.16

Kannada

28,433

14,389

42,822

506

1.83

Malayalam

19,777

4,798

24,575

242

1.05

Others

6,099

1,584

7,683

259

0.33

Other Indian Languages

6,597

2,514

9,111

381

0.39

Persian Asian Languages

2,911

1,453

4,364

499

0.18

Others

9,016

2,639

11,655

292

0.50

13,071

11,590

24,661

504

1.05

1,235

912

2,147

738

0.09

756

497

1,253

657

0.05

19

2

21

105

—

8,49,436 23,29,020

574

100.00

European Languages English Portuguese Others African Languages Total

14,79,584

BOMBAY: A STUDY IN URBAN DEMOGRAPHY AND ECOLOGY

25

We have no data to answer the question why such a large percentage of those eligible for marriage remain unmarried. But the decreasing percentage of married people coupled with the wide disparity in the sex ratio among them suggests that among other factors, economic condition as well as the acute shortage of houses in the City rendered worse by the evils of ‘pugree’ system may be reckoned as the most powerful deterrents that act against marriage and family life. Before we close the discussion on migration, we shall examine one more aspect, viz. the places from which the immigrants are drawn. In this connection, we would like to refer to the observation or Kingsley Davis5 that “the urban migration in India is more masculine the greater the distance covered. There is probably an exception in the case of the districts immediately surrounding the city, but the data are not conclusive.” To study the implications of this observation we have dived into the available figures the relevant among which are presented in Tables 5 and 6. Table 5 below shows the population of the City classified according to languages. Among the principal languages spoken within the State of Bombay, the sex ratio is highest among the Kachhis, followed by the

Table 6 Sex Ratios among the Immigrants from the Nine Contiguous Districts with the Decennial Variation in Their Number, 1921–1951 Index Variation in the No. of Immigrants District

1921

1931

1951

1921

1931

1. Thana

100

80

234

534

624

853

2. Kolaba

100

76

207

601

618

579

3. Poona

100

75

109

716

661

724

4. Surat

100

146

168

419

595

627

5 Nasik

100

77

138

774

679

935

6. Ahmednagar

100

36

73

778

738

849

7. Sholapur

100

62

164

625

604

759

8. Satara

100

80

166

474

544

444

9. Ratnagiri

100

101

174

525

540

488

* Figures not available.

1941*

No. of Females per 1,000 Males 1941*

1951

26

C. Rajagopalan

Gujaratis and the Konkanis. The Marathis have the lowest sex ratio. But while the first three people together comprise of only 24.4 per cent of the City’s population, the last account for as much as 44.3 per cent. In terms of distance, Cutch and Gujarat are farther from the City than either Konkan or Maharashtra. Among the principal North Indian languages, the sex ratio is very poor among the speakers of Hindi, Rajasthani and ‘Others’. The high sex ratio among the Sindhis and the moderate ratio among the Punjabis may be explained in terms of the fact that they are mostly displaced persons who migrated with their families consequent upon the partition of the country with a view to permanently settling down in the City. From the fact that the sex ratio is higher among the speakers of the principal South Indian languages than among the speakers of Hindi and Rajasthani, we cannot draw the conclusion that Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh where the latter group of languages are spoken, are situated farther from the City than either Madras, Mysore or Andhra where the South Indian languages are spoken. As a matter of fact, the brilliant study of an immigrant community by Kum. K. L. Mythili6 enables us to illumine this problem to some extent. From her sample chosen from Matunga, King Circle and Sion, the areas of highest concentration of the South Indians, it is clear that of the 2,60,000 and odd speakers of the principal South Indian languages in the City, the largest bulk has come from Madras, especially from its southern districts such as Tinnevelly and Tuticorin. It may be pointed out that Tuticorin and Tinenevelly are more than 1,200 miles away from the City while the distance to Meerut or Patna is not more than a thousand miles. The high sex ratio among the speakers of Portuguese is due to the fact that they represent one of the oldest immigrant communities in the City which is more or less settled now. With regard to the immigrants from the districts immediately surrounding the City, there is considerable variation in their sex ratios, as will be seen from Table 6. The first three districts in the Table are immediately adjacent to the City while the remaining six surround these three districts. In 1921 and 1931 the first three highest sex ratios were for Ahmednagar, Nasik and Poona. In 1951, however, Ahmednagar ranked only third, the first place being occupied by Nasik and the second place by Thana which in 1931 had the fourth place and in 1921 the sixth

BOMBAY: A STUDY IN URBAN DEMOGRAPHY AND ECOLOGY

27

place. Sholapur which had the fourth place in 1921 and fifth in 1931 reverted to its former rank in 1951. Poona which ranked third in 1921 and 1931 went down to the fifth place in 1951. It is therefore obvious that even with regard to the districts immediately surrounding the City, we cannot explain the character of migration in terms of the distance factor. Besides distance, there are other factors the relative potency of which we may or may not be able to gauge in the present state of our knowledge. The Gujaratis, for instance, are a business community who have their established interests in the City. The Bhaiyyas of Uttar Pradesh seldom bring their womenfolk to the City on grounds of customs and traditions. The South Indians who are mostly white-collar workers cannot afford to bring their families to the City for economic reasons. The Maharashtrians, the vast bulk of whom in the City are mill and dock workers from the neighbouring districts of Kolaba, Ratnagiri, Satara, etc. are noted for their high degree of mobility, returning to their native place at periodic intervals to help their families in the agricultural operations. They therefore rarely bring their womenfolk to the City, except in times of famines. We may therefore conclude that while it is conceded that the sex ratio is definitely lower among the immigrants than among the non-immigrants and that it is generally true that migration to the city has been more masculine—we have given evidence though that it has ceased to be a male monopoly now—it must be clearly pointed out that distance is neither the sole nor decisive factor that conditions the character of migration. Besides distance, several other factors have to be taken into consideration among which the occupational character and the socio-economic status of the immigrants, the duration of their stay and their established interests in the City, the goodwill of their community resident in the City and the influence of local customs and traditions may be mentioned as important. Having reviewed the past growth of population in the City, the causes of the growth and the extent and character of migration, we shall now pass on to consider the demographic future of the City as indicated by the age structure of the population viewed against the background of the birth and death rates. It will be seen from Table 7 that the percentage of people belonging to the age group 0–20, after some alternation, exhibits from 1931 onwards a tendency to increase. The abnormal increase in 1951 is due

35.1

44.6

16.1

4.2

0–20

21–40

41–60

61 and over

2.2

12.7

41.3

43.8

1881

3.6

16.1

43.7

36.6

1891

3.2

15.9

46.4

34.5

1901

14.7 2.3

2.7

52.5

30.5

1921

14.3

51.0

32.0

1911

* Figures not available. ** Figures refer to age groups 0–24, 25–44, 45–64 and 65 and over respectively.

1872

Age Group

Table 7 Age Structure of the City’s Population, 1872–1951

1.6

12.8

51.3

34.3

1931

1941*

1.4

10.8

36.8

50.9

1951**

28 C. Rajagopalan

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29

Table 8 Age and Sex Composition of the City’s Population, 1951 Age Group

Males

Females

Total

0–4

50.04

49.06

9.76

5–14

51.92

48.08

17.34

15–24

65.33

34.77

23.85

25–34

69.74

30.26

22.90

35–44

69.91

30.09

13.92

45–54

68.14

31.86

7.57

55–64

60.35

39.65

3.27

65–74

51.18

48.82

1.03

75 and over

42.92

57.08

0.37

Total

63.5

36.5

100.0

to the fact that the percentage refers to the age group 0–24 instead of to 0–20. The number of people belonging to the next age group 21–40 has registered a steady increase with the single exception of the decade ending 1881. The percentage for 1951 would have been higher but for the discrepancy in the age category. The remaining two age groups 41–60 and 60 and over are definitely declining. Increase therefore is confined to the two age groups below 40. With regard to the sex ratio, it will be seen from Table 8 that in 1951 the ratio was roughly two males: one female in the age period 15–54 to which a little less than 70 per cent of the total population belonged. The ratio tends to level off in the age period 0–15 which accounts for more than a quarter of the population. While the ratio again tends to be equal between the ages 65–74, in the last age group, 75 and over females tend to preponderate. We have seen earlier that the percentage of the local population has been increasing. This, together with the fact that the sex ratio tends to be roughly equal in the age group 0–15 and is slowly improving in the age group 15–55 permits us to draw the conclusion that in the absence of excessive mortality especially among female infants, the wide disparity in the sex ratio in the age period 15–55 is likely to be gradually bridged. Were this improvement in sex ratio in the reproductive age

30

C. Rajagopalan

period to serve as an incentive to increase the marriage rate, in the absence of other counteracting circumstances, the population of the city is likely to grow further, since the bulk of the population is in the reproductive age period. This however depends in a large measure upon several other factors of which we cannot be certain. The population of the City may be regarded as very young since about 87 per cent of it is below the age of 44. We have found earlier that the trend of increase is confined to the two age groups 0–20 and 21–40. An increase in the marriage rate, as visualised above, will normally result in an increase of children. The age group 21–40 cannot dwindle as the growing children will be replacing its ranks. In other words, a mutual interaction is set between these two age groups. It is however difficult to foresee how long the impact of this interaction will be felt. But one thing seems to be fairly certain that the City’s population is bound to remain young for some years to come.7 This supposition is valid only on condition that there is no excessive mortality especially among the infants. Table 9 shows that the mortality rate was very high at the opening of the century. After a rapid decline in the first two decades, the death rate is decreasing at a slower rate from 1921 onwards. But between 1901 and 1951, the death rate has been reduced to the extent of more than 50 per cent. This is in striking contrast to the trend in the birth rate which, after a slight decline in the first two decades, has been increasing from 1921 onwards, though at a decreasing rate. But compared to the trend in the death rate, the birth rate is increasing at a faster rate than that at which the death rate is decreasing. The increasing birth rate accompanied by a decreasing death Table 9 Birth and Death Rates in the City, 1901–1951 Average No. of Births per 1000 Persons

Average No. of Deaths per 1000 Persons

1901–1910

24

58

1911–1920

21

41

1921–1930

19

29

1931–1940

29

25

1941–1950

34

24

Period

Source: Computed from the Administration Reports of the Bombay Municipal Corporation.

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Table 10 Average Number of Deaths of Infants under One Year per 1,000 Live Births in the City, 1911–1951 Period

No.

1911–1921

481

1921–1931

347

1931–1941

235

1941–1951

179

Source: Computed from the Administration Reports of the Bombay Municipal Corporation. Table 11 Gross Density in the City, 1872–1951

No. of persons per acre

1872

1881

1891

1901

1911

1921

1931

1941

1951

54.0

54.3

57.5

54.1

68.6

78.4

75.0

88.9

139.1

rate inevitably leads to the natural increase of the population which is reflected in the rising percentage of the local or city-born population. It will be apparent from Table 10 that from 1911 onwards there has been a drastic reduction in the City’s infant mortality rates. The death rate among the infants was highest in 1921 from which year it has progressively declined until in 1951 it has been reduced almost by two-thirds. Our analysis of the different aspects of the demographic structure of the City seems to indicate that in the absence of other counteracting circumstances the population of the City is likely to grow further unless positive measures are adopted to circumvent it. We shall now turn to another aspect of the study of population, especially interesting from the standpoint of urban ecology, viz., the areal pattern of the distribution of population. In 1951 the City sheltered within its narrow confines of about 25.3 square miles a population of 23,29,020 resulting in a gross density of 92,056 persons per square mile or 143.8 persons to the acre.8 This figure represents the highest density ever recorded in the history of the City, as can be seen from the following Table.

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C. Rajagopalan

Notwithstanding an increase of 19.8 per cent in the population between 1872 and 1881, the density remained substantially the same, since the area of the City also registered a corresponding increase of 19.4 per cent. In 1891 the area of the City remaining the same, an increase of 6.3 per cent in population raised the density from 54.3 in the previous decade to 57.5 persons per acre. With a fall of 5.6 per cent in the 1901 population, the density regained its previous position. But during the four decades following 1911, the density more than doubled while the increase in the City’s area hardly amounted to 15 per cent. The greatest increase in density during a single decade took place between 1941 and 1951 when it rose by more than one and a half times. It may be pointed out that the distribution of population within the City has remained true to its nature by being far from uniform and hence the different sections of the City are characterised by widely varying degrees of density. From the ecological point of view the chief interset in the distributional aspect of population centres round the concept of concentration. To appreciate the degree of concentration therefore we have to analyse the population from the point of view of its distribution within the City. For administrative purposes the City is divided into seven municipal wards designated respectively by the first seven letters of the Table 12 Area and Population of the City Classified According to Wards Ward

Area

Percentage to Total

Population

Percentage to Total

Density

A

2,589.02

15.5

1,48,142

6.4

57.2

B

608.21

3.6

1,78,852

7.7

294.1

C

441.40

2.6

3,17,570

13.6

719.5

D

1,638.87

9.8

2,74,185

11.8

167.3

E

1,830.55

10.9

4,28,080

18.4

233.9

F

5,231.61

31.2

4,10,853

17.6

78.5

G

4,411.76

26.3

5,44,225

23.4

119.5

100.0

139.1

27,113* Total

16,751.42

100.0

23,29,020

*Harbour, Docks, Railways and unknown population.

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33

alphabet. It is true that this scheme of division is today devoid of any rational basis; nevertheless, for the sake of convenience we shall adopt it in our analysis. The respective areas and populations of each of the seven City wards are presented in Table 12. It will be evident that F ward has the largest area and third largest population, while C ward has the largest population and the second largest area. Together, these two wards account for more than half (57.5 per cent) of the area of the City and two-fifths of its population. Though A ward contains the smallest population, the smallest area occurs in C ward, which ranks fourth in the share of population. B ward has the second smallest area as well as population. E ward which has the second largest population is only fourth in area. D ward ranks fifth both in area and population. So far as the densities are concerned, it will be apparent that they admit of considerable variation. While the lowest density which occurs in A ward is as low as 57 persons per acre, the highest density rises to 720 in C ward. F and G wards also exhibit relatively lower densities while in the remaining three wards of B, D and E, the figure varies from 167 to 294—not at all very high in comparison to C ward. A comparison of the density figures of 1951 with those relating to the earlier decades is illuminating in that it throws significant light on the underlying ecological processes that have governed the growth of the City.

Table 13 Ward-wise Density of Population in the City, 1872–1951 Year

A

B

C

D

E

F

G

Total

1951

57.2

294.1

719.5

167.3

233.9

78.5

119.5

139.1

1941

39.5

222.0

480.1

127.6

163.4

42.3

62.4

88.9

1931

34.3

167.6

368.1

93.1

111.3

33.3

43.1

75.0

1921

46.0

201.8

430.7

88.7

112.0

29.7

43.7

78.4

1911

48.6

214.7

384.0

69.7

109.0

17.9

38.7

68.6

1901

40.1

214.2

325.1

48.6

92.1

13.0

23.5

54.1

1891

48.8

250.8

432.4

74.7

76.6

9.4

18.2

57.5

1881

51.9

275.7

447.2

63.9

61.1

7.1

13.2

54.3

1872

63.1

525.6

467.3

46.7

88.9

5.9

9.1

54.0

34

C. Rajagopalan

Table 13 showing the densities of the seven City wards from 1872–1951 is appended: While studying Table 13, it must be remembered that between 1872 and 1951 the area of the City has increased by about 43 per cent and this addition has affected the respective areas of the wards in successive decades. It must therefore be borne in mind that the alterations in the ward areas are to some extent responsible for the variations in the ward densities. In 1872 more than one half of the City’s population lived in C and B wards which together accounted for hardly 6 per cent of the total area of the City. The density was therefore highest in these two wards. The next highest density was obtained in E ward which with scarcely onetenth of the area of the City harboured a sixth of its population. A and D wards exhibited still lower densities while the lowest, viz. less than 10 persons per acre was found to occur in F and G wards. In 1881 also B and C wards remained the most thickly populated sections followed by E ward; but their densities declined-particularly that of B ward to the extent of 47 per cent owing chiefly to the addition to its area which more than doubled. A ward which also had added to its area by little less than one-half recorded a fall in its density. The only wards which increased their density were D, F, and G. But here again while the increase in D and G wards may be partly ascribed to the loss in their areas, that of F ward was notwithstanding an increase in its area. A real increase in density in 1881 may therefore be said to have taken place only in F ward. In 1891 the areas of all the wards remained more or less stationary and consequently the variations in density were real. Between 1881 and 1891 the aggregate population of A, B and C wards fell by about 5 per cent while that of the remaining wards rose by about 25 per cent. In other words, there was a movement of population towards the peripheral areas of the City which was reflected in the higher densities of D, E, F, and G wards as against a decline in the densities of the other three wards. The 1901 decrease in the City’s population left E, F and G wards unaffected, whose population on the contrary showed an increase which was especially remarkable in G ward. The densities of these three wards therefore showed an increase which to some extent is inflated by the changes in their respective areas. But the decline in the densities of the

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35

remaining four wards was genuine since the areas of all of them except that of D ward remained stationary. About 75 per cent of the 1911 increase in the City’s population was confined to the four wards, D, E, F and G. Since the population of B ward remained stationary, the remaining 25 per cent of the increase was absorbed by A and C wards. The area remained unchanged in all the wards except E and F which showed small increase. There was therefore a real increase in the densities of all the wards except that of B which remained unaffected. In 1921 A and B wards lost population but added to their areas and consequently their densities fell. All the remaining five wards increased their population and also their density. But since the variation in their areas was not proportionate to the growth of population, the increase in their density may be regarded as real. The decline of population in 1931 affected A, B, E and G wards of which the second suffered most. With the exclusion of A and C wards, there was no change in the areas of any ward. The densities of A, B and C wards registered a decrease while those of E and G wards remained unchanged. F ward was therefore the only exception to show an actual increase in density. In 1941 the population of all the wards increased and from that year the densities of all the wards also began to rise. Between 1941 and 1951, in the absence of any noticeable change in the area of the City, the  phenomenal increase in population affected all the wards, more especially the two wards, F and G in which the increase of population was of  the order of 86 to 98 per cent. C, A and E wards showed an increase of 50, 45 and 43 per cents respectively in their populations, while that of B and D wards rose by 31 per cent each. The density of all the wards therefore rose in tune with the rise in their populations. As the distribution of population is uneven even within the different wards, there are local areas within them characterised by marked differences in density. A Table showing the local densities of each of the seven wards for which figures are available is given in Appendix ‘A’. The highest local density of over 1,000 persons per acre occurs in the Kumbharwada and Bhuleshwar sections of C ward. Umarkhadi section in B ward and Kamatipura in E ward exhibit the next highest density ranging from 850 to 950 persons per acre. Chakla, Market, Dhobi Talao and Girgaum have densities varying from 600 to 650 persons. Lower

36

C. Rajagopalan

densities of less than 100 persons per acre are met with in A ward excluding Fort North, Walkeshwar and Mahalakshmi in D ward, Sewri and Sion in P ward and Dadar and Love Grove in G ward. All these sections except A ward and Sewri are predominantly residential areas. In all the other parts of the City, the density varies between 100 to 150 persons per acre. It is therefore clear that right from 1872 onwards, the densities of the four wards, D, E, F and G, which were until then the outlying suburbs of the City, have progressively risen in successive decades, subject to very minor exceptions. On the other hand, the densities of A, B and C wards have on the whole steadily declined until 1931. But from 1941 onwards, A and C wards have increased their density at a faster rate than B ward. We can therefore conclude that from 1872 to 1931 the spatial expansion of the City was through the process of what the urban sociologists call ‘invasion’,9 which is one of the most spectacular processes found in a city. It is a process whereby the territory occupied by a group or function is displaced by a dissimilar group or function. In Bombay, the City has expanded by flinging its tentacles upon the adjacent areas which in course of time came to be absorbed into the urban complex. This period is therefore characterised by a centrifugal wave of population. But the insular aspect of Bombay has set a limit to the City’s physical expansion, which having been reached in 1941, further growth of population was accompanied by a centripetal movement. The impact of this movement was more powerfully felt in C ward for two reasons. Besides C ward, the principal residential areas are located in the south-western and northern parts of the City. While the former is mainly a wealthy residential area, the latter constitutes the only residential district planned according to modern standards. These two areas were therefore not expected to attract any considerable section of the surplus population which had to be absorbed in C ward. Secondly, the fact that the majority of the buildings with more storeys is situated in the southern part of the City was also partly responsible for the presence of a large population in C ward. It must be pointed out, however, that mere figures fail to convey adequately the degree of congestion present in the two wards of B and C which are characterised by old and dilapidated buildings without adequate provision for light and ventilation, narrow streets and blind alleys and a virtual absence of open spaces. The ground floors of practically all the buildings of B ward and most of C ward are used for business purposes. In

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37

38

C. Rajagopalan

other words, there is no clear segregation of residential and commercial land use. It may also be pointed out that this abnormally high density is obtained in the absence of any corresponding vertical development since most of the buildings are too old for their foundations to support any new addition to their storeys. In view of the extreme degree of physical deterioration present in these two wards, they may, in the current ecological terminology, be described as ‘zones in transition.’10 While the City has grown by accretion, invasion and succession have been the two fundamental factors that have governed the physical expansion of the City. So far as the ecological structure of the City is concerned, the principal office district still functions as the nucleus of the City, beyond which is located the business-cum-residential area characterised by disorganization and physical deterioration. Adjacent to  this zone is the industrial district, beyond which again emerges the better class residential district. Though one may not agree with the Burgess hypothesis11 of the concentric zones as invariably governing the process of urban growth, at least so far as the sequences are concerned, the hypothesis appears to hold good in its application to the City of Bombay. It will be evident from the foregoing analysis that the population of the City has far outstepped the optimum size. The densities in certain parts of the City have reached absurd heights, the consequences of which can very well be imagined. It has long been known that the degree of crowding of organisms in a given space 01 density of population has an influence upon various vital processes of the individuals composing the population.12 With due consideration to the colossal character of the City’s problem, even on an exceptional basis, Bombay cannot shelter a population of more than a million and a half, which would allow a gross density of not more than 100 persons per acre.13 Restricting the population to this size would mean the displacement of about half a million people as in 1951. But as we have seen the chances are for the population to grow further, in which case, the number required to be moved out would be still larger. Migration has been an important factor that has contributed to the growth of population in the City One of the irresistible attractions of the City for the immigrant is undoubtedly the vast and variegated avenues of employment it offers.14 If this presumption can be proved to be correct, as it appears to be from the enquiries so far made, the

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39

decentralization of the principal agencies of employment such as offices and industries must be accepted as a pre-requisite for the deconcentration of the City’s population.

Notes 1. W. S. Thompson, Population Problems (London, 1953), p. 402. 2. The Greater Bombay District Census Hand Book, 1951. 3. The sex ratio is in favour of the males all over the country and especially so in the big cities. Calcutta with 570 females per 1,000 males recorded the lowest sex ratio in the country in 1951. 4. Kingsley Davis, The Population of India and Pakistan (Princeton, 1951), p. 135. 5. Ibid. 6. A Socio-Ecological Study of An Immigrant Community (Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis, Department of Sociology, University of Bombay, 1959). 7. Cf. A. Bopegamage, India’s Population Grows Young, Sociological Bulletin, Vol. VIII (March, 1959), pp. 69–85. 8. There is a difference in the area of the City as recorded by the Greater Bombay District Census Hand Book and the Bombay Municipal Corporation Administration Report. The former shows the area as 25.3 square miles according to which the gross density works out to 143.8 persons per acre. The latter gives the area as 16,751.42 acres which gives a density of 139.1 persons. 9. J. A. Quinn, Human Ecology (New York, 1950), p. 307, pp. 358–360; R. D. McKenzie, ‘The Ecological Approach to the Study of Human Community’ in R. E. Park, E. W. Burgess and R. D. McKenzie (ed.) The City (Chicago, 1925), pp. 63–79; W. E. Cole, Dynamic Urban Sociology (Harrisburg, 1954), p. 233. 10. E. W. Burgess, ‘The Growth of the City: An Introduction to a Research Project’ in R. E. Park, E. W. Burgess and R. D. McKenzie (ed.), op. cit., p. 50. 11. E. W. Burgess, op. cit., pp. 47–62. See for a criticism of the hypothesis: Maurice R. Davie, ‘The Pattern of Urban Growth’ in G. P. Murdock (ed.) Studies in the Science of Society, (New Haven, 1937), pp. 133–161. 12. Raymond Pearl, The Biology of Population Growth (London, 1926), p. 131. 13. According to the standard laid down by modern Town Planners, the optimum density in urban areas is 60 persons per acre. 14. Cf. Svend Riemer, The Modern City (New York, 1952), p. 74.

40

C. Rajagopalan

Appendix ‘A’ Table showing Local Densities in the City, 1951 Ward Section A

B

C

D

E

Area

Population

Persons per Acre

1

Upper Colaba

605 77

13,728

22 7

2

Middle & Lower Colaba

790 88

39,160

49 5

3

Fort South

454 26

16,840

371

4

Fort North

89 70

36,628

408 3

5

Esplanade

648 41

41,786

64 4

6

Mandvi

17160

36,407

212 2

7

Chakla

45 16

29,427

6515

8

Umarkhadi

94 95

80,472

847 5

9

Dongri

296 50

32,546

109 8

10

Khara Talao

57 36

32,160

558 9

11

Kumbharwada

42 05

44,699

1063 0

12

Bhuleshwar

43 22

59,021

1365 6

13

Market

8175

55,008

672 9

14

Dhobi Talao

114 63

69,697

608 0

15

Fanaswadi

102 39

56,985

556 5

16

Khetwadi

153 71

70,071

455 9

17

Girgaum

114 42

69,893

610 8

18

Chowpaty

106 52

33,670

3161

19

Walkeshwar

584 20

39,357

67 4

20

Mahalaxmi

680 02

61,194

89 4

21

Tardeo

146 92

51,438

350 1

22

Mazagaon

544 41

54,323

99 8

23

Tadwadi

359 90

59,025

164 0

24

1st Nagpada

96 20

20,642

214 5

25

2nd Nagpada

86 53

39,388

455 2

26

Kamatipura

60 32

57,370

951 1

27

Byculla

536 27

1,45,894

272 5 (Table contd.)

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41

(Table contd.) F

G

28

Parel

560 59

1,11,277

198 5

29

Sewri

1129 59

63,087

55 8

30

Naigaum

425 08

1,06,061

249 5

31

Matunga

388 46

53,229

137 0

32

Sion

2727 89

77,199

28 3

33

Dadar

1450 38

1,40,366

96 8

34

Mahim

370 74

64,084

172 8

35

Prabhadevi

489 46

81,581

166 7

36

Worli

915 11

98,380

107 5

37

Chinchpokli

477 31

1,49,301

312 8

38

Love Grove

708 76

10,513

14 8

Harbour, Docks, Railways and Unknown Total

27,113 16751 42

23,29,020

139 1

3 Ecology and Development in India: A Field and Its Future Amita Baviskar

This paper attempts to delineate the growth of the field of ‘environmental sociology’ in India, with a special focus on its relationship with development sociology. I shall review the major developments in the field and shall critically evaluate their theoretical and practical achievements. In conclusion, I shall draw attention to neglected areas and issues which, in my opinion, merit further research.

The Intellectual Genealogy Compared to economics or political science, sociology is a young discipline. Within sociology, the study of ecology and development is younger still. An indication of its recent origin is the fact that there is no consensus on a title for the range of research in this area; it has been variously referred to as ‘ecological anthropology’, ‘social ecology’, and ‘environmental sociology’. Ramachandra Guha (1994), a social historian who must be credited with firmly establishing and fostering this field in India, chooses to follow an illustrious sociologist, Radhakamal Mukerjee, in calling the field ‘social ecology’. In the 1920s, Radhakamal Mukerjee proposed the ‘region’ as a concept that would allow a synthesis of ecology and sociology. Any human group, wrote Mukerjee, must be considered in relation ‘not merely to temperature, humidity, sunshine, altitude, etc, but also to their indirect effects, the interwoven chain of biotic communities to which it is

ECOLOGY AND DEVELOPMENT IN INDIA

43

inextricably linked, the plants that it cultivates, the animals it breeds and even the insects which are indigenous to the region’. ‘The region’, he also wrote, ‘is at once an ecological aggregation of persons, an economic framework and a cultural order’ (quoted in Guha 1992: 62). From the region, Mukerjee went on to flesh out a theory of ‘social ecology’ (Mukerjee 1942) which he subsequently tested through empirical studies such as those of the Indo-Gangetic Plain and of agricultural productivity in the princely state of Gwalior. The theory of ‘social ecology’, like its forebear ‘human ecology’, is modelled on the discipline of ‘ecology’ in the natural sciences. Concepts such as community, niche, interconnectedness through the ‘webs of life’, the notion of equilibrium and so on, are borrowed from ecology proper. The only difference between ecology and ‘social ecology’ is that the latter systematically includes the human species within its ambit. While a reminder of the ‘web of life’ is an important corrective for the social sciences which generally underplay the significance of biotic factors, the social sciences, I would argue, cannot be modelled on ecology. The human species, unlike the species with which ecology deals, has enormous powers for transforming landscapes, powers that are unique to it. In addition, ecology rests fundamentally on the idea that biological systems tend towards homeostasis which does not hold in the case of societies. The concept of an organic ‘community’ in ecology is also quite different from a sociological understanding of ‘communities’ as socially stratified. That is, the crucial element of social thought and action cannot be accommodated within a ‘social ecology’ modelled on the natural sciences. Instead of incorporating the ‘social’ into ecology, I prefer the injection of the ‘environmental’ into sociology. ‘Environmental sociology’ allows us to retain the disciplinary orientation of the social sciences, and focus on social relations and processes as they affect and are, in turn, affected by the biophysical world in which social beings live. While Radhakamal Mukerjee was the first Indian scholar to highlight the links between the social and the biophysical worlds, his footprints on the sands of Indian sociology are rather faint. It is inexplicable that the considerable opus that was Mukerjee’s work over a lifetime is today rarely mentioned by environmental sociologists. So is the case with a man whom Mukerjee greatly admired—Patrick Geddes, the remarkable urban planner who brought ecological sensitivities to bear on the development of towns such as Indore, Lucknow, Patiala, Dacca, and who was a Professor of Sociology and Civics at Bombay University in the 1920s.1 In his essay on the ‘Prehistory of Indian Environmentalism’,

44

Amita Baviskar

Guha (1992) highlights the largely forgotten work of Mukerjee, Geddes, Verrier Elwin and J. C. Kumarappa. While Kumarappa, the Gandhian economist who developed the blueprint for an ecologically sustainable village-centred economic order, was sidelined by the prevailing hegemonic ideal of a centralized and resource-intensive path of development, history has been a little kinder to Verrier Elwin. Elwin’s work on the Baiga (1939), with its poignant account of a community torn from its moorings by the colonial ban on shifting cultivation, and on the Agaria (1942), a tribe of charcoal iron makers, are classics which are still read and which have influenced the sensibilities of a number of sociologists of tribal communities (see Sundar 1997). In his ethnographic writing as well as his later policy-oriented work on the north-east, Elwin dwelt on the cultural symbiosis between tribal communities and forests—a symbiosis which had to be recognized and respected by scholars and administrators.2 In their own ways, these scholars shared an understanding of the links between environment and development, for all of them were actively involved in the enterprise of social and economic reconstruction for an independent India. The optimism of those times is reflected in their work: Kumarappa could be hopeful that a free India would restore the social and natural integrity of the village (something colonial rule had gravely undermined); Geddes that Indian urbanization would build upon longstanding architectural and town planning traditions while being in harmony with the countryside; Elwin that the forest world and the life world of the tribals would be once again united; and Mukerjee that social theory and planning would benefit alike from a fundamentally biophysical and ecological approach (Guha 1992: 62–3).

According to Guha, the first decades after independence were an age of ‘ecological innocence’, a circumstance that helps explain why environmentally-oriented thinking found such little resonance in intellectual and political life. We had to wait till the 1970s for a systematic development of environmental sociology.

The Rebirth of Environmental Sociology The revival of interest in environmental sociology in the 1970s is due to the emergence of environmental movements which brought issues of environment and development on the public agenda. It is ironic, in

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retrospect, that in India ecological concerns emerged in opposition to development priorities. In the earliest debates which were perceived to be on ‘environmental’ issues as, for example, Chipko and the Silent Valley, there was a sharp division between those who supported ‘development’ over ‘environment’ and those who argued for ‘environment’ over ‘development’. The ‘development’ camp was committed to the cause of accelerating economic growth through industrialization for increasing human welfare, while the ‘environment’ camp was concerned with the preservation of unique ecosystems and endangered species, as well as with the maintenance of an overall ecological balance. Environmentalists were accused of forcing their elitist fads on a poor nation whose foremost priority should be to meet its citizens’ basic needs. India’s Prime Minister Indira Gandhi articulated this belief at the 1972 Stockholm Conference when she said that ‘poverty was the worst polluter’. It was asserted that, in the Indian context, environmental concerns were a luxury imported from the West and that environmentalists were ‘anti-development’. In this highly-charged debate the pro-development group had gained much moral superiority by demonstrating its concern for human welfare, while environmentalists were projected as an affluent, pampered and naive minority, out of touch with the harsh realities of poverty.3 Indeed, this accusation was partly valid One section among the environmentalists consisted of wildlife conservationists—amateurs (many of them old shikaris-turned-photographers from the former princely states) as well as members of the scientific establishment—who had privileged access to Indira Gandhi This group of environmentalists successfully brought pressure on the government to create a network of national parks and sanctuaries all over India to protect endangered wildlife, overlooking the subsistence claims of the local residents. The Silent Valley power project promoted by the Government of Kerala—which was given up by the Centre because it threatened tropical rainforests— was an instance of the success of elitist environmentalism. To distance themselves from elitist environmentalism other environmentalists kept away from wildlife conservation. Most notable among these was the Centre for Science and Environment (CSE), which mobilized many activists (whom I would, in retrospect, call Ecological Marxists) to prepare the State of India’s Environment: Citizen’s Reports which articulated a very different ideology (CSE 1982, 1984). They

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challenged the very terms of the debate by arguing that development versus environment, was a false dichotomy. Ecological Marxists asserted that India’s development policies had failed because they had not fundamentally changed the patterns of control over the means of production. The concentration of the means of production in the hands of the state bureaucracy, the industrial elite and the rich peasants had skewed technological choices, production decisions and income distribution. The interests and priorities of these dominant classes created a mindset which saw industrialization and urbanization as the only path to development. The impoverishment of the working class and the impoverishment of the environment were seen to be inter-related. Ecological crises grew out of the inequities of control over, not only industry and land, but also other productive resources such as water, forests and pastures. A model of development based on uncontrolled industrialization was bound to fail because it destroyed both the natural resource base on which material prosperity is founded, as well as sources of livelihood of the poor. Such a model only served the short-term interests of the rich. Environmentalists accompanied their critique of ongoing development with the proposal of an alternative concept—‘sustainable development’. An economy based on sustainable development, it was argued, would harvest natural resources to meet basic developmental needs in a way that would allow a continuous stream of ecological benefits in the future (WCED 1987). The interests of social justice would determine development priorities. In this way, the Ecological Marxists among the environmentalists showed that, instead of being antithetical, development and environment concerns mutually reinforced each other. The spread of the concept of ‘sustainable development’ transformed ‘ecology’ from the, monopoly of the physical and biological sciences into a subject to which the social sciences could also contribute. This change became possible due to the successful efforts of social activists who demonstrated that questions about natural resource use and abuse were fundamentally linked to issues of social inequality and power, where class and gender relations, the state and other social institutions, technologies and cosmologies played a central part. Both environmental sociology and development sociology share a common orientation in that they emerged as responses to a sense of wrong. In the case of development sociology, the problems of newly-independent nations preoccupied the minds of planners, both economists

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and sociologists, leading to a focus on what was wrong and what needed to be done. In this problem-solving approach lay the beginnings of development sociology, where the central concern was how can a new nation, impoverished by colonial rule and mired in tradition, achieve its ambition of modernization, industrialization and urbanization? So also with environmental sociology. Interest in the subject grew as the notion of environmental crisis imprinted itself more and more widely and deeply in popular consciousness. Again, a sense of what was wrong and what needed to be done drove the discipline in a certain direction. Thus, we find in development sociology as well as environmental sociology, a focus on grounded analysis rather than on theoretical abstraction, on prescription rather than on interpretation. The strong normative urge in environmental sociology, I would speculate, is propelled by two factors. The first, already mentioned above, is the popular4 perception of environmental crisis. This perception has been greatly influenced by western discussions in the 1970s on population explosion and on the limits to growth (Meadows et al 1972), and in the 1980s on the destruction of tropical rainforests. Since perceptions of crises tend to run to apocalyptic visions and dramatic moments, environmental sociology too has focused on acute rather than chronic problems. For instance, there have been numerous studies of the social and ecological consequences of displacement due to dams and other development projects, yet very few have tried to locate these projects as part of a wider, more gradual, historical process of change. While the urgent nature of a crisis certainly demands our attention, we should not simply fall for the temptation of catering to the public demand with journalistic coverage. The second factor which has led environmental sociology to a preoccupation with prescription has been the role of international aid organizations, from the World Bank to bilateral donor agencies. The funding priorities of these organizations have closely followed international trends in liberal development sociology. Thus, from the 1970s, there was an overriding focus on women5 (which, combined with concerns about population growth, led to programmes for family planning and maternal health), from the 1980s (mirroring the concern about deforestation) there was an added emphasis on social forestry followed by community wastelands development, and in the 1990s we see a preoccupation with state-local community partnerships in the form of joint forest management (JFM) With the financial resources at their

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command, international aid organizations have greatly influenced the direction of research. Thus we find a fairly well-developed literature on wastelands development (Singh and Burra 1993, INTACH 1989, Chambers et al 1989), and now on JFM (see SPWD and Ford Foundation publications, Poffenberger and McGean 1996), areas where aid agencies have intervened significantly. Besides giving environmental sociology a general orientation towards policy prescriptions, the priorities and perspectives of funding agencies have also shaped the manner in which various sociological concepts have been constructed. I shall discuss this problem subsequently.

The Field of Environmental Sociology If the field of development sociology concerns itself with studying processes of economic change in their social context, we would expect that environmental sociology in India would contribute to our understanding of the ecological dimensions of the transition from a system based on state-led public investment to a liberalized economy. However, there are virtually no detailed studies of the relationship between the environment and national economic development. Consider, for instance, the case of the Green Revolution, a key intervention in the agricultural sector. Even three decades later, there is no study that examines the combined effects of ecological and social transformations wrought by the Green Revolution.6 The pioneering work of Madhav Gadgil and Ramachandra Guha (1992, 1995) in describing the broad ecological impacts of economic development in independent India is an exception, but neither of them is a sociologist in the formal sense: Gadgil is an ecological scientist while Guha is a historian. In fact, Indian historians are far ahead of their sociologist colleagues in studying environmental change; the impact of the colonial state on customary forest, pasture and water management practices has been discussed practically threadbare7 (Arnold and Guha 1995; Chakravarty-Kaul 1996; Guha 1989a; Rangarajan 1996). To the ecologist Madhav Gadgil and the anthropologist K. C. Malhotra must go the credit for attempting an ecological analysis of the iron framework of India’s social structure—the caste system. In a novel but controversial essay, these scholars have described the caste system as a set of trophic levels in which different castes occupy ecological niches marked by division of labour and resource partitioning (1994). They

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propose that the caste system has endured over centuries because of its ecological stability brought about by limiting inter-caste competition over natural resources. While their account of the niche diversification practised by pastoralists and nomads is quite persuasive, it would be a mistake to extend the analysis to the caste system as a whole. The study of a few jatis in close proximity within the caste hierarchy (the Kunbis and the Gavlis, or the Tirumal Nandiwalas, Vaidu and Phase-Pardhis) may show instances of amicable resource-partitioning, but the study of the caste system as a whole has to account for the profound inequalities which enable upper castes to deny resources to those below them. Gadgil and Malhotra’s account is dubious because of its strong functionalism, and has been attacked for seeming to justify the caste system. This essay, along with the work of Vandana Shiva and others, has also been criticized for mythologizing India’s past as an ecological golden age and constructing a ‘new traditionalist discourse’ (Sinha et al.: 1997). Development sociology in India has, by and large, tended to concentrate on processes internal to the nation-state. Unlike Latin American researchers, for instance, Indian sociologists have generally not conceived of development as a global process of resource extraction and transfer. The relationship between nation-states and global circuits of capital has not received much attention in India. In the case of environmental sociology, too, international processes and discourses have not been examine in much detail by Indian scholars even though post-colonial Western discourses on population explosion, deforestation, protection of ‘wilderness’, genetic diversity and intellectual property rights, cultural rights of ‘indigenous people’ and so on have been enormously influential in shaping Indian debates. While the spread of industrialization and urbanization in the West generated an extensive literature on the transformation of the fundamental ecological categories of time and space, of changes in the nature of work and leisure, public and private spheres, such a cultural ecology has been absent from India.8 Most studies of urban sociology have followed the city-as-social-text perspective (cf. Oldenburg on Lucknow), focusing on the spatial metaphors in which religious, colonial and communal concepts express themselves. There has been a simultaneous neglect of the political economy of lived environments (cf. Castells for Brazil), the  contestations over urban space, amenities and common property resources which are central to processes of urban transformation.

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While environmental sociologists in India have largely ignored the macro-framework of development in the form of industrialization and urbanization, they have produced numerous micro-studies on impacts of development projects, especially the displacement of human populations. As mentioned earlier, the impetus for this came, in part, from aid organizations, but a larger share of the credit for drawing sociologists’ attention to these projects must surely go to various social movements, Chipko and Narmada Bachao Andolan being prime examples Popular resistance against projects such as Sardar Sarovar dam, aquaculture in lake Chilika, a firing range in Netarhat, and so on, received extensive media coverage and academic interest was quick to follow. Social conflict over the privatization or ‘statization’ of rural common property resources—especially forests and fisheries—also drew sociologists’ attention to the study of changing patterns of their ownership, control and use. It is interesting to note that, when studying impacts of development projects, environmental sociology has devoted what is perhaps a disproportionate amount of attention to the plight of forest-dwellers, especially adivasis (Baviskar 1995) Dalits, landless labourers, and other socially oppressed groups have not figured prominently as the subject of environmental sociology I shall examine the nessie reasons for this in the following section. The articulation of environmentalist ideologies by social movements was also influential in spurring sociologists to discuss not only the inequitable effects of development projects, but also to launch a wider critique of the development paradigm, denouncing the values upon which it was based. In a discourse which laid claim to a Gandhian heritage, scholars such as Vandana Shiva (1988), Ashis Nandy (1987) and Shiv Vishvanathan (1990), attacked the ideology of domination over nature (and women) that underlay Western science and technology. Thus a critique of modernity has been a powerful current within environmental sociology. With environmental movements setting the agenda for environmental sociology, it is perhaps unsurprising that there has been little critical examination of the movements themselves. Important issues such as the articulation of the movement ideology; mobilization of disparate social groups under the umbrella of ‘environment’; gender, class and tribal divisions within these movements and the relationship between activists and the support of the movements have received little attention and sociologists have satisfied themselves by repeating the

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party line. Attempts to unravel the packaging of struggles as ‘environmental’ have just begun. Gail Omvedt is one of the few scholars who has written extensively on this subject (Omvedt 1993). My own work (1995) discusses how the Narmada Bachao Andolan transcends the differences between hill adivasis and caste Hindus of the plains in the Narmada valley to construct a unified environmental discourse. I have subsequently examined the the relationship between middle-class nontribal political activists and adivasi leaders in framing tribal politics in Madhya Pradesh (Baviskar 1997a and 1997b).

Theoretical Problems For a variety of reasons mentioned above, environmental sociology has been somewhat uncritical in its acceptance of certain key analytical concepts. I shall limit my discussion here to a cluster of these concepts, viz., ‘community’, ‘tradition’, ‘rural’ and ‘tribe’.9 Influenced by the liberal perspective of aid agencies, environmental sociologists have employed the notion of the village community in a way that ignores its power dynamics and its changing character. Gender, caste and class relations of conflict within the village as well as the relationships of production, exchange and consumption that different groups within the village have with the rest of the world tend to be obscured. What we get, instead, is a neo-Chayanovian ideal of the united, unchanging peasant community. If there is any discussion of social change at all, it is usually unilateral—villagers enter only as the victims of development. Only the rare study attributes agency and dynamism to villagers. And if it does so, collective action is shown as a mysterious, spontaneous phenomenon, with little attention to the mobilization of resources and the transformation of consciousness. The ideal of a self-sufficient peasant community underlies much policy intervention on the part of aid agencies. Environmental sociologists, too, tend to fall prey to the celebration of a romanticized rurality. In this scenario, migration from rural areas is always treated as a problem, as a failure of the rural environment to sustain livelihoods. Policy interventions therefore focus on strengthening livelihoods from the land and other natural resources, so that people are not ‘forced’ to migrate. Yet the limited evidence available suggests that migration occurs due to both pull as well as push factors, due to the lure of cash incomes, urban

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lifestyles as well as rural impoverishment. However, migration and urbanization have been largely ignored in the field of environmental sociology, or treated as social ‘problems’ to be redressed. Another related blind spot in environmental sociology is the treatment of ‘tradition’ and the apotheosis of groups such as adivasis and women as being ‘closer to nature’ and as bearers of traditional forms of knowledge, ecological wisdom and so on. Among scholars, Vandana Shiva is particularly prone to such essentialist representations. The search for alternatives to the demolished Western paradigm of development has led researchers to innovatively (and freely) interpret Hindu religious texts in order to excavate ancient Eastern ecological traditions (see also Vatsyayan 1992; Banwari 1992).10 In their uncritical acceptance of ‘tradition’ and in their implicit belief in a golden age before colonialism when Eastern wisdom and a religiously-founded conservationist ethic held sway, some environmental sociologists tend to subscribe to a position that comes perilously close to an inverted Orientalism (Guha 1989b). Environmental sociology will mature as a field onlv when it is able to use dichotomies like ‘tradition’ and ‘modernity’ not in black and white terms, but as complex and dynamic analytical constructs. To some extent, environmental sociologists have followed social activists and aid administrators in taking concepts such as ‘community’, ‘tradition’ and ‘rurality’ for granted because they have been either unable or unwilling to distance themselves from an activist-interventionist agenda. In a field as politically charged as environmental conflict, it is perhaps unrealistic to expect that sociologists will play a role that is distinct from that of the activist, the state, the donor, or the NGO. Yet environmentalism is no substitute for environmental sociology. Sociologists must be careful to locate environmentalism as an ideological construction that takes on a variety of forms. However difficult it may be, it is necessary that we struggle to reconcile the urge to champion causes with the belief that we are accountable to a wider community which will appreciate independent inquiry.

Conclusion Environmental sociology, though young, is not a marginal specialization It holds the potential of altering the way we understand all social phenomena. A sensitivity to ecological factors does not limit us to a

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fragmented treatment of forests, water or pastures, but compels us to explore the continuities in natural resource use practices as experienced and acted upon by people both urban and rural, women and men, adivasi and caste Hindu. Environmental sociology should study how ecological factors shape material practices and ideas even as people shape the environment around them. This approach is immense in scope, it is relevant to the entire field of sociology.

Notes Comments from Andre Beteille and M N Panini are gratefully acknowledged The author is responsible for the shortcomings that remain This paper was originally written as a theme paper on Ecology and Development for the XIII All India Sociological Conference at Kolhapur in November 1996. 1. There has been a recent innovative attempt to use Patrick Geddes writings in preparing an alternative master plan for Delhi (Dunu Roy: personal communication). Large sections of Delhi’s population are threatened by displacement due to Supreme Court directives about the relocation of industries which violate the zoning specifications of Delhi’s Master Plan, and about the removal of unauthorized colonies. In response, the Delhi Janwadi Adhikar Manch, a federation of trade unions and human rights organizations, has, among other actions, initiated a participatory survey of resource use in selected bastis of industrial workers. Translations of the master plan are being circulated along with excerpts from Geddes’ writing, in order to introduce people to two alternative modes of urban planning Informed by this literature, and equipped with data from the survey, the Manch hopes to enable workers to prepare an alternative master plan for the city which reflects their priorities. 2. Elwin’s fierce exchanges with G S Ghurye on this issue are well-known (for a summary, see Baviskar 1997c 104–107). 3. This tendency can be seen even today, when political proponents of development projects dismiss all environmental concerns on these grounds. 4. The use of the word ‘popular’ is somewhat misleading I should clarify that the notion of ecological crisis exists at two levels one, among the intelligentsia (disseminated by school education, the press and the electronic media) and, two as experienced in the lives of the rural poor as a crisis in access to fuel, fodder, or other aspects of livelihood. Large numbers of people, who do not belong to these two sections, do not subscribe to this notion. 5. The subject of ‘WED’—women, environment and development, has now burgeoned into ‘a field of its own’ Indian debates in the West. Thus, in Vandana Shiva (1988), we have a representative of the essentialist position that asserts a biological closeness between women and nature Shiva’s paradigm conflates patriarchy, Judeao— Christianity, capitalism and technological domination over nature A much more compelling and reasoned analysis is found in Bina Agarwal’s work (1992), which treats the women and environment link as the product of particular social structures Rao (1991) offers a review of this literature.

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6. I exclude Vandana Shiva’s The Violence of the Green Revolution (1989) as a work more polemical than scholarly, which uses data in a highly selective manner. 7. However, pre-colonial and non-colonial states have remained largely uncharted territory. 8. A notable exception to this rule is Kumar (1988). 9. I have discussed elsewhere in somewhat arbitrary use of the concept ‘environmental’ in classifying areas of study (Baviskar 1995 40–41). 10. Compare these with the carefully nuanced and historically sensitive interpretation of Dove (1994).

References Agarwal, Bina 1992 ‘The Gender and Environment Debate Lessons from India’, Feminist Studies. 18(1) 119–158. Arnold, David and Ramachandra Guha 1995 Nature, Culture, Imperialism Essays on the Environmental History of South Asia Delhi Oxford University Press. Banwari 1992 Panchavati Indian Approach to Environment (transl from Hindi by Asha Vohra) Delhi Shri Vinayak Publications. Baviskar, Amita 1995 In the Belly of the River Tribal Conflicts over Development in the Narmada Valley Delhi Oxford University Press. ——— 1997a ‘Who Speaks for the Victims?’ Seminar, 451 59–61 Issue on Democracy and Development. ——— 1997b ‘Tribal Politics and Discourses of Environmentalism’, Contributions to Indian Sociology, 31 (in press). ——— 1997c ‘Displacement and the Bhilala Tribals of the Narmada Valley’, in Jean Dreze, M Samson and S Singh (eds) The Dam and the Nation Displacement and Resettlement in the Narmada Valley, pp 103–135 Delhi Oxford University Press Delhi. Chambers, Robert, N C Saxena and Tushaar Shah 1989 To the Hands of the Poor Water and Trees London Intermediate Technology Publications. Chakravarty-Kaul, Minoti 1996 Common Lands and Customary Law Institutional Change in North India Over the Past Two Centuries Delhi Oxford University Press. ——— 1982 The State of India’s Environment A Citizen’s Report New Delhi CSE. CSE (Centre for Science and Environment) 1985 The State of India’s Environment The Second Citizen’s Report New Delhi CSE. Dove, Michael 1994 ‘‘Jungle’ in Nature and Culture’, in Ramachandra Guha (ed) Social Ecology, pp 90–111 Delhi Oxford University Press. Elwin, Verrier 1939 The Baiga, London John Murray. ——— 1942 The Agaria, Calcutta Oxford University Press. Gadgil, Madhav and Ramachandra Guha 1992 This Fissured Land An Ecological History of India Delhi Oxford University Press. ——— 1995 Ecology and Equity The Use and Abuse of Nature in Contemporary India Delhi Penguin. Gadgil, Madhav and K C Malhotra 1994 ‘The Ecological Significance of Caste’ in Ramachandra Guha (ed) Social Ecology, pp 27–41 Oxford University Press Delhi.

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Guha, Ramachandra 1989a The Unquiet Woods Ecological Change and Peasant Resistance in the Himalaya Delhi Oxford University Press. ——— 1989b ‘Radical American Environmentalism and Wilderness Preservation A Third World Critique’, Environmental Ethics, 11(1) 71–83. ——— 1992 ‘Prehistory of Indian Environmentalism Intellectual Traditions’ Economic and Political Weekly, 27 (1&2) 57–64. ——— (ed) 1994 Social Ecology Delhi Oxford University Press. INTACH (Indian National Trust for Art and Cultural Heritage) 1989 Deforestation, Drought and Desertification Perceptions on a Growing Ecological Crisis New Delhi INTACH. Kumar, Nita 1988 The Artisans of Banaras Popular Culture and Identity, 1880–1986 Orient Longman New Delhi. Meadows, D, J Randers, and W W Behrens 1972 The Limits to Growth Universe Books New York. Mukerjee, Radhakamal 1942 Social Ecology London Longmans, Green and Co. Nandy, Ashis 1987 Traditions, Tyranny and Utopias Essays in the Politics of Awareness Delhi Oxford University Press. Nandy, Ashis and Shiv Vishvanathan 1990 in F Marglin and S Marglin (eds) Dominating Knowledge Development, Culture and Resistance pp 145–184, Oxford Clarendon Press. Omvedt, Gail 1993 Reinventing Revolution New York M E Sharpe. Poffenberger, Mark and Betsy McGean (eds) 1996 Village Voices, Forest Choices Joint Forest Management in India Delhi Oxford University Press. Rangarajan, Mahesh 1996 Fencing the Forest Conservation and Ecological Change in India’s Central Provinces 1860–1914 Oxford University Press Delhi. Rao, Brinda 1991 ‘Dominant Constructions of Women and Nature in Social Science Literature’ Capitalism, Nature, Socialism Pamphlet 2 Santa Cruz University of California. Shiva, Vandana 1988 Staying Alive Women, Ecology and Survival in India New Delhi Kali for Women. ——— 1989 The Violence of the Green Revolution Ecological Degradation and Political Conflict in Punjab Privately published. Singh, Andrea M and Neera Burra 1993 Women and Wasteland Development in India New Delhi Sage. Sinha, Subir, Shubhra Gururani and Brian Greenberg 1997 ‘The New Traditionalist Discourse of Indian Environmentalism’, The Journal of Peasant Studies, 24(3) 65–99. Sundar, Nandini 1997 Subalterns and Sovereigns An Anthropological History of Bastar 1854– 1996 Delhi Oxford University Press. Vatsyayan, Kapila 1992 ‘Ecology and Indian Myth’ in Geeti Sen (ed) Indigenous Vision Peoples of India, Attitudes to the Environment New Delhi Sage. World Commission on Environment and Development (WCED) 1987 Our Common Future Delhi Oxford University Press.

4 Towards a More Meaningful Study of Ecology, Society and Culture Indra Deva

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he quest for a meaningful study of ecology, society and culture inevitably leads one to consider in some detail the direction which our discipline should take. In trying to do so I shall speak plainly, without mincing matters or playing safe. For, I do think that our hesitation to bring into the ambit of academic discourse that which we really believe to be true, has been a major cause of the stunted growth of social sciences in India. Of course, I can be wrong on many points But unless faults are brought out in the open, there is little chance of their being remedied. Concern for ecology is a good vantage point for examining the nature, direction and goals of development, and also the role that sociology and other social sciences are expected to play in this whole process. The way various forces of ‘development’ are damaging environment and threatening the very existence of humankind has once again shaken modern man’s self-righteous complacency. This is perhaps the second shock that has forced modern man to think about what is being done in the name of progress. The first shock was an aftermath of the First World War. The intensity of its jolt was made more severe by the Great Depression of the early 1930s. That first shock gave birth to powerful works like Oswald

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Spengler’s Decline of the West, Arnold J Toynbee’s A Study of History, and Pitinm A Sorokin’s Social and Cultural Dynamics. Such works, each in its own way, forecast the doom of Western civilization. Before the First World War the elites of the West had an overbearing sense of confidence in themselves, their rationality, and their civilization. They were sure that their society was inexorably bound to traverse higher and higher echelons of progress. This was perhaps natural. Ever new victories over the forces of nature, and conquest of far-flung lands in all parts of the globe had engendered in them an unquestioning belief in the incomparable superiority of their society and culture. Today, even though reckless pursuit of the current model of development has brought humankind almost to the brink of destruction of all life on this planet, there does not seem to be a commensurate seriousness in the search for alternatives. After all, this is not the only form of society that humankind can have. Man has known many types of societies and cultures. It may neither be desirable nor possible to revert to any one of these earlier forms but we can surely strive to explore better socio-cultural possibilities through intelligent use of the knowledge and techniques that humanity as a whole has accumulated.

Ecology and Worldview Man has lived on this earth for hundreds of thousands of years. But he has never threatened so perilously its environment as he has been doing during the two or three centuries of the modern era. It appears to me that this cataclysmic change has been brought about primarily by the critical transformation in man’s image of himself and in man’s view of the world around him. In all pre-modern cultures—be they tribal or peasant—man looked upon himself as a part of creation as a whole. He treated other animals, trees, and inanimate objects not only as equals but considered them even venerable. Thus in tribal societies particular clans have various animals, trees and inanimate objects as their totems, which are believed to be the ancestors of the clan and are considered sacred. In the peasant civilization too man has no attitude of disdain towards nature. India, of course, is a good example of a sustained and

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mature peasant civilization. As all of us know, not only the cow but the deadly serpent, nag, is worshipped throughout India. J. Ph. Vogel (1926) has given a comprehensive account of the startling similarities in all parts of India regarding beliefs and rituals connected with serpent worship. Tulsi, pipal, bargad (vat) and a large number of other trees are considered sacred, and cutting them down and unnecessarily chopping off their branches or even plucking their leaves is regarded as sinful. The saint poet Maluk Das enjoins us not to cut off any green branch. He says that a cut off branch turns into a sapless arrow. In Kerala, there has been a vigorous tradition of maintaining sacred groves. In Rajasthan there is a community whose members would prefer their own bodies to be slashed rather than allowing the cutting of trees or hunting of deer. Rivers and mountains too are sacred. Ganga is believed to be so sacred that not only a dip in it but even the uttering of its name from a hundred miles rids one of all sins. It has been common among the folk to take a vow in the name of Ganga to establish the authenticity of a statement. Atonement is sought even for the violence done to the earth in ploughing it or in digging it for providing foundation to a building. Appropriate worship of the earth has to be performed before these activities are started. The foundations of such attitude of reverence towards the elements and forces of nature lie deep in time. In the Rigveda, they are conceived as gods and goddesses. Apart from the sun which is looked upon as a god in many religious traditions, fire and wind too are gods, that is, Agni and Marut respectively. The beautiful rosy dawn is personified as the goddess Usha. Thus in peasant civilization both elite and folk traditions share a Weltanschauung which is imbued with such a deep reverence towards nature that it strongly precludes violence to the environment. This is no less true of the Weltanschauung of tribal cultures. The modern industrial era, however, is marked by a rupture of this tradition. Unprecedented advances in science and technology have made man too sure of himself. He has begun to adopt the supercilious attitude of thinking himself the master of the whole world and takes it for granted that nature is meant to be exploited by him. The cardinal motive force of unlimited acquisitiveness and the unchallenged ideal of an ever-rising standard of living’ (whatever that means) has inevitably led to incalculable damage to the environment. The insatiable hunger of a plethora of rapidly proliferating factories continues to devour more

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and more forests, and the outflow of pollutants from industries poisons the rivers and makes fields barren. It would be perilous to ignore the frightening consequences of the green house effect; and modern man has made a big hole even in the ozone layer that protects our planet. But the most disconcerting fact is that all this industrialization has failed to keep its promise of a happy life for man. It was once thought that when machines would do all the drudgery, man would be free to pursue the finer things of life, such as music and poetry. But to our utter discomfiture we find that the more industrialized a society becomes, the more are people prone to hurry and anxiety. Even when they have some time to spare, their state of mind hardly has the serenity to enjoy good music or literature. Man in the industrial societies tends to remain so bored that his boredom can be broken only by massive doses of excitement. This is why there is a surfeit of violence and sex in popular motion pictures and novels. When the food is insipid one needs some spicy achar (pickle) to gulp it down. Modern life has become so monotonous that it is unbearable without the kicks served through the media of mass culture. In short, the ‘development’ achieved at the cost of continuing devastation of environment seems hardly worth striving for. The fact that the Soviet experiment is in a shambles, does not by itself prove that all is well with Western industrial society. In fact, the weight of the accumulated evidence that has been marshalled by Western sociologists themselves presents a gloomy picture. Modern industrial society is marked by rising levels of alienation and anomie, and an increasing propensity to threaten the ecological balance.

The Challenge for Sociology It appears to me that the basic challenge for sociology today is to try to find a way out of this impasse. But sociology at its present level of development does not seem to be equal to this task. One important reason for the lopsided state of our discipline seems to be its excessive Western-ethnocentricism. Recently, the Gulbenkian Commission on the Restructuring of the Social Sciences considered in some detail the parochial (Eurocentric) nature of social sciences notwithstanding its claim to universality—‘universal relevance, universal applicability, universal validity’. This commission consisted of distinguished scholars belonging to various countries. Six of them were from

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the social sciences, two from the natural sciences and two from the humanities. Its report was circulated in late 1995. This report does take note of the criticism of claims to universality with regard to the selection of topics of research and subjects studied; the narrow social base of recruitment of the researchers; and the epistemological underpinnings of the analyses. To my mind, however, this leaves out a very important element that undermines the universality of current social sciences, particularly sociology—its narrow and non-representative empiric base. Insofar as the social sciences, including sociology, claim to be sciences, their inferences must be based on the observation of some empirical reality in terms of which these are verified and validated. But what is the empirical reality on which the bulk of the subject matter and inferences of sociology, as it exists today, are based? By and large this empirical reality pertains to modern industrial society. We must recognize that modern industrial society occupies a very small fraction of the time during which human societies have been in existence. Human beings, and consequently human societies, have been there for hundreds of thousands of years, while modern industrial society has been in existence only for a few centuries. And for better or for worse, modern industrial society is critically different from all other forms of human society. Thus, when generalizations are made or inferences drawn about human society as such, on the basis of the study of modern industrial society, these are based on a very small and very unrepresentative sample. I strongly feel that Indian sociologists are in a position of distinct advantage for correcting this bias and deficiency of current sociology. The sociologists in India know two kinds of socio-cultural systems—the modern industrial and the traditional peasant. The first of these we know largely through books and to varying degrees from our own experience and the second because of our birth and socialization in this kind of system. In my view, knowing two socio-cultural systems is more than double the advantage. For if one knows two systems one can think of a third and a fourth also. But those who know only one system tend to think of it as the only possibility.

Need for the Study of Peasant Civilization Unfortunately, adequate attention has not been given to the systematic study of peasant civilization. This leaves a wide gap in our understanding of socio-cultural phenomena and is a serious handicap in our quest

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for alternative socio-cultural systems. Robert Redfield did make a beginning through his Peasant Society and Culture (1956), but as he candidly recognized it was only a beginning—‘a very preliminary exploration’ as he put it. And not much headway has been made in this direction. It is somewhat disconcerting that while there has not been much serious effort to build upon the insights provided by this work, a large number of village studies continued to be carried out following the conceptual model given by his earlier book, The Little Community (1955), on which Redfield had raised serious doubts in this later work. The fact seems to be that no social science has made a systematic effort to study the social structure and culture of peasant civilizations. Sociologists have largely studied modern industrial societies, and social anthropologists have been traditionally concerned with tribal cultures. In this process peasant civilizations which have contained the bulk of human population since the dawn of history have been almost entirely neglected. Apart from the question of numbers, the important thing is that peasant civilization is a distinctive socio-cultural type. It is sui generis. It cannot be adequately understood merely as a point on some continuum. Peasant civilizations seem to share some distinctive socio-cultural characteristics across the globe. To take only one example, Sorokin, Zimmerman and Galpin have brought out in their Systematic Sourcebook in Rural Sociology (1931) some distinctive characteristics of the family in societies based on plough agriculture. They have also described the importance of the ‘gestalt of familism’ in such societies (1931, II: 41–48). These fit in so well with the basic features and functions of the Indian joint family that when I discuss the Indian joint family with my students, I can almost entirely depend upon their work for describing it. However, to my mind these great sociologists have made a mistake in referring to this type of family as ‘rural family’. The fact is that in peasant civilizations this type of family prevails in the urban centres also. On the other hand, in industrial societies this type of family is not found even in rural areas. Thus, this kind of family is the typical family of the peasant civilizations and not the ‘rural family’. Wide and systematic explorations are likely to reveal many more structural and cultural characteristics that are common to peasant civilizations. Systematic study of peasant civilization will not only deepen our understanding of Indian society, it will also enhance our knowledge about human society as such. During the course of thousands of years of their existence, many peasant civilizations have maintained remarkable

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continuity and stability. For instance, the society reflected in the Jatakas, which were composed some two thousand five hundred years ago, was not radically different from the society as it existed before the advent of the British rule in India. To be sure there were many socio-cultural changes during these millennia, but the basic structure and culture of the joint families, castes and village communities found in the Jatakas are not essentially different from those of these cardinal institutions in pre-British times, and to a certain extent even now. Such a long span of existence gave the institutional, valuational and attitudinal patterns of peasant civilizations enough time to crystallize, adjust and cohere. The relative stability of these patterns provides us a valuable opportunity to study how various elements of a socio-cultural system establish and sustain vibrant interrelationships with each other. In peasant civilizations, apart from modes of cooperation, even the frictions and conflicts tend to crystallize. There are not only joking relationships, there are quarrelling relationships also. I would have liked to use the term peasant society instead of peasant civilization. But I am not doing so to avoid a confusion. A peasant civilization has a dual structure. The two segments are variously referred to as ‘aristocratic and peasant’, ‘classical and folk’, ‘elite and folk’, ‘hierarchic and lay culture’, ‘great and little traditions’, and so on. Robert Redfield has employed the term ‘peasant society and culture’ to refer only to the latter of these two segments. Therefore, using ‘peasant society’ to designate peasant civilization as a whole could have caused confusion. I, however, prefer the term ‘folk’ for what Redfield calls peasant. George M. Foster too has used the term folk in the same sense (1953); and Redfield clearly recognizes that he is using peasant for what Foster called folk (Redfield 1956: 85). In fact while quoting a passage from Foster, Redfield substitutes peasant for Foster’s folk (Ibid.: 41). When we use the term folk, we can refer to the other segment of society and culture as the elite; and the folk and the elite together constitute a peasant civilization.

Quest for Conceptual Model and Sources Village studies which were undertaken on a large scale after the Second World War are sometimes thought of as embodying the study of peasant society. Although these village studies have surely added to our knowledge

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about village life, to my mind they do not constitute the best way to understand the structure, processes and dynamics of peasant society or peasant civilization. They are based on a conceptual model that seems inadequate for the kind of socio-cultural reality that they seek to investigate. I must make it clear that I have no objection to the method called ‘participant observation’. Our knowledge of society and culture is so limited that we cannot afford to leave aside any method of investigation. All possible methods and techniques should be fully utilized and orchestrated. My doubt is about the appropriateness of the conceptual framework on which such studies are based. The village studies are based essentially on the conceptual model of the little community, which has been neatly spelled out in Robert Redfield’s book, The Little Community (1955). Of course, this is a conceptual construct and no concept or construct should be expected to be replicated in its pure form in real life. But a concept is surely intended to bring out the essential characteristics of the phenomenon which is sought to be studied through it. It seems fairly clear however that the concept of little community does not size up the essential nature of a peasant village. The little community is conceived basically as a socio-cultural whole. But essentially a village in a peasant civilization is not a socio-cultural whole. Detailed study of parts too is understandable But the details about the part become meaningful only if they are put in the perspective of the whole. One can become a specialist on the little finger, but one will be able to understand its movements, and even its internal processes, only when these are seen in their relation to the organism as a whole. As Redfield in his later and far more mature work, Peasant Society and Culture, amply demonstrates, peasant society is essentially a part society. Though this theme runs throughout this later work, the following passage merits reproduction at some length: The culture of a peasant community, on the other hand, is not autonomous. It is an aspect or dimension of the civilization of which it is a part. As the peasant society is a half-society, so the peasant culture is a half-culture. When we study such a culture we find two things to be true that are not true when we study an isolated primitive band or tribe. First, we discover that to maintain itself peasant culture requires continual communication to the local community of thought originating outside of it. The intellectual and often the religious and moral life of the peasant village is perpetually incomplete; the student needs also to know something of what goes on in the minds of

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This is in marked contrast to the four basic characteristics of the little community put forth by Redfield in his earlier book, The Little Community. Briefly, these defining qualities of the little community are: distinctiveness, smallness, homogeneity, and all pervasive self-sufficiency (1955: 4). Obviously, a village in a peasant civilization like that of India does not essentially fit in with this model. A peasant village is hardly distinctive in the sense that there are many other villages around it, and sometimes even connected with it, which are just like it in their social structure and culture. And this commonness is understood and recognized by everyone. As far as group consciousness is concerned, there surely is some consciousness of belonging to the village but there also is consciousness of belonging to a caste and a kinship network which go far beyond the confines of the village. And the consciousness of belonging to these latter groups may be much stronger than that of belonging to the village. Of course, some peasant village can be small. But the methodological offshoot of this characteristic that it is ‘so small that either it itself is the unit of personal observation of else, being somewhat larger and homogenous, it provides a unit of personal observation fully representative of the whole’ (Ibid.: 4) i: hardly applicable to a peasant village like that of India. The society in these peasant villages is so differentiated and stratified that no unit is fully representative of the whole. The third defining quality of the little community is that it is homogeneous. I need not labour on the point that the typical peasant village is socially and culturally not homogenous. The fourth defining quality of the little community that it is pervasively self-sufficient also does not hold good for a peasant village. For example, most of the Indian villages are exogamous, and thus a boy or a girl cannot find a mate within the village. Many villages do not have all the essential occupational groups such as the iron-smith, the carpenter or the potter. They traditionally depend on other villages for such services. Undoubtedly most of the village studies based on the little community model do mention in their prefaces that the village is related to the

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outside world. Sometimes they also describe some of such relationships. But this is not enough. Relationship with other villages and towns is so intrinsic and essential to the peasant village that this must be built into the conceptual model for its study. Robert Redfield’s later work, Peasant Society and Culture, clearly shows that he had become acutely conscious of the fact that he had moved away from the conceptual model of the little community. In the very beginning of this book, in the ‘Acknowledgement’ itself, referring to his earlier work he says: ‘In that book (with the exception of one chapter) I thought of small communities as independent of things outside of them. In the present chapters there is a very preliminary exploration of one kind of dependent community, that of peasants, as a describable type.’ The reason for employing the conceptual model of little community, which conforms more to the attributes of isolated primitive tribes than to the character of peasant society, for the study of villages of peasant civilization seems to be that when the social scientists were called upon to study the society in countries having peasant civilizations, they did not have with them the conceptual and methodological tools appropriate for this task. There are examples in many fields, such as architecture, that when people start working on a new material they employ in the beginning the same models and tools which they used for the earlier material. It appears that after the Second World War when the enhanced economic and political importance of Asia and other such regions came home to world powers like the United States, there was a sudden realization of the need to study the society in the countries of these regions. But adequate conceptual and methodological tools for the study of peasant society were not available, and perhaps from that distance the peasant villages did not look so very different from primitive tribes. Consequently, the social anthropologists tried concepts and methods similar to those that they had developed over the years in their study of tribal society. Redfield’s own understanding of the matter is not much different. He observes: ‘Today it is usual for an anthropologist to study a community connected with or forming part of a civilization or national state. . . . Nevertheless, habits of work do not at once conform to a newly enlarged subject matter. . . . The isolated, self-contained community remains the abstract image around which social anthropology has formed itself (1956: 10–11).

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In view of the great scientific and practical importance of the study of peasant civilization, it is time that concerted effort is made to evolve appropriate concepts and methods. Obviously, this cannot be achieved at one stroke. We shall have to build bit by bit. For us in India, the first task of course is to study Indian civilization. This is no plea for building an ‘Indian sociology’. Friends would recall that in the 1960s when the talk of building an ‘Indian Sociology’ was much in vogue, I had tried to demolish systematically its possibility (Indra Deva 1967: 71–83). However, I substantially agree with the strong formulation of the need to study Indian tradition and the indispensability of being rooted in Indian social reality put forth by my teacher, Professor D. P. Mukerji, in his address as the President of the First Indian Sociological Conference held at Dehradun in 1955, which I had the privilege to attend. Attempts at developing an adequate conceptual and methodological framework for the study of peasant civilization must go hand in hand with its substantive study. The task is so stupendous and our knowledge in this regard is so limited that light from all directions and from all kinds of sources is welcome. A peasant civilization is made up of the elite and the folk tradition The two are continually interacting, and shaping each other. There c, be many possible ways to study these two strata and traditions and to interaction between them. I have made an attempt to understand to’ culture of the folk through the analysis of their oral tradition (Indra Deva 1956, 1974, 1989). In collaboration with a Sanskrit scholar, I have also tried to study the genesis, and the twists and turns of the elite tradition in Indian civilization through a close study of traditional texts from the Rigveda to the later Smritis (Indra Deva and Shrirama 1980, 1986). In both these domains further refinement in the techniques of analysis and interpretation is called for. It is also clear that the data yielded by such sources have to be supplemented and corroborated by that derived through other methods and techniques. But I do think that a proper analysis of oral and written texts, in their appropriate socio-cultural context, can give us many insights about subtle aspects and imponderables of society and culture which the prevailing formal techniques are unable to provide. It is necessary to study peasant civilization in a broad time perspective because the roots of many of the institutions, values and attitudes that exist today lie in the ancient past, and they have acquired their present form through the impact of various socio-cultural forces over

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the ages. It seems, for instance, that the foundations of the persistent attitude of disdain and suspicion towards women were laid in the early Vedic times (Shrirama Indradeva 1966, 1976). Just as it is necessary to go into the past, it is important to think of the future also. I do not agree with the view that the task of sociology is merely to smoothen the transition. The sociologist must also consider the question, ‘Transition to what kind of society?’ If the sociologist does not make serious efforts to answer this question, who else would? Perhaps the politician and the bureaucrat? Generally speaking, the latter are so bogged down by day-to-day problems that they hardly have the time or inclination to take a long-range view of things. Nor do they have the necessary expertise. This in fact is the task of scholars and universities. They can step aside the stream and study and think about things in a broad perspective. Nevertheless, we do come across some laymen who are very sure of their prescriptions even though their knowledge of the basic structure and processes of society is quite limited. This brings to my mind the wayside medicine-vendor who promises certain cures for all ailments. While a physician or a surgeon who has undergone the grind of protracted medical education hesitates in making a diagnosis or prescribing a remedy, the wayside medicine-vendor or quack wastes no time in handing out a medicine or performing an operation even though he may not know even the elementary anatomy and physiology. The other alternative is to leave matters to take their own course. In the current vogue of liberalization, laissez-faire is once again ascendant. But I think the doctrine of the survival of the fittest is profoundly mistaken. Left to themselves weeds will always overrun the flowerbeds. I do not mean to say that we the sociologists know for sure the way to a good society. But I do think that it is a part of our job to make explorations in that direction. Some of us may believe that sociology being a science should be value free—it cannot and should not decide what is good or bad. To those among us I would say that as students of the science of society we should at least work out the likely implications of taking various paths of change and development. Even if the final choice is to be made by the people themselves, or by those who have the power to do so, we should bring out various alternatives so that intelligent choice can be made. Although it may not entirely be within the power of anyone to direct the course of change, conscious effort on the part of man can surely exert some influence in giving it a desirable turn.

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Possibility of an Environment-Friendly Society and Culture It is true that the economic, technological and ideological forces that brought about the modernization and industrialization of the countries of Western Europe and North America have by and large made a devastating impact on the ecological balance of our planet. It also seems true that the character of the society and culture that have come into being as a result of the working of those forces continues to be damaging to the environment. However, the technological and ideological forces of today are not the same as they were in the 18th and 19th centuries. The nature of these forces seems to have undergone a basic change in many ways. At the same time the developing countries of today even now have vigorous folk traditions which possess enough vitality to imbibe new elements, and the peculiar cross-currents of contemporary social change have brought these traditions face to face with modern forces which have reached great maturity. Thus the stage is set for the ushering in of a new civilization which need not be a mere artificial synthesis but may possess emergent qualities. In the 18th and 19th centuries when coal was the only source of power, industries had to be inevitably concentrated around coal mines, because carrying coal is costly and cumbersome. This gave rise to gigantic industrial centres with monstrously large factories which emitted vast quantities of pollutants that poisoned the environment. The villages were reduced to suppliers of cheap uprooted labour and raw materials, and were turned into markets for insipid goods of mass production. This is not unavoidable now. New sources of power such as electricity, not to mention renewable energy sources like sun and wind, can be taken to villages and small-sized but efficient industries can be set up there itself. These industries need not employ outmoded technology. On the contrary they can make good use of the most sophisticated technological developments, like those in the field of electronics, which have made possible reduction in the size of machines to an unprecedented degree. In view of the scarcity of capital and abundance of labour, it will be far more economical to keep the machines labour-intensive. The technology that would make possible such dispersal of small and efficient machines may not exist at present but the accumulated fund of scientific and technological knowledge that humanity possesses today has brought it within our reach. However, it is countries like India

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which have to develop it. If a serious effort is made, this is not beyond our capabilities. We must give up the habit of importing finished technology in all spheres, considering ‘high technology’ or the ‘latest technology’ as a goal by itself. After all, technology belongs to the order of means. It cannot be an end in itself. Technology must suit our proportions of labour and capital, and it must be appropriate for the use to which we wish to put it. Thus it would no longer be necessary to uproot people from the countryside on a large scale to bring about industrialization. The settled life of the folk in which there is traditionally a balance between agriculture and industry can be given a new dimension by imaginative use of the most sophisticated technology for human ends. The ideological elements too are not so hostile now to the folk way of life as they were in the early phase of modernity. The limitations of rationalism are widely recognized. Numerous ideological movements emphasize the value of cooperation and security. This is not to say that the modern elite are returning to the values of the folk communities. They, however, do not harbour that self-righteous indignation which impelled their predecessors to combat and suppress traditional folk values. Under these changed material and ideological circumstances, it is not impossible that folk forms find certain new avenues of survival and growth. Of course, we cannot expect them to remain just as they have been traditionally. They will have to raise themselves to a new level by interacting with contemporary modern elements. The idea that when we talk about underdeveloped countries it should suffice to make use of the older concepts is specious. In fact some of the ‘underdeveloped’ societies of today may be more receptive to the end-of-the-twentieth-century valuational, institutional and technological patterns than they would be to those which arose in the 18th and 19th centuries. In matters of such receptivity they may show a higher propensity than those societies which broke away from medievalism fearlier. It may be pointed out, for instance, that even though today the limitations of individualism, activism and unlimited acquisitiveness are recognized by perceptive thinkers in the industrialized societies also, the countries of Western Europe and North America which have been able to build up a high level of prosperity on the basis of these, find it extremely difficult to give them up or even to restrict them within reasonable limits. These values, and the institutional and cultural elements based on them, have entrenched themselves so much that it is difficult

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to dislodge them. On the contrary, in the traditional societies these 18th and 19th century values have not yet found a strong foothold. They can, therefore, be more easily replaced by the institutional and attitudinal patterns based on ideas of cooperation, security and collective good. Besides the transformation of the forces of modernization, the pace and patterns of socio-cultural change in the developing countries also seem to strengthen the chances of emergence of new syntheses. The tremendous pace of change naturally leads to much overlapping. Long before one cultural era has declined or vanished, a number of successive forms enter the stage. The contemporaneity of cultural and valuational elements that are historically non-contemporaneous creates serious problems for groups as well as individuals. But it also seems to open up possibilities of unprecedented combinations and emergence of new patterns. In the light of the above analysis it is clear that we find today in the developing countries a constellation of forces which seems to be altogether new. The highly sophisticated and mellowed down forces of contemporary modernism are interacting with tribal and folk traditions which have vigour enough to combine with new elements and bring forth new forms. Only the future can tell whether the tribal and folk traditions will really be able to attain a new level by harnessing the technological, economic and ideological resources made available by the closing decades of the 20th century. A number of factors, however, exist which should deter us from rejecting such a possibility out of hand. The peculiar patterns of social change, with considerable overlapping of different cultural eras, have brought vigorous tribal and folk traditions in close proximity to modern forces which are no more so hostile but may even facilitate their growth relying on their own roots. These societies may, therefore, chart out a new course in their march towards socio-cultural forms which will be far more environment-friendly. It is not necessary for us to agree with the unilinear view that all cultures must necessarily pass through the same successive stages of evolution. The long strides of socio-economic change in the developing countries of today may permit the skipping of some of the earlier steps of large-scale industrialization. These countries face a unique challenge and it is not impossible that this may evoke a magnificient response and lead to the growth of a new socio-cultural pattern. Such a development appears to be desirable also. Large-scale industrialization based on individualistic acquisitiveness has led to various maladies such as alienation of work from life, schism between

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utility and beauty, commercialization of leisure and recreation, sapping of aesthetic sensibility from everyday life, uprootedness, and the creation of human ant-hills in the form of gigantic urban centres swarming with a variety of problems. Tribal and folk cultures on the contrary are marked by a balance between beauty and utility. For the folk craftsman, work is not alienated from life and the object produced by him has both utilitarian and aesthetic aspects. In tribal and folk society the artist is not a special kind of man; every man is a special kind of artist. Almost everyone sings (not merely listens) and artistic expressions like singing and poetry are not put on a separate niche. They accompany work and socially significant ritual. Though it would be impossible and also undesirable to try to preserve folk and tribal cultures just as they have been, it is necessary to work out the possibility of developing those of their aspects which are of abiding value to man. This would also make for cultural diversity; and cultural diversity is no less important than bio-diversity. If the developing countries of today succeed in building up such a pattern they may achieve an environment-friendly society which many sensitive thinkers in the most advanced countries earnestly cherish. In this sense, the countries which have lagged behind may be able to take a step which has been eluding the more advanced ones. This may look rather surprising but such turns in the course of social change are not unknown to history. In fact I have ventured to put forward elsewhere a  general hypothesis to this effect (Indra Deva 1966). This general hypothesis about the course of social change has received considerable  attention from noted sociologists like Lazarsfeld (1970: 87) and  it  seems applicable also to the prospects of growth of an environment-friendly culture. I have been thinking about this possibility for the last twenty-five years and more; but how can I be sure that this would indeed materialize. I am no prophet to forecast the dawn of a new civilization. Yet I do think that our search for alternatives must continue. I do not believe that the task of sociology is confined to hastening the pace of transition to a type of society which has a self-generating propensity to attain higher and higher levels of alienation, anomie, insecurity, anxiety, conflict, crime, and devastation of environment. To some of us such ideas may look too romantic. I would only submit that many ideas tend to appear romantic till they are put into action. To some people the idea of having a democratic system of government could have appeared romantic before such governments came into being. To me even the idea of drawing carriages by the power

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of steam, just because steam could dislodge for a while the lid of a kettle, would have surely looked romantic if the railway trains run by steam had not come into being already. But even if some of us do not think that it is feasible to have such a society, I would still plead that the quest for new possibilities both for the society and for the social sciences, should not be given up. What is, and what has been, is of course very important to study. But this study should also help us to explore what will be and what can be. And for making such explorations, a broad perspective of time and space, is essential. There are infinite possibilities, out of which only a few materialize. As the great poet Ghalib said: Not all, only a few have found expression as poppies and roses, What may be the forms that lie concealed under the dust?

Let us strive to discover these dormant possibilities.

References Foster. George, M. 1953 ‘What is Folk Culture?’. American Anthropologist, 55(2): 159–73. Indra Deva. 1956 ‘Modern Social Forces in Indian Folk-Songs’, Diogenes, (15): 48–64. ———. 1966 ‘The Course of Social Change A Hypothesis’, Diogenes, (56): 74–91. ———. 1967 ‘Possibility of an “Indian Sociology”‘, in T. K. N. Unnithan, et al. (eds). Sociology for India, pp. 71–83. New Delhi: Prentice Hall of India. ———. 1974 ‘Oral Tradition and the Study of Peasant Society’, Diogenes, (85): 112–27. ———. 1989 Folk Culture and Peasant Society in India. Jaipur Rawat. Indra, Deva and Shrirama. 1980 Growth of Legal System in Indian Society. New Delhi: ICSSR/ Allied Publishers. ———. 1986 Traditional Values and Institutions in Indian Society. New Delhi: S. Chand. Lazarsfeld Paul F. 1970. ‘Sociology’, in Main Trends of Research in Social and Human Sciences, 1: 61–165. Paris/The Hague: Unesco/Mouton. Redfield, Robert. 1955. The Little Community. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ———. 1956. Peasant Society and Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Shrirama Indradeva. 1966. ‘Correspondence between Women and Nature in Indian Thought’, Philosophy East and West, 26(3–4): 161–68. ———. 1976. ‘Status of Women in Ancient India’, Diogenes, (93): 67–80. Sorokin. P. A., C. C. Zimmerman and C. J. Galpin. 1931. A Systematic Sourcebook in Rural Sociology. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Vogel, J. Ph. 1926. Indian Serpent Lore. London.

5 ‘Environment’ in Sociological Theory Indra Munshi

Introduction

I

t has been observed that ‘contemporary forms of environmental degradation present one of the most, if not the most, complex and catastrophic dilemmas of modernity’ (Goldblatt 1996: Preface). There is a general agreement that the economic expansion of a century and half has had alarming consequences for the global environment. Depletion of the ozone layer, air pollution, loss of forests and bio-diversity, extinction of plant and animal species, loss of marine life, soil and water pollution have occurred at an alarming rate. Especially in post-war years, release of toxic matters into the environment, worldwide expansion of nuclear energy, acid rains, new chemical pesticides, non-biodegradable plastics and other harmful chemicals have come to pose a threat to life itself. In the recent decades, however, we have witnessed the growth of environmental movements/conflicts, of environmental politics, which may play an important role in checking the deterioration of our environment at the local and global levels. The seriousness of the situation has led scholars to predict that the 21st century will be characterised by a massively endangered natural environment if the present trends of ecological devastation continue. Further, it is predicted that this aspect will become increasingly dominant in all fields-politics, foreign affairs, development policy, education, technology and research. In what Weizsacker calls the Century of the

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Environment, the ecological imperative will determine law and administration, city planning and agriculture, arts and religion, technology and economy. Intervention for a radical transformation in the contemporary situation, which he terms Earth Politics, alone can salvage the future (Weizsacker 1994: 10). In this context, two important issues emerge: the causes and consequences of environmental degradation in modern societies, and the role environmental politics can play to curb environmental degradation. Scholars have pointed to the limitations of the theoretical legacy of classical social theory of Marx, Weber and Durkheim for examining the issues mentioned above. Weber’s work shows the least engagement with the natural world. Even Marx and Durkheim, Goldblatt argues, who saw the relation between human societies and the natural world as central to historical change, did not pay much attention to the impact of economic and demographic processes on ecosystems. In fact, classical social theory was concerned more with how pre-modern societies had been constrained by their natural environments than with how industry in modern society led to environmental degradation. Nor could it see at the time that capitalism would prove to be environmentally problematic in a fundamental sense. Others like Ted Benton do, however, argue that there is much in the corpus of Marxian historical materialism which is compatible with an ecological perspective (Benton 1989: 63). According to them, Marx and Engels did recognise the historical necessity of human dependence upon external conditions in nature and limits to their social activity. Textual evidence suggests that Marx quite explicitly advocated ecological sustainability as a ‘regulating law’ which would govern socialist agriculture as different from its capitalist form (Ibid: 83). It is often pointed out that one of Engels’ earliest works. The Condition of the Working Class in England was a denunciation of the environmental consequences of capitalist industrialisation’. David Pepper’s view is that Man-Nature dialectic is central to Marxism. Man (read human being) transforms nature by means of labour. Because this process of transformation is a social one, human beings shape their own society and their relations with their fellow-beings by shaping nature. In the process of knowing nature in order to transform it, human beings transform themselves to a higher intellectual plane (Pepper 1986: 163). Social development, observes Pepper, with its

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changes in the relations of production, is closely bound up with the social action of transforming nature in organised labour, ‘acting upon socially-derived knowledge of nature’s laws, and upon socially-based perceptions of what is needed from nature and what nature can offer’ (Ibid: 163). The time element, therefore, Pepper argues, cannot be left out of Marxist discussion on human-nature relationship. Different forms of perception and modification of nature correspond to specific historical stages of human development. This, then, is what is meant by the term historicity of nature, and we see today a nature that almost entirely bears testimony to the intimacy of the man-nature relationship over time: a historically-produced nature. . . . (Ibid: 163). In the dialectic between nature and humans, according to Pepper, there is no separation between the subject or the object, they exist in an ‘organic intimacy of constant interaction (Ibid: 163). Nevertheless, it is this limited legacy in social theory of an inadequate conceptual framework to understand the complex interaction between societies and environment and to recognise the negative impact of the interaction on the environment, that is considered partially responsible for the neglect of environmental concerns in mainstream sociological theory. Redclift argues that in the light of these intellectual precedents, it is not surprising that ecological variables are not incorporated in sociological analysis (1987: 9). Giddens, too, observes that although all three authors, Durkheim, Marx and Weber saw the degrading consequences of industrial work upon human beings, none foresaw that the furthering of the ‘forces of production’ would have large-scale destructive potential in relation to the material environment. ‘Ecological concerns’, he concludes, ‘do not brook large in the traditions of thought incorporated into sociology, and it is not surprising that sociologists today find it hard to develop a systematic appraisal of them’ (Giddens 1990: 8). Murphy points out that the theme of the embeddedness of social action in the processes of nature is still poorly integrated into mainstream sociology. The research on this theme has not yet influenced general sociological theory, which continues to proceed ‘as if nature did not matter’ (Murphy 1997: 19). Sociology, he observes, has correctly emphasised the importance of the social, but this has been so exaggerated that there is a blindness to the relationship between the processes of nature and social action. The assumed dualism between social action

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and the processes of nature, with sociology focusing solely on the former as independent variable has resulted in sociology ignoring the dialectical relationship between the two. This kind of sociology misses the crucial distinguishing feature of our times which is the manipulation of nature by means of science and technology in order to attain our material goals, and thereby disrupting the equilibrium in nature which in turn reacts upon and threatens human constructions (Ibid: 8–9). In recent times, however, environmental concerns, both the origins and nature of environmental deterioration, and the emergence of environment centred politics have been articulated in sociological writings. Anthony Giddens, Ulrich Beck, Clause Offe, Jurgen Habermas and others have addressed themselves to these issues. After an overview of the ideas developed by some of the thinkers, I will attempt to outline the environmental concerns of social scientists in India, and end with some suggestions on how environment could be incorporated in sociology teaching and research in India.

Environmental Concerns and Contemporary Social Theory The question of causes and consequences of the present ecological crisis, a more recent concern, is significant to modern social theory. The modern society is seen to be characterised by large-scale environmental degradation. Through an extensive discussion on risk, for example, several scholars, including Giddens (1990) and Beck (1992), highlight the catastrophic character of the society. The hitherto neglected area of the relation between human beings and nature and the deleterious effect of human action upon the latter, especially in the last century and a half, has emerged as a major issues. Another important issue in contemporary theory is the growth of environmental politics/movements which offer a challenge to the modern industrial/capitalist mode of production and consumption which are essentially environmentally destructive. What follows is an elaboration of some of these issues. In Giddens’ view, the debate about whether capitalism or industrialism has been the prime mover in shaping the modern world, until relatively recently, ignored the destructive effects but modern production systems may have upon the environment (Giddens 1987: 49). Giddens argues that capitalism combined with industrialism is

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responsible for the environmental crisis. In his later works, in particular, he attributes environmental problems to the modern industrial societies and to the industrial sectors in the developing countries. Whatever the origins of the crisis, the modern industry, shaped by the combination of science and technology, he believes, is responsible for the greatest transformation of the world of nature than ever before (Giddens 1990: 60). Ulrich Beck distinguishes the modern society from the earlier ones as the risk society, characterised by its catastrophic potential resulting from environmental deterioration. In the pre-industrial societies, risks resulting from natural hazards occurred, and by their very character could not be attributed to voluntary decision-making. The nature of risk changed in the industrial societies. Industrial risks and accidents at work sites, or dangers of unemployment resulting from the changes in the economic cycles, could no longer be attributed to nature. These societies also developed institutions and methods to cope with the dangers and risks, in the form of insurance, compensation, safety etc. In fact, Beck sees the welfare state as ‘a collective and institutionalised response to the nature of industrialised risks . . .’ The risk societies are characterised by increasing environmental degradation and environmental hazards. ‘At the centre lies the risks and consequences of modernisation, which are revealed as irresistible threats to the life of plants, animals, and human beings. Unlike the factory related or occupational hazards of the 19th and first half of the 20th centuries, these can no longer be limited to certain localities or groups, but rather exhibit a tendency to globalization . . .’ (Beck 1992: 13). At the same time these societies are also characterised by greater environmental laws and legislation. And yet, no individual or institution appears to be specifically accountable for what happens. Through various means, the elite is able to effectively conceal the causes as well as the consequences of hazards and risk of late industrialisation. Beck calls this ‘organised irresponsibility’. In the face of environmental risks and hazards of a qualitatively different kind, both real and potential, earlier modes of coping with them also break down. Yet when large-scale disasters like Chernobyl occur, protests do break out which challenge the legitimacy of the state and other institutions that appear powerless to manage the problems. In this context, a number of new forms of protests emerge, outside the conventional class politics and parliamentary institutions (Beck 1995).

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Giddens offers two explanations for the emergence of environmental politics: as a response to the ecological threats and thus ‘a politics mobilised by interests’ in self-preservation and as a response to the normative emptiness of modern urbanism and thus as ‘a politics mobilised by ideal values and moral imperatives’. Ecological movements, he observes, compel us to confront those dimensions of modernity which have been hitherto neglected. Furthermore, they sensitise us to subtleties in the relation between nature and human beings that would otherwise remain unexplored (Giddens 1987:49). Habermas sees the ecology movements as a response of the life-world to its colonisation. Since they are an expression of the reification of the communicative order of the life-world, further economic development or technical improvements in the administrative apparatus of government cannot alleviate these tensions. The new conflicts/movements reflect problems that can only be resolved through a ‘reconquest of the life-world by communicative reason and by concomitant transmutations in the normative order of daily life’ (Ibid: 242–243). For Habermas, capitalism is the primary cause of environmental degradation. All these social theorists emphasise the need for democratisation of state power and civil society. Giddens suggests that not just the impact, but the very logic of unchecked scientific and technological development would have to be confronted if further harm is to be avoided. He adds that since the most consequential ecological issues are global, forms of intervention would necessarily have a global basis (1990: 170). New forms of local, national and international democracy may emerge and form an essential component of any politics that seeks to transcend the risks and threats of modernity. Habermas, while recognising the limitations of modern state power, argues for the creation and defence of a public sphere in which a rational democratic discourse can occur. Beck argues for an ecological democracy as the central political response to the dangers of the risk society. Previously depoliticised areas of decision-making that profoundly affect the environment must be made available for public scrutiny and debate. Research agendas, development plans and introduction of new technologies must be made open for discussion and at the same time legal and institutional controls on them must be made more effective. All the above cited scholars point to the limitations of the predominantly representative rather than participatory character of liberal democracy being an essential pre-condition for creating environmental sustainability.

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Goldblatt suggests that degradation, perception and protest must be viewed in the context of new kinds of knowledge by which the environmental problems are revealed and made available to the people. Lowe and Morrison highlight the role of mass media in spreading the new kinds of knowledge (1984)2. Thus, ideas of quality of life, body and health, aesthetic and even spiritual attitudes to nature have acquired a salience in environmental politics. The environmental problems, according to Goldblatt, have stretched the time horizon of the political discourse to include intergenerational justice and sustainability into the political moral vocabulary. Similarly, the environmental degradation and threats faced by the developing world have been traced to the economic and political activities of the west, stretching the geographical horizon of the contemporary concerns (1996:152). In this context, mention must be made of the large body of literature that has appeared on what has been called new social movements/politics, which include ecological movements and politics. The new paradigm, according to Claus Offe, can be understood as the ‘modern’ critique of further modernisation in the advanced industrial societies of the west. This critique is based on major segments of the educated new middles class and carried out by unconventional, informal and class unspecific mode of action of this class (1985: 1986). All major concerns of the new socio-political movements converge on the idea that life itself (and good life as defined by modern values) is threatened by the blind dynamics of military, economic, technological and political rationalisation, and there are no sufficiently reliable barriers within the dominant political and economic institutions to prevent them from becoming disasters. This explains the adoption and legitimation of unconventional modes of action (Ibid: 853). Most writers on the subject agree that the emergence of new social groups, new interests, and new values which cut across traditional classbased alignments, pose a fundamental challenge to the existing political system. The new ecological movements question and challenge the central values and ideology of modern industrial society, much of the modern technology and the centralised industrial (not just capitalist) mode of production and consumption resulting in high-growth, energy consuming and environmentally damaging way of life (Sarkar 1993: 25; Cotgrove and Duff 1980: 337–347). These movements (also called the extra-parliamentary movements) put forward the view that the economy should be based on parsimonious use of natural resources. They

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also have advanced new conceptions of development and progress. Development of the forces of production means for them development of soft and intermediate technology; progress means for them primarily societal, spiritual and psychological progress (Sarkar op civ. 25). Some authors point to the emergence of another form of politics, the world civic politics, practised by transnational environmental groups. These groups occupy arenas separate from the realm of government for organising and carrying out efforts for environmental protection. These arenas are found in the so-called global civil society, the level of associational life which exists above the individual and below the state, but also across national boundaries (Wapner 1996: 3–4).

Environmental Concerns and Social Sciences in India Among the pioneers who showed great sensitivity to the relationship between humans and their environment was Patrick Geddes, the founder of the Department of Civics and Sociology in Bombay. Technological advances and urbanisation had profoundly altered that relationship. He devoted much of his time to the task of planning the urban environment with the clear purpose of ‘preservation of the best historical traditions of the past, the involvement of the people in their own betterment and the rediscovery of past traditions of city building which deliberately expressed the aesthete ideals of the community’ (Meller 1990: 190). The large number of reports which he prepared on Indian cities bear testimony to this commitment to improving the urban environment in order to enhance the quality of life of people. Giddens’ ideas were enthusiastically taken up by Radhakamal Mukherjee. But, by and large, environment remained outside the sociologists’ concern. More recently, since the seventies, a large amount of information on the nature and extent of environmental degradation has become available. The publication of the State of India’s Environment reports in 1982 and 1985 by Delhi-based Centre for Science and Environment marked an important beginning. A large number of journalists have been reporting on a variety of issues related to environmental degradation, people’s protests and major controversies regarding the development projects of the government. Social activist groups have organised local and national level struggles against the increasing control over

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natural resources by the state, to the exclusion of local communities from the resource bases. Guha suggests that a pioneering effort in conducting studies of village ecosystems was made by the Centre for Appropriate Science and Technology for Rural Areas (ASTRA) in Bangalore. A.K.N. Reddy, a professor of chemistry, the prime mover of ASTRA, was an early exponent of environmentally sound development. In an essay of 1978, he identified the goals of ‘eco-development’ as the satisfaction of basic needs of the poor; endogenous self-reliance in terms of using local raw materials and through social participation and control; and harmony with the environment (Guha 1997: 347). There has also been a spurt in social science research in the last two decades. A number of scholars turned to the colonial period to understand the ecological changes over time. There is a general agreement among the scholars that colonial period was an important watershed in the ecological history of India. Although it was neither the first nor the worst phase of environmental disruption, as Pouchapadass observes, ‘it undeniably set in motion processes (economic, demographic, social, administrative, legal) that stimulated the overuse of natural resources and have proved difficult to reverse (Pouchapadass 1995: 2059). Several studies have focused on the social and environmental consequences of colonial state intervention, its effect on the indigenous social, cultural institutions and practices of resource management; and social protests over control of resources (See  Guha 1989; Rangarajan 1996; Arnold and Guha 1994; Munshi 1993; Whitcombe 1972; Sengupta 1980; Tucker 1979; Grove 1995). The depletion of natural resources in the contemporary context, the changed used and management of these resources and their effect on local communities, and the need for an alternative system of resource management have been the subjects of many studies conducted by social scientist in general (See Jodha 1986; Chopra et al. 1989; Fernandes and Menon 1987; Nadkarni 1989; Agarwal 1986). There has been some discussion on gender and environment, and on the notion of eco-feminism in recent times (Shiva 1988; Agarwal 1991, 1997; Venkateswaran 1995). Discussion among the activists and the social scientists have also centred around the environmental and social costs of development planning in India, the latter invariably being borne by the poor. Several studies, including those of Rao (1995) and Sharma (1996) have underlined it. Although it is recognised that environmental degradation threatens all, irrespective of people’s wealth, privilege, status or class, the fact

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nonetheless remains, especially in the developing countries like India, that the weak, the poor and the underprivileged are the worst victims of it. Displacement, marginalisation and deterioration of the quality of life of large sections of the population, the tribals, nomadic communities, craftsmen, the urban and the rural poor and women, as a result of the economic policies of the government have concerned both social scientists and activists alike. The aim is to work out an alternative framework of development which would combine sustainability with equity and social justice. It can hardly be overstated that everywhere in the developing countries, as in India, protests and struggles by rural and urban communities for control, access and management of natural resources upon which their lives and livelihood depend, are taking place and gaining worldwide recognition. Friedman and Rangan call it ‘environmental action’ (1993: 4). Contemporary ecological movements, especially the Chipko movement and the Narmada Bachao Andolan, as well as conflicts over natural resources like water, forest and fisheries have recently found a place in social science research in India (Shiva 1991; Gadgil and Guha 1996; Baviskar 1995; Kurien 1993; Berreman 1989; Jain 1984; Omvedt 1987). Conflicts/struggles over forest, water, fish, land, pasture and village commons being widespread all over the country, many studies on these aspects are needed; it is also a fact that there is a tradition of study of social movements in sociology. Each of these areas needs to be further explored and researched before a comprehensive understanding of a situation as complex and varied as ours can emerge. Social scientists must turn their attention to these issues which have so far been regarded as outside the purview of serious social science research, and left to environmentalists, journalists and activists. The somewhat non-systematic and fragmentary character of the existing literature/discussion on issues concerning environment and society is reflected in the present article. A sociological/social science perspective in the analysis of environmental issues is still emerging. While a very broad area of study has opened up in the last two decades or so, it still remains ton the margins of the disciplines unabsorbed and therefore not properly integrated. Responding to the demands of social reality, sociologists are just beginning to explore the many dimensions of the environmental problems of our times. But the infinite possibilities for research and reflection exist amidst a relative poverty of theoretical and conceptual clarity. The task is rendered difficult, to my mind, by the fact that analysis of environmental issues and problems must necessarily incorporate the

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historical and the global context just as it must be truly interdisciplinary for an insightful understanding to emerge. One can only hope that sociologists in India will pay serious attention to issues related to environment and society not because they are currently in vogue, but because they represent a major challenge of our times.

Conclusion On a more general level, it is amply clear that the most crucial contradiction of our times is the one between industrial/capitalist mode of production and consumption on the one hand, and ecology on the other. There are external constraints to growth which are rapidly being violated, causing loss of physical and mental well-being. Not just one class but all sections of society suffer or may suffer from the ecological and socio-ecological consequences of this mode. An awareness of the threat to survival has given rise to a new kind of politics and political action which questions and challenges the agenda of development, and puts forward ideas of alternative development, life style, values, in other words, a more ‘sustainable human development’3. Given the fundamental nature of these issues, it is only right that they should form the basis for sociological enquiry. The ecological/environmental perspective opens up the hitherto unexplored dimensions of some of the important areas of sociological concern. As a powerful critique of the modernisation/development agenda, this perspective brings out the unsustainability of the project. The industrial capitalist mode of production and consumption destroys the very resource base necessary for its existence, but even more, threatens human life itself. With the growth of ecological politics and movements, a new area of sociological enquiry has opened up which transcends the conventional dichotomy of the right and left politics, cuts across class divisions and even national boundaries and creates spaces for activism within the civil society using the popular initiative. In a fundamental sense, it calls for a redefinition of the relation between human beings and their natural environment, and a reconsideration of the effect of human action upon nature. More than ever before, the view that nature must be mastered, controlled and used for the satisfaction of ever-increasing human needs, that is, the ideology of the industrial mode, is being seriously challenged.

More recently, a course on environment and society should form a part of sociology curriculum at the post-graduate and under-graduate

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levels. It could include the following themes among others: the changing human-nature relationship in history and the role of science and technology; perspectives on environment/ecology and society in sociology and anthropology including the recent contributions of social science theorists on the nature and causes of environmental degradation in modern society; environmental critique of development; gender and environment; and environmental politics/movements. With specific reference to India, emphasis could be laid on the nature and impact of environmental degradation in colonial and post-colonial contexts; traditional systems of resource management; depletion of resources and its effect on local communities; environmental struggles/conflicts; recent experiments at resource management by the local communities/groups, and social and environmental impact of development projects.

Notes 1. It may be of interest to note that the hostility of ‘green’ writers to socialism tends to focus on the disastrous environmental record of the socialist societies of Eastern Europe. The Marxist tradition is widely condemned for its ‘productivist’ values. A widespread tendency among these writers is to represent ecological politics as transcending the whole traditional opposition of left and right in politics. Both are seen to be dedicated to industrial growth, to the expansion of the means of production, to materialistic ethnic as the best means of meeting people’s needs, and to unimpeded technological development. For an ecologist, the debate between the protagonists of capitalism and communism is irrelevant. Among the writers who believe that ecological perspective is compatible with a wide range of social and political ideologies, that the link between socialism and ecology is not obvious but has to be forced are B. Commoner, Andre Gorz, R. Bahro. Attempts have also been made to synthesise ecology with other political perspectives such as anarchism and feminism. The works of M. Bookchin are widely known for the former view whereas the classic work by Carolyn Merchant represents the latter view (Benton 1989: 52). 2. Philip Lowe and David Morrison highlight the role of mass media in popularizing environmental issues. The media have responded so enthusiastically due to the overly moral as opposed to political nature of the arguments raised. Though environmental protests do not necessarily express complaint against capitalist system, it is often a complaint against capital’s performance and has the potential to become a full blown attack against capitalism. They highlight the role of the media in providing information critical of industrialism, to question science’s achievements and thus raise doubts about industrial structures which science iegitimates (Lowe and Morrison 1984: 75). 3. Bob Sutcliffe suggests that the two terms ‘human’ and ‘sustainable development’ can be combined into ‘sustainable human development’. ‘Human Development’ means a process of social and economic change whose main motive is to produce a radical improvement in the material and cultural standard of living of people now suffering deprivation. “Sustainable development’ can be defined as changes in human materials

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activities which radically lessen the depletion of non-renewable resources and the harmful pollution of the environment, which lengthens the time over which human material needs can be met. Sutcliffe develops an argument that there is no logical reason why these two should not be combined (Sutcliffe 1995: 244).

References Agarwal, Bina. 1986. Cold hearths and barren slopes: The woodfuel crisis in the Third World. Delhi: Allied Publishers. Agarwal, Bina. 1991. Engendering the environment debate: Lessons from the Indian subcontinent. CASID distinguished speaker series No. 8. Michigan: Michigan State University. Agarwal, Bina. 1997. ‘Environment action, gender equity and women’s participation’, Development and Change, 28. Arnold, David and Ramchandra Guha (eds.). 1994. Nature, culture, imperialism: Essays in the environmental history of South Asia. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Baviskar, Amita. 1995. In the belly of the river: Tribal conflict over development in the Narmada Valley. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Beck, Ulrich. 1992. Risk society: Towards a new modernity. London: Sage Publications. Beck, Ulrich. 1995. Ecological politics in an age of risk. London: Sage Publications. Benton, Ted. 1989. ‘Marxism and natural limits: An ecological critique and reconstruction’, New Left Review, No. 178. Berreman, Gerald. 1989. ‘Chipko: A movement to save the Himalayan environment and people’ in C. M. Borden (ed.). Contemporary Indian traditions: Voices on culture, nature and the challenge of change. Washington: Smithsonian. Centre for Science and Education. 1982. The state of India’s environment: A citizen’s report. New Delhi. Centre for Science and Education. 1985. The state of India’s environment: A second citizen’s report. New Delhi. Chopra, Kanchan, Gopal Kadekodi and M.N. Murty. 1989. Participatory development: Approaches to common property management. Delhi: Sage Publications. Cotgrove, Stephen and Andrew Duff. 1980. ‘Environmentalism, middle class radicalism and polities’, Sociological Review, 28(2). Fernandes, W. and G. Menon. 1987. Tribal women and forest economy: Deforestation, exploitation and status change. Delhi: Indian Social Institute. Friedman, John and Haripriya Rangan. 1993. In defense of livelihood: Comparative studies on environmental action. Connecticut: Kumarian Press. Gadgil, Madhav and Ramachandra Guha. 1996. ‘Environmental movements in India; paper presented at TISS, Mumbai. Conference on movement and campaigns for the empowerment of marginalised groups, Nov. 1–4. Giddens. Anthony. 1987. Social theory and modern sociology. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Giddens, Anthony. 1990. The consequences of modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Goldblatt, David. 1996. Social theory and the environment. Cambridge: Polity Press. Grove, Richard. 1995. Green imperialism. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Guha, Ramachandra. 1989. The unquiet woods: Ecological change and peasant resistance in the Himalaya. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Guha, Ramachandra. 1997. ‘Social-ecological research in India: A status report’, Economic and Political Weekly, 32(7).

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Jain, S. 1984. ‘Women and people’s ecological movement: A case study of women’s role in Chipko Movement in Uttar Pradesh’, Economic and Political Weekly, 19(41). Jodha, N.S. 1986. ‘Common property resources and rural poor’, Economic and Political Weekly, 21(27). Kurian, John and T. Achari. 1990. ‘Overfishing along Kerala coast: Causes and consequences’, Economic and Political Weekly, 25(35,36). Meller, Helen. 1990. Patrick Geddes: Social evolutionist and town planner. London: Routledge. Munshi, India. 1993. ‘Customary rights and colonial regulations: Thana forests in the nineteenth century’, in Mrinal Miri (ed.). Continuity and change in tribal society. Shimla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study. Murphy, Raymond. 1997. Sociology and nature, social action in context. Oxford: Westview Press. Nadkarni, M.V. 1989. The political economy of forest use and management. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Offe, Claus. 1985. ‘New social movements: Challenging the boundaries of institutional polities’. Social research, 52(4). See also Ponna Wignaraja (ed.). 1993. New social movements in the south, empowering the people. New Delhi: Vistaar Publications. Omvedt, Gail. 1987. ‘Indian green movements’, Race and class, 28(4). Pouchcpadass, Jacques. 1995. ‘Colonialism and environment in India: Comparative perspective’, Economic and Political Weekly, 30(33). Rangarajan, Mahesh. 1996. Fencing the forest: Conservation and ecological change in India’s Central Provinces, 1860–1940. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Rao, J. Mohan. 1995. ‘Whither India’s environment’, Economic and Political Weekly, 30(13): 677–686. Redclift, Michael. 1987. Sustainable development: Exposing the contradictions. London: Methuen and Co. Redclift, Michael and Ted Benton. 1994. Social theory and the global environment. London: Methuen and Co. Sarkar, Saral. 1993. Green alternative politics in West Germany, Vol. I. New York: United Nations University Press. Sengupta, Nirmal. 1980. ‘The indigenous irrigation system of south Bihar, Indian Economic and Social History Review, 17(1). Sharma, S.L. 1996. ‘Perspectives on sustainable development in South Asia: The case of India’, in Syed Abdus Samad (ed.). Perspectives on sustainable development in the AsiaPacific Region, pp. 89–97. Shiva, Vandana. 1988. Staying alive: Women, ecology and survival in India. New Delhi: Kali for Women. Shiva, Vandana et al. 1991. Ecology and the politics of survival: Conflicts over natural resources in India. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Sutcliffe, Bob. 1995. ‘Development after ecology’ in V. Bhaskar and Andrew Glyn (eds.). The north and the south and the environment. London: United Nations University Press. Tucker, Richard. 1979. ‘Forest management and imperial politics: Thana district, Bombay, 1823–1887’, The Indian Economic and Social History Review, 16(3). Venkateswaran, Sandhya. 1995. Environment, development and the gender gap. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Von Weizsacker, Ernst U. 1994. Earth politics. London: Zed Books. Wapner, Paul. 1996. Environmental activism and world civic politics. New York: State University of New York Press. Whitcombe, Elizabeth. 1971. Agrarian conditions in northern India, Vol. I: The United Provinces under British rule 1860–1900. Berkeley: University of California Press.

SECTION II Environment and Displacement

6 Parks, People and Protest: The Mediating Role of Environmental Action Groups Ranjit Dwivedi

The Context: Protected Areas and the Critical Discourse

S

ince the early 1970s, there has been a steady rise in the number and size of protected areas in developing countries, notably national parks and wildlife sanctuaries. In India, there are now about 520 protected areas (PAs), compared to 130 in 1975, spread over 148,700 sq km. An estimated 3 million people live inside these PAs.1 Although in some protected areas limited human interventions are allowed, people living in and around these areas face a systematic restriction of access rights and usufruct which in turn affects their entitlement portfolio. Further, people are frequently displaced from their original settlements, with or without adequate compensation, to make way for the PAs. Such actions are justified by the official conservation discourse, which regards local communities as the principal threat to forests and wildlife. The major preoccupation of forest authorities has been to limit human interference. This attitude has generated stiff resistance from the affected people. Thus protected areas become arenas of resource struggles.

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To accommodate the subsistence and natural resource requirements of the local people the Government of India and aid agencies have devised a number of measures. The creation of buffer zones in the 1970s, as part of the UNESCO’s ‘Man and Biosphere Programme’ between strictly preserved areas and human settlements, was one such step.2 Such programmes, too have been biased towards conservation objectives. Attempts to promote agricultural and rural development programmes alongside conservation measures have yielded poor results because of their largely experimental character, designed principally to reduce conflicts at the local level, rather than to generate sustainable livelihood opportunities and alternatives. Their policy of conservation has enjoyed support from a sizeable number of environmentalists located in urban areas. They believe that without state intervention, deforestation and wildlife depletion would be accelerated, given the pressures on forests from local communities on the one hand, and from industrial, commercial and developmental projects on the other. Sustained lobbying by this group has influenced stringent legislation such as the Wild Life Protection Act (1972 and 1991), the Forest Conservation Act (1980) and the Environment Protection Act (1986). In recent years, however, with the intensification of resource conflicts around protected areas, a new discourse of conservation has gained ground. It is highly critical of the government and the environmentalists who support the government. The government’s strategies have been seriously questioned, for their top-down, non-participatory character and the urban environmentalists have been dubbed elitist for their failure to take cognizance of the social roots of environmental use and abuse. This critical discourse has largely bred on local level struggles over access and use of resources and on the mediation of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) which are actively involved in such peoples struggles for forest resources and environmental protection. This is a recent trend in conservation movements; it accords importance to grassroots activism and demands that attention to be given to human rights along with animal rights.

Objectives and Method The focus in this paper is on a collective action programme—a campaign march called yatra, traversing through several national parks and sanctuaries in central and western India. Organized by a conglomerate of NGOs,

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conservation groups, grassroots organizations and environmentalists, the aim of the march was a critical assessment of official conservation policies and practices. It also attempted to initiate a dialogue among a wide range of actors affected by and associated with conservation to facilitate the participation of local people in evolving new strategies of conservation. A major part of this study is based on the participation in the campaign march. This technique of participatory research involved participation in informal discussions and group meetings, complemented by participatory observation and follow up discussions with some of the principal organizers of the yatra. To assess the public face of the march and its perceptions of nature and environment, the speeches made by the leaders of the yatra from different platforms, documentation of some press briefings, and published material distributed by the organizers during the march are also analysed. The paper consists of five sections. The first section introduces the objectives and constituents of the yatra. The second section is an attempt to describe the course of the yatra and the interaction between the people and the participants in the yatra (henceforth referred to as yatns). The narrative in this section is structured by the journey-people interface. The third section identifies the major issues confronting the local communities that surfaced during the yatra. The fourth section analyses the march as representing the critical discourse and examines its problems and prospects. The final section consists of some concluding remarks.

The Jungle Jivan Bachao Yatra In the early months of 1995, the Jungle Jivan Bachao Yatra,3 passed through several national parks and sanctuaries in western and central India. In September 1994, at a meeting of grassroots—mostly NGO activists held at the Indian Institute of Public Administration, New Delhi, a view was expressed that people living in and around national parks and sanctuaries had no forum to voice their concerns and that no attempt has been made to bring together these people and the officials of the forest and wildlife department, with the purpose of initiating a dialogue between them. The meeting highlighted the need to go ‘beyond an articulation of the problems into an exploration of alternative strategies at conservation.’

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Yatra: Form and Content The use of the peaceful march as a strategy for mobilization dates back to the early days of the Indian freedom struggle. During the independence struggle Gandhi used the yatra as an instrument of learning from the people and mobilizing them to protest against the state. Since those days the yatra has become an established political strategy in the country.4 This mode of campaigning has been used in the environment movement as well. The Jungle Jivan Bachao Yatra bears legacy to a series of similar marches—the Save the Western Ghat March, the Sangharsh Yatra in the Narmada Valley to protest against the Sardar Sarovar Project, and the Save the Aravalh Padyatra undertaken by different actors of the environmental movement in India. The purposes of the yatra were to ascertain the conditions of wildlife and human habitat in protected areas and to learn about the perceptions of different social actors and their experiences. Thus, it was a ‘journey of discovery.’ But this learning process was part of a wider mobilization strategy geared towards bringing together hitherto isolated and localized organizations, groups and grassroots activists into a wider network, for synthesising shared experiences as well as formulating strategies. Therefore the yatra was also a protest campaign over existing conservation thinking and management, documenting and voicing evidence of their non-participatory, elitist and ineffective character. Representing, as it was, various social actors articulating and mediating resource conflicts emerging from state conservation practices, the yatra was to ‘help form bridges between such persons and groups so as to secure the future of these habitats (sanctuaries and national parks) and the wildlife they contain.’5 The yatra, being the brainchild of a group of NGOs and individuals actively involved in conservation, was endowed with an a priori understanding of the causes of the continuous decline of the protected areas. This understanding was meant to be sharpened with the marshalling of concrete experiences and evidence across states, so as to build up strong bases for demanding more effective and participatory conservation.

Constituents The participants in the yatra were members of conservation groups, NGOs and representatives of local communities living in and around the protected areas.6 The latter were drawn primarily from the areas on

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which a few of the organizers had some influence. These community representatives were directly or indirectly involved in the activities of their respective local NGOs. Overall, the yams comprised a group of urban conservationists, researchers, activists and representatives of affected rural communities. Four NGOs were assigned the task of organizing the yatra; the Tarun Bharat Sangh of Rajasthan, the Centre for Environmental Education, of Gujarat, the Maharashtra Aiogya Mandal of Maharashtia and the Ekta Panshad of Madhya Pradesh. These NGOs undertook to organize the march in their respective states. Local grassroots organizations were also mobilized. In a few places, particularly in Gujarat, the forest and wildlife department of the government played host. The modus operandi of the yatra was to exchange ideas and discuss problems with local NGOs and concerned officials, visit the protected areas, campaign at the village level and discuss problems with the local communities.

Itinerary Using two jeeps, a mini-bus and a car the yatra covered a distance of about 14,000 km over a period of 50 days, traversing 18 national parks and sanctuaries in Rajasthan, Gujarat, Maharashtra, Madhya Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh and Delhi. On an average the yatra consisted of about thirty people although this number swelled on occasion as local community organizations and activists joined it. The itinerary included Sariska Tiger Reserve, the Keoladevo National Park in Bharatpur, Ranthambore National Park in Sawai Madhavpur, Jamwanagar Sanctuary near Jaipur and Phulwan ki Naal near Udaipur all located in Rajasthan, the Gir National Park, the Girnar Reserve, Hingolgarh Sanctuary and Shoolpaneswar Sanctuary, and some Joint Forest Management Schemes undertaken by the forest department in Gujarat, the Bonvelh Reserve in Bombay, Koyna Sanctuary, Radhanagan Sanctuary, the Melghat Tiger Reserve and the Bhimashankar Sanctuary in Maharashtra, the Kanha Tiger Reserve and the Pench Reserve in Madhya Pradesh and the Shivpun and Rajajn National Parks of Uttar Pradesh. The yatra culminated in Delhi after a visit to the Delhi Ridge. A concluding two-day convention was held in Delhi to evaluate the achievements and plan follow-up actions.

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From Sariska to Bhimashankar: A Narrative Beginning at Sariska The yatra began from the village of Mallana, in the Sariska Tiger Reserve. The day-long inauguration ceremony was attended by several hundred villagers gathered from nearby villages Recitals from Ramayana and worship of Nahardeo (the local tiger) deity were followed by community meetings, feasts and street theatre. The Sariska Reserve was an ideal place to begin the yatra. The local pastoral community had faced serious problems when Sariska was declared a tiger reserve, particularly with regard to their grazing rights. A chain of limestone and marble mines operating in the park region had also seriously affected the forest, land and water regimes of the Gujjar community living in the park Significantly, the forest department had been unable to counter the powerful forces which were behind the sanction and promotion of mining in that area Mobilized by the Tarun Bharat Sangh, a local NGO, the local community took the struggle right up to the level of the Supreme Court of India, culminating in the banning of all mining activities in the national park area. The Tarun Bharat Sangh has also successfully resisted the attempts of park officials at relocating a number of villages falling within the ‘core area’ of the park.7 The Sangh, based in the village of Bikampura, has about 80 members on its staff. Its operations—advertised on the walls of the Sangh’s headquarters—are spread over 200 surrounding villages Rajinder Singh, its founder and secretary general—and incidentally, a de facto leader of the yatra—has become a popular and respected person in the area although he hails from Meerut district in Uttar Pradesh.8 The congregation at Mallana was thus indicative of the Sangh’s success in mobilizing community action, and served as an ideal beginning for the yatra, infusing optimism and hope.9

Keoladeo National Park The next destination was the Bharatpur National Park, a world-famous wetland reserve. The hosts, the Keoladeo Research Foundation and the local chapter of the Bombay Natural History Society, briefed the yatris on the major problem areas and the nature of their intervention. The

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yatris visited several villages in the area to interact with the people and get a first-hand report of the current situation. A general opinion voiced in the villages was that the ban on grazing inside the park had adversely affected their economic position. A decade ago, seven villagers had been shot dead by the police during a protest over the ban. Since the ban, the per capita holding of cattle in the villages has declined dramatically, the well-off households, some owning up to 90 acres of land, have shifted to agriculture from cattle raising, but the poorer households have been hit hard. The poor have taken to rickshaw-pulling, which has become a big source of income because the park is now a major tourist attraction. The local people argue that the ban on grazing adversely affected the national park itself. As proof, they point out that the Siberian cranes—once a major attraction in the park—had not been spotted for the last couple of years. According to one study (Vijayan 1987) the Paspalum grass in the park has overgrown as a result of the ban thereby choking shallow bodies of water the habitat of winter geese and ducks. The local people regard buffalo grazing as an important part of the wetland eco-system as grazing loosens the soil and dung is fed on by birds. The yatris also had a meeting with the local chapter of the Khadi Gram Udyog, a Gandhian organization popularising cottage industries in the area. The possibilities of increasing employment opportunities and of creating alternative income-generating activities in the area were explored, as means of subsistence as well as to reduce human pressure on the national park. This was considered important since industrial activity is discouraged in Bharatpur because it may harm the fragile eco-system of the park.

Ranthambore National Park The Tiger Reserve at Ranthambore was the next destination. The host was the local chapter of the Centre for Environment Education, Ahmedabad, which had been working in some villages around the park. Activities in Ranthambore included village level meetings, a meeting with local officials of the park and a night trip to households in local villages. At Bodhal, near Sawai Madhavpur, the yatris addressed a village gathering after which informal discussions were held with the villagers. The discussions with villagers generally centered on the problems they faced in their daily life. While access rights to grazing and fuelwood were mentioned, the periodic

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crop damage by wild animals was considered the most important problem facing the villagers. The yatris later had a first-hand experience of crop raiding, when they spent the night in the village of Moldongri situated in the park area. Almost the entire population of the village—women and children included—took turns to guard their fields from wild pigs, neelgais (bluebuck) and wild ducks. The village was divided on the issue of resettlement, with some villagers wanting to move out and others preferring to stay. The yatris decided to discuss the problem of crop raiding at the meeting with the local park officials. While the forest and wildlife officials had largely ignored the yatra at Sariska and Bharatpur, at Ranthambore they sat down to discuss and debate issues with the yatris. At an open forum which included some local journalists and activists, officials dealt at length with the current situation in the park, the resource needs of the local population and the ways and means by which these needs could be met in the near future. The officials recognized the need to involve the local communities in forest protection and mentioned the formation of forest protection committees in 16 villages, including the village of Bodhal. However, given the size of the area—the total area of the tiger project in Ranthambore is 1,300 sq km, and within a radius of 10 kms there are about 270 villages with a population of about 400,000 people—the officials admitted that so far only confidence-building measures had been initiated. The officials also spelt out the adoption of park management strategies under the Global Environment Fund (GEF), an aid package of the World Bank created after the Rio Summit. The project area is divided into the core zone which remains untouched, the buffer zone, and the multiple use zone. The buffer zone caters to the fodder requirements of the local communities; some soil conservation measures are also undertaken periodically by employing local labour. The multiple use zone is now being created for fuelwood plantation to cater to the needs of the local people.

Phulwari ki Naal After conducting its first press conference in Jaipur, the convoy moved an to Phulwari ki naal.10 The area around the park is largely inhabited by Bhils and Kathodias. As was evident in Ambavadi village—situated close to the buffer area of the sanctuary—these people faced some of the

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harshest living conditions. The access road to Ambavadi was barely passable, and no public transport facilities existed within a radius of 20 kms. The upper reaches of the forests were largely inhabited by the Bhils who cultivate some forest land. The Kathkari households, living in the lower reaches, owned some revenue cultivation plots. For most of the year, however, the population migrated to Surat and Ahmedabad in search of wage employment as the produce from the land lasted them less than two months. At Ambavadi, a village meeting was held in the courtyard of a local organization (Action India) where the local Bhils and Kathodias spelt out their dependence on forest resources. The representative of a labour union from Vijaynagar tehsil in Gujarat provided details of the plight of labourers. Employment generation schemes undertaken by the forest department under different programmes—digging, stone fencing, construction of check dams, transportation of seedlings and road side plantations—were in violation of labour laws of the state, including the Minimum Wages Act.11 The representative pointed out anomalies in the functioning of the Forest Development Corporation (FDC) in Gujarat. The corporation had been formed with the aim of preventing the private monopoly trading of minor forest products; it was made the sole agent for grading, harvesting, drying, transporting, marketing and auctioning any of the minor forest products including gum, lac, kendu leaves and mahua. However, the sub-agents of the corporation were the earlier traders who, therefore, have retained their stranglehold over the operations. Their exploitative labour practices continue unaltered.14

Hingolgarh Sanctuary Early in its second week, the yatra entered Gujarat and the Hingolgarh sanctuary. This sanctuary is being managed by a private institution, the GEER Foundation (Gujarat Environment Education and Research Foundation) since 1982. The sanctuary was initially the fodder growing area of the erstwhile maharaja, Rajkumar Thatcher, an eminent ornithologist. The forest department took it over in 1972, and declared it a sanctuary under the Wildlife (Protection) Act passed that year. Ten years later, the GEER Foundation inherited a degraded ‘protected’ area, almost on the verge of being denotified, and converted it into a nature education sanctuary. Today the management proudly proclaims that

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successful protection has resulted in the regeneration of the forests. Villagers complained that some species of wildlife have proliferated causing damage to crops. Under the fodder development programme adopted two years ago, about 300,000 kg of grass is made available every year to the local Maldhari communities living around the sanctuary with a total cattle population of over seven thousand. At a community meeting organized by the foundation, villagers complained about the inadequate responses of both the district administration and the park management on the issue of crop damage. The yatris were also asked if they had concrete plans for addressing this issue. Some suggested large-scale transfer of the animals to other protected areas. The alternative of bringing in carnivores like panthers from other protected areas to regulate the population of herbivores was proposed. Others suggested ‘family planning’ measures (castration of the male species). The possibilities of generating resources to build a protective wall around some villages were also discussed. Representatives of the park management were more concerned about the bio-mass pressure on the sanctuary. They argued that the bulk of the cattle population in the villages was unproductive, the total milk output from about 7,000 cattle being an abysmally low 1,000 liters. They proposed a drastic culling of cattle, from the present 25 to about 3 per household to enhance milk production and ensure that the biomass in the area would be adequate for all the animals. The management also complained that the stall-feeding programme undertaken by them was not popular with the villagers, as it involved substantial labour. The Maldharis, they stated, operated on a ‘zero cost economy and always preferred to let the cattle graze on their own. The visit to the Hingolgarh Sanctuary clearly established one thing. Despite a more receptive management, human pressure on the protected areas continues to be exerted, as the lifestyles of the local communities remain unchanged. The management’s attempts to alter these practices have met with lukewarm response, if not resistance.

Girnar Reserve The yatra’s next destination was the Lion Reserve at Gir. On its way to Gir the yatra made a stopover at Junagadh. It joined a local organization, the National Nature Education Foundation, in honouring a Divisional

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Commissioner of Forests who had done exemplary work in protecting and regenerating the Girnar protected forest. The foundation was also active in mobilizing the citizenry in Junagadh against a proposed ‘Rarnkatha recital’, a recital of the Hindu epic Ramayana by Morari Bapu12 in the Girnar Forests. They fear that the large number of devotees would be attracted to the recital thereby upsetting the fragile ecology. The honour bestowed on the Divisional Commissioner of Forests (DCF) by a local environmental organization raised a new set of issues. Unlike in other protected areas where the local communities were hostile to the government officials, here in Junagadh the local people were honouring a forest official for his contribution to conservation. They were mostly the people from the town itself, and were well educated, government employees and middle-class nature lovers and not poor people depending on the forests for their subsistence. Yet this should not undermine the fact that government officials can often ensure that conservation is both successful and sustainable. In his acceptance address the DCF echoed nature lovers’ views on conservation. His suggestions for successful conservation was motivating lower-level staff, improving the living conditions of forest guards and the communication systems.

Gir National Park and Sanctuary Home to the Asiatic Lion, the Gir National Park was at the centre of a controversy when the yatra reached it. The state government had allotted about 20 hectares of forest land to a temple trust in the heart of the sanctuary whereas a few decades ago the government had displaced several hundred Maldhari families—pastoral communities residing inside the forests—to minimise human interventions. The yatra’s itinerary included a visit to a resettled village and to the park. The Wildlife Warden at Gir briefed the yatra on the problem of land allotment to the temple trust and on the grievances of the displaced communities. During discussions the local Maldharis from Jullender, a resettlement village outside the sanctuary, stated that, contrary to the claims of the park management, the lion population had declined drastically over the years. They claimed that the frequency of appearance of herds of lions had decreased, and the average

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size of a herd had fallen from 20–25 to the present size of five to eight. Here too, the contentious issue was the denial of grazing rights after the formation of the park. While living inside the forests, the community used to have easy access to forest resources. Initially, the forest department had adopted what was known as the ‘coop system’ which supplied the fodder requirements of the local communities through specific enclosures inside the forests. After the success of the first coop more coops were made available while the first one was left to regenerate. After 1978, however, this facility was withdrawn. Now even the grass periodically cut from the forests is no longer offered to the local villagers but is auctioned off to outside contractors. The villagers claimed that curtailment of their traditional rights not only adversely affected their economic condition but has also resulted in the degradation of the forests. According to them, the frequency of illegal cutting has gone up because of the absence of any human settlements inside, which acted as a strong deterrent. Illegal felling has resulted in the decline of herbivores like cheetals and neelgais, the main prey for the lions. Owing to paucity of game the lions have taken to attacking human beings. The Maldharis were less worried about losing buffaloes in raids by lions than the denial of access to forest products. Villagers claimed that when the lions had cattle to prey on, human life was safe and also, since they were acquainted with the movements of lions, they took precautionary measures for their cattle. In cases of loss of cattle they received compensation through the department of forest and wildlife. The 28 households which were forcibly resettled in Jullender village received compensation packages that included about eight acres of cultivable land per family. The villagers complained that the officials threatened to burn their dwellings if they refused the compensation and continued to stay in the area, and that the promise of two acres of grazing land per household as part of the compensation package was never fulfilled. The villagers resorted to agriculture, an occupation that was completely alien to them. The Maldharis were extremely agitated nvftr their displacement and their subsequent resettlement. When asked if they wanted to return to the forests, they stated that they might consider it provided their cattle holdings were restored to their previous sizes and their traditional grazing rights protected. Notwithstanding such vehement protests, however, it was evident that they were better off

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compared to the Kathkaris in Phulwari ki Naal to other ethnic communities that the yatra met in Shoolpaneswar and Bhimashankar.

Shoolpaneswar Sanctuary The Shoolpaneswar Sanctuary has been in the limelight ever since the government of Gujarat decided to rename the Dhomkal Sloth Bear Sanctuary and extend its boundary from 150 sq km area to 600 sq km, up to shoreline of the reservoir of the Sardar Sarovar Dam. The governmental resolution to extend the existing boundary of the sanctuary was primarily in response to critical remarks made in environmental studies on the adverse effects that the Sardar Sarovar Project could have on the wildlife habitat in the region. The formation of the sanctuary has, however, created fresh problems for the government. There has been considerable opposition to the notification of the sanctuary by the local Vasava community. Fearing curtailment of usufruct, the community—spread over a hundred villages—has organized itself under the banner of Gujarat Vanvasi Sangathan and has petitioned the government to withdraw the notification. The Arch Vahini, a local NGO based in Mangrol and a critical actor in the Narmada movement, has mobilized support within and for the community in this regard. The Vahini was the host to the Yatra at Shoolpaneswar. Its founder, Anil Patel, delineated the grounds for opposing the formation of the sanctuary. Patel stated that the sanctuary which would cover an area of 45,000 hectares, would deprive the tribals of the forest land, restrict their rights of access to minor forest produce and timber. As the Vindhya and Satpura ranges have experienced extensive deforestation due to indiscriminate tree felling, the tribals, who subsisted on forest produce and forest land, had been impoverished. The setting up of the sanctuary would exacerbate their condition because they have to forego their customary rights. Patel13 was also sceptical about the number of sloth bears and other wild animals in the area, given the relentless attacks on their habitat. In a village meeting in Sakri, situated at the heart of the sanctuary, the local Vasavas expressed similar views. The turnout here was by far the largest that the yatra had witnessed and more than half of those gathered were women. The rationale of forming a sanctuary was questioned. According to local claims, as there was no significant forest

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cover, the area of the Sardar Sarovar Dam would not really reduce forest cover. In any case, the imminence of displacement had encouraged the residents to cut down the trees in connivance with the forest department. The people said that a powerful syndicate with strong connections in the forest bureaucracy has a vested interest in declaring the area as a sanctuary. It was also claimed that, as there were no significant wildlife in the area the government had resorted to importing animals from elsewhere. They fear that such decisions pose a threat to the lives of both humans and cattle. The people complained against the monopoly rights over minor forest produce claimed by the Forest Development Corporation which had reduced their earnings. They also raised the issue of leasing out bamboo to the Central Pulp Mills located in Bharuch. As Manga Bhai, an activist of the Vanvasi Sangathan, argued: ‘When we bring something from the forests it becomes a crime, whereas when outsiders come and take tonnes of timber and bamboo it is not. Why? When the government is asked about this, it says things are being done as per the law’ (Interview, village Sakri, dated 24. 1. 95). The resentment of the local community was summed up by Buddi Bahen, a young woman activist of the Sangathan: This place has been declared as a sanctuary in lieu of the forest coming under submergence because of the SSP. But we have seen that there was never any forest in the submergence area of the SSP. The people coming under submergence lost agricultural land and have received compensation. So why have they declared a sanctuary here? Because of the fact that we have a sanctuary now the government states that there can be no roads, water or electricity. All development work stops because of the law (Proceedings of the community meeting, village Sakri, dated 24. 1. 95).14

The local opposition to the declaration of a sanctuary and their demand for denotification posed a classic problem for the yatra. At one level, supporting the demand for denotification countered the very objectives of conservation that the yatra espoused; on the other, arbitrary impositions like the one at Shoolpaneswar could only succeed by depriving and alienating the local population. This problem was to be debated later at the concluding convention in Delhi. Shoolpaneswar was the last protected area visited in Gujarat. Before entering Maharashtra the yatris visited sites where Joint Forest Management schemes of the forest department have been executed in

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co-operation with the local communities. The details and prospects of such schemes are discussed later in the paper.

Discussion on the Dang On its way to Borivelli National Park, the yatra had an overnight stop at the Sampoorna Kranti Vidyalaya situated in the Dang Bharuch border at Bedchi. A delegation of the Dangi Lok Adhikar Samiti, an organization active on the land question in the Dang Forests in south-east Gujarat, met the yatris to explain the specific problems of the local communities—particularly Bhils and Warlis—living in the Dang forest reserves. The major demand of the organization has been for the regularization of ‘encroached’ forest land that the Bhils—constituting about 40 per cent of the population—have been cultivating for years. The demand for land regularization is an age-old one and has been met occasionally under different regimes, colonial and postcolonial, with the last regularization taking place in 1980. Of the 306 villages falling in the reserve forest area only about 15 are revenue villages, the rest being classified as forest villages with some regularization of deeds in them. The bulk of the private revenue land in the reserve is owned by rich Konkanis, who came into the Dang from around Nasik in Maharashtra in the aftermath of the Deccan riots in Ahmednagar and Poona districts in the 1870s. Even within the forest villages, where land has been regularized and privatized, it is largely in the hands of the Konkanis. Even when demands for land regularization have come up for consideration, it has been difficult to prove encroachment due to the unprofessional behaviour of the forest department. Its preference for collecting unofficial fines for encroachments in kind rather than in cash leaves the cultivator with no official document to prove that s/he has been cultivating a particular patch of land (albeit illegally) for a given period. Although, the sarpanch, the political head of a village (or a cluster of villages), is authorized to give evidence that a patch has been cultivated for generations, this is not considered sufficient evidence; those calling the shots in the region are the bureaucrats led by the District Forest Officer and the District Collector. The activists of the samiti reject claims about the impact of human activities, particularly cultivation practices, on the forest eco-system. Where cultivation is undertaken there is no felling of trees and therefore

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the argument that cultivation affects forests does not hold. The fear of further possible encroachment were also ruled out. It was stated that if land holdings were regularized, then village organizations would be the right institutions to offer guarantees against further encroachment. The Dang struggle has received very little support so far from the people’s movements and organizations in Gujarat. Like the Sardar Sarovar Project in Navagam and the Nuclear Power Plant at Kakrapar, which are forbidden terrain for people’s organization, the Dang struggle has been fought in virtual isolation. In this context, local activists expressed concern that the yatra had not included the Dang Reserve Forests in its itinerary.

Borivelli National Park The yatra’s & agenda in Borivelli had a metropolitan flavour and understandably so, as the park is situated in North Bombay in an urban setting.15 It included an early morning ‘nature trail’ in the park, followed by a meeting with representatives of local organizations, the press and senior forest officials of the state including the Chief Wildlife Warden of Maharashtra. In the afternoon the yatris were to be guests at a painting competition for school children in Borivelli. The condition of the park is extremely fragile. There is intense pressure on it from tourists, particularly the local population of Bombay who find it an ideal location to escape from the hustle and bustle of metropolitan living. A large section of the park area has been encroached upon through the activities of powerful slum lords of the city. These slum lords, in tandem with builders and land developers, get immigrant workers to settle in unauthorized plots in and around Borivelli. Once these plots are registered in the names of the actual inhabitants they are evicted by force and the plots are then sold for a high price. At the meeting, the Chief Warden of the park himself stated: ‘Conservation will increasingly become difficult given the extent of commercial and industrial pressures on the protected areas and therefore it is very necessary that other social actors take up an active role in making the endeavour a successful one’ (Citizen Group Meeting, Borivelli National Park, dated 26.1.95). He admitted, however, that the management had no immediate action plan to counter the degradation of the park.

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Bhimashankar Sanctuary The Bhimashankar sanctuary is famous for its many sacred groves, called ‘Deorai’ in the local language. The Deorais are large tracts of forests left untouched by the local population as they are believed to be the abode of the forest gods. Widely acknowledged by environmentalists as efficient conservation methods, these traditional practices are said to have emerged from the cultural fabric of the local communities.16 Environmentalists argue that such practices and knowledge systems need to be restored and made an integral part of modern conservation measures. The Maharashtra Arogya Mandal, one of the organizers of the yatra, has done pioneering work in and around the sanctuary. With the help of the local community activists it has identified all major local flora species and documented their traditional uses. The Mandal has also taken up soil conservation measures in some of the Deorais in the area. Predictably, the agenda for the yatris included a visit to one of the sacred groves in the area Spread over 7 to 8 acres of thick forest tracts, the sacred grove was clearly identifiable by its dense growth. At one side of the grove there is a small temple, and ironically, a recently-laid unmetalled road has been constructed right through the grove. When asked how this was allowed, a local inhabitant expressed the community’s helplessness before the wishes of the ‘sarkar’. At a village meeting in the Mandal headquarters the local people mentioned crop raiding by wild boars as their major problem. However, forest officials and some yatris expressed the opinion that an exclusive focus on human problems should be discarded in favour of a position that is sensitive to animal rights. It was the first time in the yatra that animal rights as an issue was addressed in an open forum. From Bhimashankar the yatra went on to cover seven more national parks and sanctuaries till it reached Delhi on the 28th of February 1995.

Contours of Resource Conflicts The following summaries reflect the nature of resource conflicts in some of the protected areas covered during the yatra.

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Pastoral Rights One of the most frequently voiced demands that the yatra documented and supported was the restoration of the traditional grazing rights of the local pastoral communities. The ban on grazing has been overtly resisted in Bharatpur and Ranthambore (Rajasthan), and in Rajaji National Park (Uttar Pradesh) where the local Gujjar community has carried on a protracted agitation against it. Resistance is also visible in routine everyday forms, subverting official regulations and sanctions. Bribing forest guards is the common practice. Very often cattle just stray into the parks, especially during the monsoon seasons. The popular belief is that cattle instinctively ran towards the forest at the onset of monsoons. The ban on grazing has indeed affected the pastoral community. In Melghat, for instance, where officials had sanctioned allotments for fodder development programmes in the buffer zones, it has not altered the reluctance of local communities to carry head loads of grass to feed their cattle. ‘Why should one carry head-loads when the cattle can just walk in and eat?’, ask the villagers from Merhat in the Melghat Sanctuary, referring obviously to the thick growth of grass which has been the consequence of the ban on grazing. This reluctance, however, has earned them the epithet of ‘lazy people’ who function in a ‘zero cost economy’.

Fuel-Wood Crisis For rural communities living in and adjacent to sanctuaries and parks the availability of fuel wood itself is not as acute a problem as it is for their rural counterparts elsewhere; their problem is one of access because of the stringent regulations governing the protected areas. In many of these areas, to get fuel wood people bribe forest guards. The system has become institutionalized in many places in the form of fixed rates per head-load. For the poorer households, such illegal collection is also a source of income; they can sell fuel wood in the nearby villages and towns. Such collection and sale of fuel wood is entirely carried out by women and children Local communities also face difficulties in procuring fuel wood for special occasions like funerals and weddings when large quantities are required, and hence they resort to bribing the forest

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guards. Their representatives have pointed out that although the wood brought for funerals is prohibited for other uses, quantities much in excess of the requirement for such occasions are collected because a bribe is paid.17 Local activists support such arguments and even suggest that free access to such resources will have a less damaging impact, because people would then take only what they require. This view is contradicted by the official position according to which free access causes inefficient use of resources and could lead to denudation of forests and acute scarcity of fuel wood. The middle ground between these contending positions is now being explored under the Joint Forest Management (JFM) schemes being implemented by some state governments. Under the JFM scheme, the forest department takes on the protection, regeneration and plantation of forests with the help of the local communities so as to primarily cater to the fuel wood and fodder needs of the communities. There are also direct economic benefits. When dense patches are periodically loomed, cleaned and the timber sold, the local community gets 25 per cent of the sale. After 25 years, when the forest matures for harvesting, 50 per cent of the sales proceeds would accrue to the local community. In Mandvi village, where this scheme was in operation, the panchayat leader explained its mechanics. The area had dense forests 50 years ago, but pressures largely from the local communities led to depletion and degradation. Facing severe crises of fuel wood, fodder and logs for house repair, the communities agreed to the JFM scheme which was initiated with 65 members on 25 hectares of land. Today, all the village households are covered under this scheme and the entire forest area in the region (of about 500 hectares) has been brought under it. The villagers have access to fodder and fuel wood from these areas and their requirements are regulated by the JFM village committee. Despite its innovative features and its relative success the scheme has been viewed with suspicion for several reasons. First, with the initiation of JFM schemes on pasture land under the forest department, their character as village commons with open access has changed to controlled access only for the members of the JFM committee in the village.18 Often the poorer inhabitants, backward tribal communities and women of the villages are left out of such committees.19 This means that the rural male elite who already own and control agricultural land would extend its control to forests and forest products as well. Second, these

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schemes prove to be environmentally unsustainable because they promote monoculture of the species which have high market value, thereby reducing biodiversity. The proposed harvest of the forest in 20 years implies that nothing of the ‘forest’ would remain after the harvest. Thirdly, the participatory element of the scheme is very much restricted only to protection of the forests and is in no way demonstrative of any joint ‘management’. All the major decisions are taken by the officials of the forest department. Although the plan was to hand over the forest for local management after the first five years, the tardiness in registering the JFM committee have led to delay in its implementation.

Minor Forest Products Although government resolutions and legislation on the collection, harvesting and trading of MFPs (minor forest products) differ from state to state, it is well known that most of the States prefer to retain monopoly rights over profitable MFPs. Usually kendu/bidi leaves20 form the maximum share—about 45 per cent—in the returns from MFPs. In the financial year 1993–94, the Madhya Pradesh government’s annual turnover from this sector was Rs. 200 crores. Other MFPs yield less but their contribution is nevertheless substantial. In the Balaram Sanctuary in Banaskantha District in Gujarat, the turnover from gum is estimated to be roughly Rs. 15 lakh per week during the peak season. Where the States have allowed private trading of MFPs, big monopolies have emerged. In Gujarat, the bidi business is controlled by three traders, one of whom controls the trade in 40 of the 120 units that constitute the Gujarat forests. This is despite the fact that the monopoly over MFPs lies with the Gujarat Forest Development Corporation. However, the collection and petty trading of MFPs are crucial for the survival needs and income augmentation of the poor, particularly in the tribal areas. Fruits, roots and berries are added to the survival portfolio in the most vulnerable months; vegetables are collected usually after two months of rain. Gum, mahua, lac, honey and saag seeds are other major MFPs that provide additional income to the local forest communities. The collection cycle of MFPs suggests that income from these is crucial for survival during the dry months until the agriculture season begins after the rains. The demand for access to and control over MFPs was clearly articulated in the Vasava villages in Shoolpaneswar

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where the Gujarat Vanavasi Sangathan has been demanding the abolition of the monopoly of the Gujarat Forest Development Corporation, a free market, and fair prices for the MFP. In at least two other parks representatives of the local communities demanded access to MFPs and expected the yatra to take up this issue with the officials in Delhi.

Commercial and Industrial Pressures While local communities have systematically experienced curtailment of usufruct and access rights to forests and in many places have been displaced from their original habitats, all in the name of conservation, in the majority of the parks, commercial and industrial activities which are detrimental to the cause of conservation have been allowed. As these areas gradually become degraded, pressures from powerful interest groups lead to their denotification. Many national parks and sanctuaries such as the Melghat and Radhanagari in Maharashtra, the Narayan Sarovar in Gujarat, Bhitarkanika and Balukhand in Orissa have either been denotified or face denotification. The Narayan Sarovar Sanctuary in Kutch, for example, has recently been denotified to make way for a cement factory, while the Gulf of Kutch marine national park faces denotification because of a proposed oil refinery by the Reliance industries. The yatra came across several ongoing commercial activities in the protected areas. Large-scale bamboo extraction from the Shoolpaneswar Sanctuary by the Central Pulp Mills has been allowed, while the forest officials harass local villagers wanting fuel wood or small timber for house repairs. Open-cast marble mining is carried out in and around the Jamva Ramgarh Sanctuary in Rajasthan. In Ranthambore, the Geological Survey of India is now carrying out a prospective survey of mineral areas adjacent to the park. Such activities are nevertheless supported by conservation officials. For instance, bamboo extraction was justified on the ground that it allowed sunlight into the park which the herbivorous animals liked! Mineral exploration and mining were justified for their economic benefits and for providing employment opportunities to the local population. And when the issue of general corruption was taken up for discussion in the context of illegal logging in the park areas, the response was that the entire system is corrupt and it was unfair to isolate the

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forest department for criticism. As one official put it, ‘So long as a sleeping berth in a railway train is available for (a bribe of ) Rs. 100 the problem of corruption will continue to exist’.

Crop Damage by Wild Animals Crop damage by the wild animals led to a direct clash of interests between the local communities and conservation groups. The loss to the local economy at places is computed to be 50 per cent of the total crop output. In 1987, the Maharashtra Arogya Mandal attempted to quantify the extent of crop damage by wild boars. A survey conducted in 25 hamlets that year revealed that about 96,000 kg of grain was destroyed by wild animals, resulting in a loss of Rs. 2,32,000. In 1993, the survey was repeated and the damage computed was 90,820 kg of grain valued at Rs. 4,53,000. While state governments offer compensation for attacks on people and cattle and humans by wild animals, crop damage, which is more rampant, has been kept out of the purview of compensation. In fact, officials claim that compensation schemes for crop damages do not exist because of the difficulties in devising and implementing them.21 Preventive measures which could minimise the damage, such as translocation of wild animals, fencing of parks and sanctuaries, financial allocations for employing watchmen and even (as one local group suggested) castration of the male animals, require more funds. The officials also have to shed their apathy to such problems. Extensive crop damage usually occurs because of over breeding among herbivores. Of course, park officials attribute the increase of herbivores to successful conservation strategies. But this increase could well be due to a sharp decline in the number of carnivores. It is not coincidental that in protected areas where there is reported merciless poaching of leopards and tigers, crop damage from herbivores is simultaneously reported and has become a serious problem.

Forest Land and Forest Wage Labour ‘Encroachments’ on forest land, and the demands for regularization of such lands have been contentious issues for the conservation movement. Cultivation of forest land is an age-old and widespread

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practice primarily, though not exclusively, in Adivasi areas. In some areas in western India, the forest department itself has leased out land for a specific tenure for cultivation. Even then, major portions of forest land under cultivation are deemed to have been ‘encroached’ upon by the state agencies. The fact that population pressure and the consequent ecological pressure on the local communities forces them to bring more forest land under cultivation is, however, entirely ignored. Within the conservation movement itself, demands for regularization do not find much support and are treated with suspicion. The yatra revealed the uneasiness of conservationists when confronted with such demands. The struggles in the Dangs and in Shoolpaneswar over ‘encroachment’ received almost no attention compared to other elements of conflicts that the yatra chose to highlight. The issue of exploitative labour regimes in the forests was also left out of the yatra’s discourse. Given that these regimes are hidden from the public gaze, the yatra could at least have brought to light the high-handedness of the forest officials in interpreting labour laws.

Standard Environmental Narrative The yatra represented several organizations and action groups with differing perspectives on and approaches to conservation. The minimal consensus that prevailed over the issue of conservation related to the resource conflict between urban/industrial and local needs. Throughout the yatra the leaders took recourse to populist rhetoric on the rural-urban divide by highlighting the rising consumption demands of the urban industrial enclaves, condemning the urban way of life and eulogizing the virtues of rural living and its customary bond with nature and environment. The rationale of the yatra to a village gathering was explained thus by Rajinder Singh: When governments talk of forest destruction they state that people living in villages are irresponsible and they destroy forests. They keep attaching this stigma on us, whereas actually they are the ones who have played a major role in the destruction process. We want to bring this truth to light before the world, before the nation and the people that those who have been hitherto accused (by the government) of destroying forests do not actually do so . . . In this yatra we . . . want to erase this stigma attached to villagers as destroyers of

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In an encounter with some forest officials Singh claimed; ‘I do not, for one, believe that people for whom forests are an integral part of their lives, a base for their livelihood, are not worried about them. There is no evidence whatsoever to prove that something that gives the people air, food, medicines and milk is being ignored by them.’ Kusum Karnik of the Maharashtra Arogya Mandal, another leader, said in one of her speeches: We (people living in villages around forests) are poor people, we only bring minor products and other such items from the forests. We never destroy the forests. Is it possible for us to cut those huge trees and carry them to our homes? Small twigs and branches are enough for us. The forest is our mother. We have lived with it. It is an age old bond. If the government wants us to break this relationship, we will not do so. The fact is that the wood from the forests are required by the rich, the urbanites, because they need huge cots, tables and chairs. They even need their handkerchiefs to be made out of paper. They care little about our forests getting depleted. We, the people who live in the forest, know it like we know our mothers. We live by drinking its milk and not its blood (Speech, Village Bodhal, dated 18. January 95).

Such a projection of the rural community was not just a strategy of consciousness-raising nor was it a confidence-winning measure. It reflected the yatra’s understanding of the problems and prospects of conservation, which can be summed up as follows: a) People living in and around forests are critically dependent on the forests for their livelihood. Because of this dependency they share an integral bond with the forests and live in harmony with them. Age-old traditions and customs guide the manner in which people in these communities use the forest resources. This relationship is neither extractive nor exploitative. b) Conservation policies adopted by the government in recent years have alienated the local people from their traditional resource base while privileging urban industrial needs. This has resulted in the wanton destruction of wildlife habitats. c) Despite the alienation most of the people in these communities are inclined towards conservation and protection of the forests. Hence conservation policies must address the question of participation, making use, in the process, of traditional conservation methods and practices. d) Participation also implies sharing in the benefits of conservation by granting the local communities access to and control over the distribution of forest resources so that their livelihood needs are met.

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Public Face of the Yatra The yatra’s understanding on conservation apart, it was important for it to define the interests that it represented. With a fair share of urban nature lovers and environmentalists participating, it was almost compelled to magnify its rural orientation, in order to live up to the image it had come to project of itself. The yatra was therefore projected as representing the interests of those village communities which have experienced the effects of official conservation practices. It provided a platform for communities living in and around protected areas to come together and exchange their ideas and experiences with each other. On several occasions the leaders, who were themselves NGO activists, projected the yatra as representing rural communities hailing from different parts of the country.22 The names of these yatris—Nanak Ram, Sedu Ram, Prabhu Gujjar, Mohammad Khan and Bechain Das—were repeatedly mentioned, particularly in village level meetings and press conferences. The fact that the yatra had a sizeable (more than two-thirds) contingent of urban environmentalists and ‘rurban’ NGO activists—interacting with but certainly not belonging to the grassroots, was deliberately sidelined. Towards this end, Nanak Ram Gujjar, a community leader of Haripura village in Sariska, played a significant role and served as a symbol par excellence for the yatra’s public face. He had been in the forefront of the Sariska struggle against mining along with the Tarun Bharat Sangh and had also participated in the Save the Aravalli March from Sariska to Delhi. These experiences made Nanak Ram conversant with the prevailing critical discourse on conservation, as was amply demonstrated when he spoke during the yatra: We have a bond, a relationship with the forests and we have to work towards their protection. Nothing can be left to the government. (If so) it will only result in the depletion of the forests. Forests and tigers are fast dwindling. The local communities need to get united and organized to save their forests (Speech, Village Bodhal, dated 18. 1. 95).

In Nanak Ram’s view, the yatra represented the voice and perception of the rural subaltern, essentially the nature loving, and those working against all odds to protect forests and lives from the destructive designs of the state. His dramatic rendition of the ‘Sariska story’ only reiterated this fact:

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Ranjit Dwivedi During early days there were a lot of tigers and wolves in the forests and they would eat a lot of our cattle. But we never bothered about such loss. For we know that the tiger is the king of the forests (sic!) and is also a predator. . . . When the tiger project in Sariska was initiated, the government first formed the sanctuary and then later on converted it into a national park and occupied it. The laws enabled them to kill the tigers, skin them, bury their flesh and sell the skin in the big cities. All this while, we were deprived systematically of our customary rights. While initially the government said that nothing would happen to us, in about two years it cut our throat with such force that we did not even get a place to urinate (Ibid.).

As well as telling the story well, there was an acknowledgement of the dominant role of Rajinder Singh (‘bhaisahab’ ) and his Tarun Bharat Sangh in the struggle at Sanska. Thus not only was Nanak Ram making the yatra’s claim of rural representation legitimate, he was also effectively endorsing the activities of conservation groups and NGOs at the grassroots. The ruralization of the yatra’s image was in many ways necessary. How else could it differentiate itself from the nature lovers among the urban middle class elite, who were the early actors of the conservation movement in India. The contribution of this section of the movement for nature preservation notwithstanding, the emergence and articulation of new social actors with a strong grassroots base has exposed such conservation policies and strategies as elitist. However, this difference in perceptions between the old and the new actors has not prevented them from coming together. The success of the yatra demonstrates the growing ties between these two sets of actors. The yatra in its conception, objectives and its protagonists, reflected the growing bond between the two sets of actors. Yet the new actors of the conservation movement have staked claims to a new constituency of rural interests. The rural face of the yatra was therefore a prerequisite if its claim to speak on behalf of the rural subaltern was to be justified Nanak Ram’s contribution was to render this claim legitimate. This trend is characteristic of almost all major environmental movements in India. As grassroots problems begin to dominate the environmental agenda, a struggle over representation of rural interests ensues in which different social actors, including the state, claim to be working in the interest of this new constituency Persons such as Nanak Ram symbolize these new claims. The example of the famous Narmada Bachao Andolan (NBA) against the Sardar Sarovar Project is

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illuminating. In Narayan Bhai Tadvi, the sarpanch of Manibeh, the first village facing submergence in Maharashtra, the NBA has found a spokesperson well-conversant with its lexicon. In NBA’s public disposition, Narayan Bhai Tadvi constitutes the subaltern. While the leaders claim representation of the subaltern, Tadvi, like Nanak Ram, ratifies these claims. It is important to underscore the fact that the state agencies, on their part, have also begun to adopt similar strategies in order to gain legitimacy for their actions at the level of the grassroots. The Joint Forest Management sites in Gujarat highlight this point well, with forest officials presenting the local panchayat leaders to speak about the success of the scheme in their areas and the benefits they have derived from these projects. Of all the meetings that the yatra attended, those connected with JFM and involving forest officials became the most vociferous and unpleasant. The point is that the clash of the yatra leadership and the forest officials was as much over the functioning of the JFM scheme as over the government agencies’ claim to represent the interests of the grassroots.

Private Is Political While significant efforts were directed towards projecting the rural face of the yatra as its authentic face, the rural participants had very little role to play in organization and decision-making during the yatra. The majority of them—relatively well-off and elderly, with less familial responsibilities—were just happy to be a part of it. For them, it was a sort of a pilgrimage, an opportunity to visit different places.23 For the leadership, rural participants were precious cargo, whose comfort was to be ensured. Input from them was however, deemed unnecessary. The decision-making, of course, was the prerogative of its leaders. But they often had sharp differences. In fact, at one point the yatra was to split into two; one faction wanted to go to Narayan Sarovar Marine Park, and the other to Gir forests. Timely interventions prevented a serious split. While these incidents could be dismissed as insignificant— dissent being integral to democratic practice—they are indicative of the character of the yatra leadership. For any protest movement, leaders are important, as is the case with the environmental movement. There is a tendency to rely heavily on charismatic leaders, to mobilize people and

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resources for such movements. But this may prove adverse to institution-building. The split which the yatra faced was the outcome of a clash of personalities rather than a dispute over issues at hand.

Empowerment: Class Blind, Gender Sensitive Despite reflecting a few disturbing trends within the environmental movement, the yatra established that social actors working at the grassroots can achieve significant success in mobilizing and organizing people. In Sariska and Shoolpaneswar, the Tarun Bharat Sangh and the Arch Vahini respectively, organized the local population to articulate their demands and intervened through socio-economic projects to alter the prevalent conditions and perceptions of the people. Thus if Sariska can boast of a ‘Sonchuri’, a sanctuary declared and maintained by the local people, with locally set rules and sanctions, the mobilization at Shoolpaneswar has resulted in a strong people’s movement, which not only demands the denotification of the sanctuary but also the infrastructure facilities: irrigation, power and access to markets. The limitations, however, have been in the conceptualization of rural people as homogeneous entities. In making the rural-urban divide the central problem, the disparities that exist within the rural population get neglected. While this may not be a major problem in tribal areas where land holdings and other means of livelihood are more evenly dispersed between regions, the village population is sharply divided along class lines. For instance, in the villages around the Sariska Reserve, land distribution is very uneven. Among those gathered at Mallena to send off the yatra were people who owned as little as 3 bighas of land while others owned more than 150 bighas. For the marginal farmers and the landless in this area, small cattle holding and non-farm occupations are vital for sustenance. During visits to some mine sites, the local, largely landless people, confessed that the closure of mines in the area has severely affected their economic conditions, and even asked some of the yatris to ensure their resumption.24 The assumption, therefore, that the benefits from local access and control will accrue equally to all sections often turns out to be erroneous. The gender divide within the rural population was also glossed over though the yatra revealed more sensitivity to it as a problem. In the sites visited, the collection and sale of fuel wood and MFPs were women’s

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jobs. Women also worked as forest wage labourers for private contractors or under government schemes. The specific nature of their problems necessitated not just a degree of sensitivity but a well-formulated strategy to properly document their perceptions. Apart from Shoolpaneswar, where women turned up in large numbers and spoke about their problems, in other places the yatra heard only male voices. Women, though encouraged to speak, seldom did so. During dialogues with forest officials, government schemes under the eco-development projects were scrutinized for gender sensitivity. In one such encounter, the yatra had to account for its own under-representation of women. During a meeting with the forest officials and beneficiaries of the JFM schemes at Jara village in Gujarat, some yatris were critical of the lack of representation of women among the people who were gathered. The District Forest Officer, while explaining the difficulties in mobilizing women, in turn wondered why there were so few women in the yatra! What needs to be clarified here is the fact that the yatra had no specific agenda or action plan to document problems specific to women, a fact that may be attributed to the lack of an informed women’s perspective on conservation-related resource conflict. Unlike the class question though, which it deliberately ignored, it did demonstrate a general awareness of the women’s question and expressed a need to incorporate it in the agenda of the conservation movement.

Conclusion New Politics and Populism The yatra reflected the general political trend of the conservation movement. Conservation politics has witnessed a shift in agency from urban environmentalists to grassroots activists. The central focus of the agitation has moved from conservation of wilderness to integrating human needs into conservation. The agitational mode/form no longer relies predominantly on lobbying but on grassroots activism. These shifts have decisively redefined the boundaries of conservation politics. While it would be appropriate to welcome such shifts towards community rights of access and control, one needs to be cautious, particularly in lending support to movements which turn out to be populist in form and content. In the discourse of the yatra, rural communities were projected not

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just as having a unified set of interests but also as essentially conservationist in their approach to nature and environment. Activities of the rural people which were detrimental to the cause of conservation, were considered as proof of their alienation from their productive resources, which was seen as the consequence of a “non-participative, elitist conservation agenda. The existential realities amidst which rural communities live and within which they demand roads, water, irrigation facilities and employment opportunities, quite apart from their grievances over deprivation of forest resources, were suppressed to focus on a seemingly broader set of contradictions between local usufruct and access on the one hand and state-led conservation strategies on the other.

End as the Beginning In the concluding convention held in Delhi on February 28, 1995 some of these tenets of the yatra were critically reviewed by a group of invited environmentalists, activists, intellectuals and researchers. The use of the ‘rural-urban divide’ was singled out for its erroneous implications. As one of the invitees pointed out: ‘To understand that all is well in the urban areas is naive, for about 70 per cent of the population in these areas are in acute poverty, struggling for sustenance’ (Roy 1995). The yatra’s lack of understanding of the industrialization process was also debated, with some participants expressing dissatisfaction with the piecemeal approach: that is, tackling each problem in each sanctuary, be it mining or bamboo extraction, in isolation from others, and without considering wider trends and ramifications. The self-evaluation of the yatra was, however, generally positive. It was considered to have been an important event, full of experiences, which should be followed up by devising strategies to bring together different grassroots organizations and radical platforms ‘under one roof, with unity and common principles’. The need was felt to work towards ensuring a people’s movement on conservation and to have ‘links with other similar movements on water, forests and land’, with the final objectives of ‘forming a strong people’s organization in the country and a composite people’s plan on water, forests and land’ (See Roy 1995). The end of the yatra, therefore, was considered to be the start of a long, and difficult road ahead.

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Revisiting the Critical Discourse The optimistic note on which the yatra ended raises some questions regarding the future of conservation in India and the scope for resolution of natural resource conflicts around protected areas. It is now widely accepted that existing conservation policies cause resource conflicts. At one level they have failed to yield the desired results—wildlife habitats over the years have dwindled and become degraded due to inefficient forest management and inability to resist industrial and commercial pressures. At another level, they have alienated local communities, depriving them of resources and therefore generating resource conflicts. Therefore, the conservation movement should attempt to reverse both the degradation process and the alienation of local communities. To succeed in meeting these twin objectives it is necessary to properly assess the clash between animal rights and human rights on the one hand and between industrial needs on the other. But the preconceived notion that rural communities are conservationist prevents effective intervention. The very fact that the yatra concluded with a series of policy recommendations.25 In which the state was assigned a crucial role underscores a tacit lack of faith in the local communities and the NGOs, and their ability to undertake conservation operations. There is a need to shed populism and to engage in community awareness and empowerment projects. To date, the new protagonists of conservation have only demonstrated their capability in raising community awareness. Given the undemocratic relationships between them and the local communities which was amply evident during the yatra, the empowerment project could well be a pipe dream. In conclusion, it can be said that the yatra, in representing the recent trends within the conservation movement, exhibited both hope and concern. While it pointed out the hurdles blocking the resolution of conflicts over conservation it also highlighted the opportunities to resolve them. A major cause for concern revolves around the manner in which rural communities and their interests are projected. Unless the tendency to reify the grassroots is overcome, the new agents of the conservation movement are unlikely to become agents of change and empowerment, no matter how hopeful the prospect may seem in the beginning.

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Notes 1. A national survey conducted in 1989 showed that about 70 per cent of the surveyed protected areas had people living within their boundaries and about 65 per cent of the areas were involved in leases concessions and community rights. For more details see Kothari et al (1989). 2. A task farce set on by the, Indian government in 1982 recommended a multiple use zone in the PAs in which eco-development measures such as land and water conservation could be promoted. 3. The rather awkward but literal translation in English is ‘Journey to Save Forests and Forest Lives’. 4. The groups represented were Tarun Bharat Sangh based in Alwar district in Rajasthan, Maharashtra Arogya Mandal based in Pune district in Maharashtra, Ekta Panshad from Madhya Pradesh. The Adivasi Ekta Vikas Mandal and the Center for Environment Education in Gujarat, Kalpavriksha from Delhi, the Bombay Natural History Society, and the Keoladeo Research Foundation from Bharatpur, Rajasthan. 5. The convoy also included a film crew that recorded the entire march—proceedings of meetings, press briefings—as well as the conditions of the protected sites, the wildlife therein and the ongoing activities inside the parks pertaining to conservation and deforestation. The crew also interviewed government officials, NGO activists and local community representatives. 6. For the purpose of this research the yatra was covered only till Bhimashankar. The participation in its proceedings was resumed again at Delhi, after the yatris left the Rajaji National Park. 7. The telling of the Sariska ‘success story’ generated a fair amount of comments and questions. Some environmentalists considered the preference for cash crops like mustard rather than food crops to be ‘environmentally unfriendly’. Those familiar with government activities wanted to know if government departments, particularly of soil and water conservation, had been active in the area and, if not, for what reasons. Also the cost-effectiveness of the water conservation projects was briefly discussed. The water retention level of a project that the yatris visited was unimpressively low. It was suggested that since the project was new and initial retention is in the ground water regime, surface retention appears to be low for the first few seasons of ram. 8. Most of the Sangh staff hail from Meerut district in U.P. The yatris also visited some villages where the Sangh is active. Almost every house in the villages had slogans on women’s education, community health and forest conservation painted on the walls. 9. The meeting also revealed the Gandhian values of the activists and environmentalists in the yatra. 10. Phoolwan ki Naal is situated only a few kilometres away from the Gujarat border. 11. According to M. D. Mistry of the labour union, about one lakh women are involved as labourers in the bidi sector. For collecting and plucking leaves they go out at 4 am and wait until late at the night at collection centers to deliver their collect. The minimum wage rate is Rs. 34 per day in Gujarat. 12. Moran Bapu is famous for his Ramkatha recitals and hails from the Saurashtra region in Gujarat. He has the distinction of reciting the katha in unusual settings that include aircraft and ships. The Girnar forests would be yet another unique setting for him.

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13. Patel’s organization, the Arch Vahini, had been actively involved in the resettlement of the displaced population of Gujarat Patel also claims that due to the intervention of Arch Vahini, the resettlement of the Gujarat oustees has been largely successful. 14. Sakri is situated 12 km from the SSP Dam site on the left bank of the river. On both banks, on the hilly terrain is a contiguous stretch of tribal habitat with a large Vasava population. 15. At Borivelli, the yatra was joined by representatives of social action groups from Karnataka-notable among which was Vikasana from Dharwad-who had wanted to organize similar journeys to the protected areas of the south. This group stayed with the yatra until it completed the Maharashtra leg. 16. The pioneering work on sacred groves in India is by Madhav Gadgil and Chandran (1992). 17. A testimony to this effect was given in Ranthambore where an educated young man claimed to have brought wood worth Rs. 500 after having paid a bribe of Rs. 50 on the excuse that he needed to cremte a body. 18. The JFM schemes are also being undertaken on private revenue land. 19. In fact, forest department officials openly admitted that they have made no attempt whatsoever to accommodate these sections. The DFO of the eastern division of the Bharuch-Dang Circle in Jara village, clearly stated that to attempt to integrate all the communities in the village is a futile exercise and one would only ‘burn one’s fingers’ if such attempts were made. 20. The kendu leaves are dried and used to roll tobacco for smoking. 21. In Ranthambore, the yatris were asked by government officials to suggest ways in which the department can put in place a compensation scheme for crop damages. 22. The range of actors who use this mode of campaigning is quite wide. At one level, mainstream political parties have used it to mobilize support for their politics. The Rath Yatra of the Bharatiya Janata Party, used for mobilizing support for building the Ram Temple in Ayodhya, is a good example. On the other hand, individual actors— politicians, philanthropists and social workers—have also undertaken such journeys. The Bharat Jodo Yatra of the noted social worker, Baba Amte, was undertaken to raise awareness on nation-building and national integrity. 23. The simple vegetarian meals, the early morning prayers and the preference for politically correct music actually served to create the atmosphere of a pilgrimage. 24. At one place, where some of the yatris had gathered for tea, a small group complained about the closure of mines in the area and asked if something could be done. When others present warned those who were complaining that the yatra was actually full of people instrumental in closing the mines, the topic of conversation, immediately thereafter changed to the benefits of mine closure for the local people. 25. The following policy recommendations were made at the end of the yatra: a. A clear and strict national policy which prohibits industrial, urban and commercial encroachment on protected areas, including a ban on denotifying protected areas for such purposes. b. An official recognition of the legitimate resource rights and needs of local traditional communities and measures to meet these needs. c. A central role for local communities in the planning, protection and monitoring of protected areas, including in the determination and enforcement of inviolate core zones and sustainable-use buffer zones.

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Ranjit Dwivedi d. Planning the management of protected areas based on a healthy interaction between formal ecological science and traditional knowledge, learning especially from traditional practices which have helped to conserve and promote sustainable use of natural resources. e. Greater sharing of the benefits of the protected areas, including biomass rights, tourism income, employment in wildlife/forest related work and alternative livelihood opportunities (JPM Update, IIPA 1995).

References Gadgil, Madhav, and M. D. S. Chandran, 1992. ‘Sacred Groves’, in G. Sen, (ed.) Indigenous Vision People of India. Delhi: India International Centre. Indian Institute of Public Administration (IIPA). 1995. JPM Update. No. 3, March, Delhi. Kothari, A. et al., 1989. Management of National Parks and Sanctuaries in India A Status Report. New Delhi: Indian Institute of Public Administration (IIPA). Kothari, A, S. Suri and N. Singh, 1995. ‘Conservation in India A New Direction’ Economic and Political Weekly, October 28, 2755–66. Roy, Dunu (ed.) 1995. Proceedings of the Concluding Convention of the Yatra. Raj Ghat, Delhi, 28 February 1995. Vijayan, V. S. 1987. Keoldeo National Park Ecological Study. Bombay: Bombay Natural History Society.

7 Displacement, Rehabilitation and Resettlement: The Case of Maldhari Families of Gir Forest Varsha Ganguly

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he debate on development-induced displacement and the need for just and proper rehabilitation and resettlement has addressed multiple facets of the process, and it has stressed on the role of government to minimise displacement to prevent sufferings of project-affected people due to impoverishment and dispossession and to prevent social disarticulation and erosion of cultural values, especially of the scheduled castes (dalits), scheduled tribes (adivasi) and women. The debate has also demanded rehabilitation as a fundamental right, an informed and rational choice of the affected people; and, in response to these demands, guidelines for rehabilitation and resettlement have been evolved by social activists and academicians to strengthen the case of prospective project-affected persons. Different agents engaged in the process of displacement and rehabilitation and resettlement have stressed the need for region-specific and community-specific studies to describe the predicament of project-affected persons in different parts of India. This article describes the impact of displacement on the maldhari (pastoral) families of Gir forest of Gujarat rehabilitated during 1972 and 1986. It focuses on three aspects: (i) methodology for collecting data, as data were collected between 1996 and 2000, more than a decade after

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displacement, rehabilitation and resettlement; (ii) different units for data collection and analysis for generalisation as well as for maintaining the distinct features of each vasahat (resettlement colony), families, castes and community to describe the impact of displacement on their quality of life; and (iii) the desired role of government in rehabilitation and resettlement in the case of displacement from the protected area, that is, the Gir forest. Based on primary data, this article articulates issues for rehabilitation and resettlement of pastoral communities residing in forests, such as, the need to equip them for the change in economy—from pastoral activity to agriculture—and for income-generation activities through imparting training in skills and tools, minimising adverse changes in socio-cultural relations due to their spatial movements, and reducing their vulnerability and marginalisation due to lack of political clout in the post-displacement phase, as the number of displaced families was not very big. In this light, the article emphasises that the state has to adopt a participatory approach for the desired development of the stakeholders, that is, the residents of sanctuaries.

The Maldhari Families of the Gir Forest ‘Maldhari’ is an occupational term that denotes an income-generation activity carried out by different castes and communities in the Gir forest of Gujarat. The maldhari of Gir are ‘settled pastorals’ as they have been the residents of the forest and wandering for grazing within the forest. Their main economic activity is cattle-rearing—maintaining milch cattle and sheep, and selling milk, milk products and natural manure. The maldhari of Gir are comprised of many castes like Charan, Bharwad, Rabari in majority, few Koli, Ahir (Kathi), Bawa and Meghwal families as well as Makrani, who are Muslims. The maldhari of Gir, Alech and Barda forests have been accorded the status of ‘primitive tribe’ (among Scheduled Tribes) since 1956; outside these forests, Charan, Rabari, Bharwad, Koli, Bawa and Ahir belong to the category of Socially and Educationally Backward Classes and the Meghwal belong to Scheduled Castes. Thus, each caste has multiple political and socio-religious statuses. Each pastoral caste has its distinct social identity with its marriage practices, religious ceremonies, cultural traditions and style of

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dressing for men and women. The castes—Charan, Rabari, Bharwad and scheduled castes—have a distinct marriage practice called sata paddhati—an understanding between two families for marriage of their children that both will exchange their daughters for the sons of the family; preference being given for cross cousin (children of brother and sister, mama-phoina) marriage. In case the first cross cousin exchange is not possible, then the family concerned has to replace the daughter or the son from its extended family; and, if unable to do so, the family has to pay a good sum of money to get the bride or the groom for its son or daughter respectively. All these castes allow widow remarriage. Charan are known for singing their traditional cultural songs called duha and chhand.

The Displacement The displacement of maldhari families from the Gir Sanctuary in Junagadh district of Gujarat is the first of its kind in the state; no displacement from the forest for the conservation of wildlife has effectively taken place before. The Gir forest is the last abode of the Asiatic lion and is also considered to be a part of range of hills—Alech, Barda and Gir, in the far west of Gujarat, covering more than 300 km stretch of flora and fauna till the beginning of the twentieth century. Socially and culturally, the residents of these forests are kith and kin. The Government Gazetteer of Junagadh district reports that, in the late 1960s, international wildlife conservation experts and members of the International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resource (IUCN) visited the Gir forest and raised the issues for conservation and protection of the Asiatic lions in the forest (Government of Gujarat 1976: 89–93). In the early 1970s, the Forest Department of the Gujarat Government prepared a Rehabilitation Package for the maldhari families inhabiting the forest. This Package is considered to be a pioneer of the sort, as in the 1970s there was no precedent for such a package. Yet, looking at the living conditions of the maldhari after a few years of rehabilitation, one feels that it has not been able to bring the desired results; many dynamics have contributed to the present living conditions of the maldhari families. For example, the vasahats were spread over 70 km north to east and 170 km east to west, very far from each other and from the Gir forest. As a

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consequence, these families could not continue with their pastoral activities. With this pattern of rehabilitation, ten out of twenty-eight vasahats were vacated within a decade of rehabilitation, as these families faced various difficulties—changes in economic activity, inadequate infrastructure facilities, political negligence and social disarticulation. No details are available on how the Rehabilitation Package was formulated—how and why the specific items were selected for the package.1 The items in the Package include (i) allotment of 3 hectares of land for cultivation; (ii) house-site (600 square meters for each family); (iii) electric connection to each family, and facility for drinking water; (iv) primary school, health care and veterinary services, wherever required; (v) Rs. 7,500 were to be paid towards the construction of the house, levelling the land, transportation of household from the Gir forest to the vasahat; and (vi) continuation of the Scheduled Tribe (ST) status. Among these, the first and second provisions are considered to be very good, and the sixth item has been adopted by the National Policy on Rehabilitation and Resettlement, 2003. In the early 1970s, the Forest Department of Gujarat government prepared a list of all the residents of Gir forest for the implementation of Rehabilitation Package under two categories: ‘permanent’ and ‘non-permanent’ maldhari families. The criteria2 for this categorisation were not well defined. They are neither available from the government departments concerned, nor are the forest officials aware of them. In all, 845 maldhari families were identified as ‘permanent’ families and eligible for the benefits under the Rehabilitation Package, and the ‘non-permanent’ families were asked to leave the forest immediately without any compensation from the government. In 1973–74, the Forest Department transferred the project to the Junagadh Zilla Panchayat for implementation, particularly for the allocation of cultivable land and pastures to the families. Between 1972 and 1986, in all 592 out of the 845 ‘permanent’ maldhari families were rehabilitated by the Revenue Department in twenty-eight vasahats in eight taluka (taluka or block) of Junagadh district, adjoining Gir (West) and three in Amreli district, adjoining Gir (East); there were two to four vasahats in each taluka, with mixed population, that is, families belonging to different castes. There has been a gradual decline in the number of resettled families–from 592 to 239 over 15 years (see Table 1).

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Table 1 Gradual Decline in Resettled Families Year

Decline in the Number of Families—from 592 to 239

During 1972–86

592 out of the 845 ‘permanent’ maldhari families were rehabilitated in 28 vasahats in 8 taluka (blocks) of Junagadh district and three in Amreli district

In 1986–87

459 families in 18 vasahats—10 were vacant, as reported by the Evaluation Report (ER) of the rehabilitation package

In 1992–93

323 families in 18 vasahats, as reported by a survey conducted by the Forest Department of Gujarat government

In 1996–97

239 families in 18 vasahats along with 76 ‘extended’ or ‘additional’ families as found by the instant study

In 1998 and 2004

About 42 families have out-migrated in search of employment; 197 families residing in 15 vasahats

Documenting the Impact of Displacement after 10 Years of Resettlement The study on which this paper is based was carried out during 1996 and 2000 with focus on ‘quality of life’ as an overarching concept that incorporates documentation of changes in the social, cultural, economic and political spheres. The objective was to know whether the quality of life of the displaced families had improved after their rehabilitation. Furthermore, some maldhari families are staying in the Gir forest in nes (hamlet), and a comparison between these residents of the forest and the displaced families was expected to shed important light on the post-rehabilitation predicament of the maldhari families. We also documented the views of non-maldharis on displacement and rehabilitation. The consequences of displacement for different families and castes, as also the views of vasahat residents on displacement were so varied that presenting them in general terms offers no scope for understanding their case. Moreover, the representation of each caste and the number of vasahat residents was small (not more than 50 families in most of the resettlement colonies). The dual political and social identity of these castes was an additional confusing factor in documenting the impact of displacement, as compared to any forest-dwelling tribe. The only

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document available on the subject is an Evaluation Report on the Rehabilitation Package prepared by the Directorate of Evaluation, Gujarat Government in 1986–87 (see Government of Gujarat 1987). This Report is the first documentation on the impact through statistical methods, with comparison between the displaced (called ‘shifted’) families and ‘non-shifted’ families, who continued to reside in the Gir forest. It assessed the implementation of each item of the rehabilitation package and its consequences after 10 years of displacement. Finally, to have a holistic approach for documenting the impact of displacement from the forest, we may identity the following three different but interrelated units of analysis: 1. Vasahat—as a geographic unit, where the families were rehabilitated. 2. Pastorals as a community (social and economic identity), further articulated with impact on families and castes. 3. Pastoral women, also a core part of family, community and vasahat.

Impact of Displacement, Rehabilitation and Resettlement The impact of displacement, rehabilitation and replacement has been discussed with reference to three units of analysis—namely, vasahat, castes and communities, and women—along with some observations made by the Evaluation Report (Government of Gujarat 1987). At the vasahat level, most of the problems observed were due to three reasons: (i) non-implementation of a promise to resettle the families in the periphery of Gir forest, so that they could continue with their pastoral activity; (ii) the stakeholders were not consulted before rehabilitation at the vasahat, and they were resettled arbitrarily over 14 years, as per availability of land; and (iii) the families were scattered over very large distances and eight blocks of the district, thereby causing social disarticulation, political marginalisation and bureaucratic neglect. There is not a single vasahat where all facilities have been provided as promised under the Rehabilitation Package. Basic facilities like drinking water was available effectively in 6 vasahats; primary education, in 5; approach road, in 9; while no health care facility, dairy and veterinary

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facility was made available in any vasahat. Some vasahat residents faced political marginalisation despite at least one member of the vasahat being a member of the Gram Panchayat of the village; none of them has any say in policy making or spending money or implementation of the government schemes for betterment of the vasahat. This situation resulted in clashes with the host villagers of most vasahats. Most vasahats had mixed population, with members of one caste being in majority and those of the rest, in minority. The minority caste families have often left the vasahat due to maladjustment and a feeling of alienation. Most of the land allotted to them was of poor quality, being sandy or rocky. This led to poor production and low returns from agriculture, and the families were compelled to work as wage labourers or unskilled workers. The efforts to dig wells failed, and they were trapped in debts. Those who could not learn to cultivate land had to suffer more due to lack of livelihood, and they were forced to sell their ornaments to survive. According to the Evaluation Report, ‘71 percent gross reduction in income and 82 percent in number of buffaloes and 35 percent in number of cows was observed within 10 years of displacement’ (Government of Gujarat 1987: 17). To describe the impact of displacement on and the present situation of these families and their capacity to cope with the new situation, they could be divided into three groups: 1. About 20 percent of the families are economically better off, mainly with better returns from agriculture and other economic activities, and so they have better capacity to cope with the situation. 2. About 40 percent of the families are economically weak, but have compromised with the situation and are struggling hard for survival with multiple income-generation activities like agriculture, agricultural and/or casual labour and animal husbandry. Although their coping capacity is less, they have the ability to adjust themselves to the new environment after rehabilitation. 3. The rest, about 40 percent of the families have not been able to make the adjustment, and are still suffering from the effects of the traumatic experiences of unsatisfactory rehabilitation. They feel that displacement from the Gir forest has been an utter disaster for them on social, economic and political counts.

Most of the maldhari families have faced the adverse consequences of impoverishment, dispossession of forest resources and forest produce,

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and a sense of alienation and maladjustment. That a large number of families (353 out of 592) have left the vasahat proves that many different causes have contributed to their poor living conditions and impoverishment—non-productivity of land, inability to cultivate land, lack of basic facilities, being away from forest and discontinuation of pastoral activity, external factors like drought and death of cattle and so on. They were neither provided with any training for cultivation of land nor supplied with implements, seeds, credit, fertilisers soon after resettlement, which could have equipped them to face new challenges. Away from the forest, they could not continue with their pastoral activity; those who could sustain with livestock for a few years after resettlement, lost them during drought for four consecutive years in the mid-1980s, which was a big blow to their economy and lifestyle. Many of them could not come out of the trauma of leaving the forest initially; at least a third of them still long to go back to the forest. Their sense of alienation became intense with the mixed social composition of the vasahats, as also from social disarticulation and hostility from the host villages. Many could not learn any new income-generation activity, were unable to cultivate land and could neither sell nor lease it out; for such families, land was a dead asset. However, some of them have leased out their land for cultivation, but the return they got was as low as Rs. 5,000 per annum. Their traditional knowledge of animal husbandry is of little use, as they have very small number of livestock and scant resources to sustain it. The standard of health of the maldhari families has deteriorated as many of them have faced the problem of malnourishment or lack of healthy food which they used to have in the forest. The Evaluation Report recorded that their consumption of ghee was reduced by half and milk had become a rare commodity. Transportation, communication and new technological inventions have remained a dream for these families, as these are neither accessible nor affordable. The differential capacity to adjust and the pursuit of new income-generation activities have led to income inequalities and, in turn, resulted in social inequalities. This has created new difficulties in their social relations and has raised problems regarding marriage and future prospects of their offspring. There was a traditional system of marriage among the families of Gir, Alech and Barda forests. With the sinking of the economic status of the rehabilitated families, the preferences for marriage have changed: the families with better income and

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social status residing in the forest prefer marriage of their children into families of equal status. The economic and social inequalities have, thus, worsened the prospects for marriage of the children of displaced families. A community that was self-reliant, and which had independent way of earning livelihood with available natural resources and free access to forest produce is now dependent on various external factors, deprived of natural resources, and has to adopt to a cash-nexus economy but with greater impoverishment. It is loosing its distinct identity and self-esteem. However, despite such adverse effects, the worst results like begging, prostitution, alcoholism and violence on women, consequent to the frustration of male members in their efforts to earn etc., are not observed. The characteristics of the community with a self-image and a mass-image have played a significant role in keeping the community intact. The community had been living in forest, in intimate relation with nature, and this has made its members self-reliant and inward looking. Not more than a fifth of total women feel confident and happy after displacement due to different reasons: (i) the adverse effects of change in economic activities and change in traditional roles; (ii) the loss of traditional knowledge and health, higher spending on household items due to loss of natural resources; (iii) lesser security and deterioration in ‘good old life’; (iv) disturbed social life and religious activities; and (v) exposure to new environment but little ability to adopt to changes in social and political spheres. Most women felt bitter about the change in economic activities, which resulted in their gradual impoverishment and burdened them to go out to earn their living. From being key persons in a pastoral economy, they have now to pursue various income-generating activities like animal husbandry, agriculture and as wage labourers. The older women do find the household responsibilities tiresome or degrading when the daughters-in-law have to go out to earn; this feeling is very acute in the womenfolk who belong to the first generation of displaced families. Most of them felt loosing on both the counts—loss of status and increase in physical and economic burden. The younger or second generation is slowly waking up to these difficulties and handicaps. The change in economic activity has brought a change in their life cycle, as their life cycle revolves round rainy season and agriculture, with little leisure time. Most women find the loss of natural resources like fuel, fodder, water, forest produce and medicinal and nutritional plants and herbs

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to be a greater loss, as they have now to face the problem of greater expenditure which did not sit well with their reduced incomes. Women had to bear a far greater burden in gathering fuel and fodder, travel longer distances and also take the help of their daughters. This deprived the girls of even the barely available educational opportunities, leading to an increase in female illiteracy. With the scarcity of water facilities in the vasahat, the task of fetching water from long distances also added to the burden and working hours of the women. Women lament the gradual loss of traditional knowledge about forest produce and medicinal herbs. Almost all women have perceived a reduction in day-to-day salaamati (security) and deterioration in saari jindagi (good life). Women considered livestock as a productive asset and they had a control over them, but displacement has forced most women to take up wage-labour to supplement the family income. Many women are not happy with the exposure to a hostile, commercial world and to the strangers who happen to be their employers. This is especially so for women who have experienced ill-treatment and verbal abuse by their employers. Moreover, working in mines or quarries is scary, and is totally different from working in the forest with cattle. This has led to a feeling of reduction in or loss of salaamati in daily life. The forced entry into the ranks of wage-labour has given rise to a feeling of degradation in their status and dependence on strangers and the outside world. Social hierarchy due to economic status was not existent earlier; there is now a status hierarchy between vasahat and nes (hamlet inside the forest) and the preference for their marrying daughters in nes is prominent, as these families are better off. In sata padhdhati for marriage, with some families shifting their preference for the selection of bride from the nes, a problem of imbalance has been created within the caste. In the nes, the families of close relatives were living together and women used to enjoy collective work and leisure, which they no more enjoy with less familiar neighbours at the vasahat. The exposure to the new environment has raised the level of awareness and confidence, as also the opportunities available to the women. However, it has not brought about any significant change in the mindset of maldhari women either about the traditions, land or livestock as an asset or about access to new institutions of credit and banking, participation in political institutions like Gram Panchayat

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and voting in different elections. The vast majority of the women feel that, with the forced changes in their occupational activity, impoverishment, increased social, economic and physical burden, loss of social status and self-esteem, feelings of alienation and deprivation, the displacement has certainly not been a change for the better. The few corresponding benefits or ameliorative measures have not made any positive difference in their life overall. However, a few young girls reported a positive change for health and hygiene with availability of sanitary pads, better undergarments and facilities for reproduction and related needs.

Desired Role of Government in Rehabilitation and Resettlement There are mainly two considerations regarding rehabilitation and resettlement of a pastoral community, or forest dwellers, based on rehabilitation and resettlement principles (see Fernandes and Paranjape 1997: 6): 1. To assess the rehabilitation package—its formulation, provisions, implementation, and outcome; and 2. Policy making—learning lessons from the past for formulating rehabilitation package for the future.

The assessment of rehabilitation package incorporates the role of the state as the policy maker and as the implementing agency, and its consequences. A review of the provisions of the Rehabilitation Package makes it clear that the shifting of maldhari families from the forest was seen only as a physical transfer of the affected population rather than as involving a wide range of changes in their social environment, living habits and lifestyle. None of the maldhari community leaders was informed, consulted or invited for planning the Rehabilitation Package, selection of the resettlement site, house site or land for cultivation. These leaders should have been engaged in the formulation and implementation of the rehabilitation package. This raises issues of ‘right to information’ and ‘informed consent’. For example, the maldhari families were not informed about the criteria for categorising the families as ‘permanent’

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and ‘non-permanent’. A few maldharis illustrated this point well: when the Forest Department conducted the survey in the early 1970s to identify the ‘permanent’ families, there was a war between India and Pakistan. Some of the maldhari families did not register the names of all their sons, thinking that the army would take their sons to fight the war, and  some could not understand the importance of registering all the names of the family members. Consequently, many of the adult sons did not get compensation under the Rehabilitation Package, and even had to leave the forest unconditionally. Had the government informed them about the purpose of this survey, the outcome would have been different. The transfer of the Rehabilitation Package from the Forest Department to the Revenue Department, not allotting ‘ST’ certificates and related benefits raises the issue of lack of coordination between different departments of the state government and its adverse effects on the maldhari families. Not monitoring implementation was also a lapse. Each maldhari was allotted 3 hectares (that is, approximately 20 vigha or 8 acres) of land of navi sharat3 for cultivation; the family could not get any returns from selling or leasing out this land, and could only get very low returns from cultivating it. As landholders of 8 acres, all the families were classified as ‘big farmers’ and were disqualified from getting the benefits of governmental schemes or subsidised loans for agriculture and related activities. The issue of creating and maintaining data and access to information is important in this context. The process of displacement and rehabilitation, as also its impact, was not documented by the government, mainly due to lack of coordination among its different departments or because the officials were sceptical about its use. Displacement from the forest and rehabilitation in the revenue villages, where agriculture is the main economic activity, is an example of ‘mainstreaming’, which reflected the lack of sensitivity towards economy, lifestyle and concerns of the displaced population. Instead of recognising the difference between agriculture and pastoralism, and the importance of pastoralism as an economic activity, the planners thought of assimilating the maldhari with allotment of 3 hectares of cultivable land and a house, which was not successful. In this transition, not providing training for agricultural skills, incentives for land improvement and agriculture became proof of callousness and indifference on the part of the state

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government, which resulted in impoverishment and socioeconomic marginalisation of the maldhari families. No effort was made to establish contact of the new settlers with the host population of neighbouring villages and to create rapport between them for sharing of common property resources, and allocation of funds and resources. Many maldhari families are facing hostility from and clashes with the host villagers on the issues of drinking water, encroachment of pastures, agricultural land and allotment of funds for developmental activities. Closing down the grievance cell in 1986, without assessing the need or consulting any maldhari leader, was a unilateral decision. The maldhari families did not know to whom they could present their problems as they have little knowledge and no guidance about the official procedures. Thus, their problems regarding basic facilities remained unresolved and gradually aggravated. The amenities promised under the Rehabilitation Package were not provided to each vasahat; the implementation was not monitored and the complaints of the maldhari were not attended to at the vasahat level. The fallouts of such overlooking were serious: the maldhari families were unable to get ‘ST’ certificate and were not enumerated as ‘Scheduled Tribes’ in the census. Consequently, they could not get scholarships for education, ration cards, electricity connections, and assistance in repair or maintenance of hand pumps, wells or damaged buildings. Despite their representations, delegations and submission of memoranda to the authorities concerned, more than half the families are still deprived of the ‘ST’ certificate. The closure of the primary schools and the corruption involved in providing electricity connections are evidence of lack of monitoring and maintenance of infrastructure, which have contributed to poor living conditions of the maldhari families. The Evaluation Report has highlighted the significant reduction in the income of the maldhari families, their engagement in multiple income-generation activities for survival, the lack of incentives for primary education and the alarmingly low literacy level among them, and the change in their food habits and cultural activities. No corrective measures have been taken the government to ameliorate the living conditions of these families in the light of the Evaluation Report. No voluntary agency was assigned a role in improving the level of literacy and imparting skills for agriculture as

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recommended by the Evaluation Report. The experience of these maldhari families reaffirm the past experiences of displaced persons, social activists and researchers (see Cernea 1995: 261) and also reflect the mindsets and attitudes of planners and policy makers towards the displacement of the tribals/backward community.

Policy Making for Rehabilitation and Resettlement Displacement of people from sanctuaries or protected areas for the conservation of such areas must be viewed differently from other development projects like, mining, irrigation and construction of roads, as the economic considerations, multiple purpose and land-use of other development projects are very different. It must be recognised that the lifestyle, economy, culture and life cycles of the people who live in forests are significantly different from those of the settled population with agriculture as the main economic activity. Displacement should not be seen merely as ‘physical transfer’. The translation and transformation of ‘displacement’ and ‘rehabilitation’ as administrative categories to the sociological (including economic, cultural and political aspects) categories is important in this regard (Das 1996). For this, the following aspects are important: (i) development of the concept of ‘total rehabilitation’ and calculation of compensation; (ii) need for making new laws and legal provisions related to displacement and rehabilitation; and (iii) issues related to resettlement research, with the focus on women, tribal and disadvantaged groups of the society. The concept of ‘total rehabilitation’ aims to prevent adverse consequences of displacement such as dismantling of the production systems, impoverishment of project affected persons with loss of productive assets, dislocation of residential settlements, scattering of kinship groups, disruption of traditional structures and authority and solidarity, which results in social disarticulation and marginalisation of the displaced persons. The formal and informal economies are equally important while calculating compensation, that is, the value of common property resources and non-monetised items should be included. Rehabilitation should be a fundamental right of the displaced person, which is not restricted only to the grant or transfer physical

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assets like land. The legal procedures for khaata fod (equal sharing of land among the widow and children of the landholder) and/or vaarsaai (succession) in case of new tenure should be launched. Systematic surveys are required to know and represent project-affected persons’ views, perceptions, experiences and feelings, to prevent ‘information war’ where cycles of ‘information, ‘misinformation’ and ‘disinformation’ become weapons of the hegemonic structures. Most of the displaced persons belong to the scheduled tribes, scheduled castes and rural poor like casual labour. Therefore, consideration for adivasi, dalits and their women should be integral in the formulation of rehabilitation package and its monitoring The research methods should be meaningfully employed to document the process, incorporating and coordinating the components of history, anthropology, economics and sociology, and capturing changes taking place over time. With reference to the development paradigm focusing on tribals, women and such other disadvantaged groups, the worldview of these groups is very challenging, as it questions the approach of the planners and policy makers to development. It has increasingly become important to respect, protect and promote their rights and their socio-cultural identity. With reference to women as a focused group, it is important to consider the environment in which they live and their place in the family, caste and community.

Conclusion The adverse changes in the life of the maldhari and the decline in population of the vasahats can be attributed mainly due to the mainstreaming policy, the tardy implementation of the Rehabilitation Package and the indifference of the government officials towards the displaced families. About a fifth of these families enjoys better standard of living, but the role of the government is marginal in improving their living conditions. Had the government adopted participatory approach for the formulation of the Rehabilitation Package and for its implementation and monitoring in this case, the story would have been different; the idea of promoting and preserving the culture of such a group would have been more acceptable. The role of the state is crucial and would be meaningful if it promotes the concepts of ‘minimising displacement’, rehabilitation as a fundamental right, and informed and rational choice by the affected

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people; and addresses the concerns of the disadvantaged sections, especially those of the women, in the larger interests of human development, equity and social justice in the country.

Notes This article is based on my doctoral thesis in Rural Development Studies submitted to South Gujarat University in 2000. An earlier version of this article was presented at a seminar on ‘Urgent Issues in Displacement, Resettlement and Rehabilitation’ organised by the Indira Gandhi National Open University at the India International Centre, New Delhi in February 2003. I am grateful to SETU: Centre for Social Action and Knowledge, Ahmedabad and maldhari community for their support. 1. The possible sources of information regarding the Rehabilitation Package are the Collector’s Office, Junagadh; Rehabilitation office (which was functional during 1972 and 1986), Junagadh; Department of Forest, Government of Gujarat, Gandhinagar; Forest office, Sasan; and the State Archives. None of these offices or their officials, or political or social leaders could provide reliable information about the Rehabilitation Package. The only official source that I could tap was the Evaluation Report of the Directorate of Evaluation, Government of Gujarat, Gandhinagar. 2. The forest officials and the Collector, Junagadh needed the criteria for ‘permanent’ and ‘non-permanent’ maldhari families for the implementation of the Eco-development Project and also for the interim order of the Supreme Court in the mid-1990s. The meetings with social activists revealed that the officials do not have any information or documents about these criteria. 3. Navi sharat is the new tenure land. According to the policy of the government, navi sharat landholder cannot sell that land, give it on a lease, kahataa fod it (divide it among the children of the family) or give in vaarsaai (succession).

References Cernea, Michael M. 1995. ‘Understanding and preventing impoverishment from displacement: Reflections on the state of knowledge’, Social action, 45(3): 261–76. Das, Veena. 1996. ‘Dislocation and rehabilitation: Defining a field’, Economic and political weekly, 33(24): 1509–14. Fernandes, Walter and Vijay Paranjape. 1997. Rehabilitation policy and law in India: A right to livelihood. Pune: Econet, and New Delhi: Indian Social Institute. Government of Gujarat. 1976. Gazetteer Junagadh district, Gujarat. ———. 1987. Evaluation report of the rehabilitation programme for upliftment of maldhari families of Gir. Gandhinagar: Directorate of Evaluation (unpublished). ———. 1996. Biodiversity plan for Gir (Vols. I and II). Gandhinagar. Ministry of Rural Development, Government of India. 1996. Draft national policy for rehabilitation of persons displaced as a consequence of acquisition of land. Economic and political weekly, 31(24): 1541–45.

8 Coping with Development Pathologies: Resistance to Displacement T.K. Oommen

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hile displacement is cognised as a development pathology and is widely researched, there are three other development pathologies which are subjected to what may be called ‘cognitive blackouts’ (Oommen 2004). Let me begin with these pathologies—disparity, distress, discrimination—before I dwell upon the central concern of this paper, namely, displacement. Disparity always existed, and it is incessantly on the increase. The ratio between the incomes of the richest and the poorest countries was 3:1 in 1820, that is, during the colonial period. By 1950, that is, by the beginning of Cold War, this ratio became 35:1. In 1992, with the onset of economic liberalisation, the ratio increased to 1:72. Thus, as the pace of development accelerates, the disparity between countries accentuates. The story is the same within countries, including liberal democracies. Development without distributive justice produces and accelerates disparity, which is pathological. Similarly, the issue of discrimination is rarely discussed as a development pathology. Nobody can deny that the intensity of several of the traditional discriminations has been slowly reducing but new ones are surfacing occasioned by the ongoing process of development. Development requires spatial and social mobility of population, both of which provide contexts for racial, social and cultural discriminations

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across and within countries. Yet development discourse rarely sees this as pathological. For example, civil society activists condemn racism, constitutions of most democratic states have made its practice punitive, and yet everyday racism persists obstinately (see Essed 1991). The discrimination against women starts even before birth and the instrumentality of modern medical technology facilitates the process through amniocentesis. Discrimination against ethnic groups, that is, those who are considered as outsiders by nationals, is rampant, thanks to spatial mobility accelerated by globalisation. Thirdly, development produces enormous stress for human beings, the subjects of development. In fact, higher the level of ‘development’ a society achieves, the greater is the degree of stress in that society. An analysis of the data provided in the 1991, Human Development Report shows that there is a high correlation between human development rating and human freedom index ranking, but there is an inverse relationship between these and human distress measured in terms of rates of suicides, rapes, murders, drug addiction, etc. (Oommen 1992a). Can one claim that a society with dismal social distress profile is ‘developed’ even if its income level is high? The point I want to make is that the very notion of development needs to be interrogated. A society characterised by deep disparities, add-on discriminations and dismal distress scenario cannot be labelled as developed. It is incumbent on those who pursue the vocation of development social science to interrogate the notion and provide an alternative conception of it. As for displacement, it is explicitly recognised as a development pathology. Yet displacement is widely perceived as inevitable in the course of development. Thus, the rural is to be displaced by the urban, agriculture by industry, low, simple or traditional technology by high, complex or modern technology. However, a moment’s reflection would unfold that what goes on is not only displacement but also accretion. The pathological obsession with a particular direction of ‘development’ and displacement it entails is playing havoc with people and hence the present spotlight on it. The following points need to be noted here in defence of development social scientists: (a) the unanticipated consequences of displacement became visible only gradually, and (b) the legitimation accorded to high-technology-driven development rendered their task of interrogating it particularly problematic.

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Having acknowledged this, let me address the ‘trained incapacity’ of both the development social scientists and social movement theorists. It has been pointed out that the persisting estrangement between the studies of social movements and social policies, in spite of their increasing convergence, accounts for their trained incapacity (Oommen 1994). Let me amplify. Those who did research on social movements initially viewed them either as pathological aberrations or as anti-systemic eruptions. Their commitment appeared to get the system back to equilibrium, without bothering about its quality: consensual or coercive equilibrium. The impression they conveyed was that they were eager to help the state to contain the disequilibria and, in that process, got labelled as ‘conservatives’. In contrast, those who elected themselves to be ‘radical’ constituted into a demolition squad, as it were, to squash the state system, without realising that the state will not wither away and it cannot be wished away. But neither the statists nor the anti-statists asked the question: what kind of research will produce usable knowledge for those who lead social movements? That is, they conjointly produced a sociology of social movements, though of differing orientations, but did not produce a sociology for social movements, leaving a tremendous knowledge gap for social activists involved in social movements (Rootes 1990). In contrast, those who did research on social policy thought it to be an instrument of conflict management and negotiation between the state and various interest groups, be it labour or business. The ultimate commitment of social policy researchers was to system stability by conceding concessions to the contending parties so as to bring about changes in the system (Oyen 1986). However, the possibility of social policy measures gradually bringing about an incremental revolution was scarcely recognised. That is, the social policy researchers produced a sociology for social policy and did not even attempt a sociology of social policy (Sigg 1986). Extrapolating from the above let me suggest that we have a sociology of resistance movement and a sociology for the resettlement of displacees. Although scarce beginnings have been made towards a sociology for resistance movement and a sociology of displacement policy, we need to move forward fast in both cases. While social movement researchers dismiss the researches on social policy as raw empiricism uninformed of theoretical frameworks, the social policy researchers accuse social movement researchers as indulging in abstract research not grounded in

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empirical reality. This persisting puerile controversy has harmed both sound theory construction and relevant empirical research because these are utterly complimentary. I believe, nothing is more practical than a good theory.

II With these general remarks, let me look at the Indian situation. Planned economic development was the refrain of the Indian Republic from 1950 till 1990, when economic liberalisation was launched. The first four decades witnessed the co-existence of state owned public sector and the private sector owned by corporations. The ‘mixed economy’ that emerged out of that arrangement was widely acknowledged as an appropriate model which combined the positive aspects of capitalist and socialist economies and was christened as the ‘Third Way’. Neither the public sector, that is, the state, nor the private sector, that is, the market institutions, paid any attention to displacement, though they did pay lip service to resettlement and even rehabilitation. The Planning Commission, almost exclusively manned by economists, did not consider displacement as an issue. And, given the over enthusiasm of the first Prime Minister (Jawaharlal Nehru, who occupied that office for seventeen years) for technology-driven rapid development, who labelled huge dams as ‘temples of modern India’, resistance movements against displacement could not crystallise easily. However, as the number of displaced people soared high, as the civil society gained strength, and as the legitimacy of the state eroded, the discontents of development manifested in numerous resistance movements against displacement. The estimates regarding displacement vary vastly. According to one such estimate, some thirty-five to fifty-five million people have been displaced in Independent India. Of these, according to the government, displacement due to large projects, between 1951 and 1985, is sixteen-and-a-half million. Critics however, estimate that the figure for 1951–1990 is little over twenty-one million (see Sen 1995: 243). Even if one endorses the most conservative estimates, the numbers are huge; the population affected is larger than the total population of the majority of member states of United Nations. It needs to be emphasised that only 8 percent of India’s population is tribal, the First Nations if you will, numbering eighty million. And, 60 percent of

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the displacees are tribals as the huge projects, be it dams or industries, are located in their ancestral habitats. The Indian state wanted to retain its centrality not only in initiating planned economic development, but also in promoting and sustaining civil society (Oommen 1996). This meant that civil society functioned in a subdued manner. But the aberrations of the state rendered civil society alert and assertive. The internal emergency (1975–76) was the most crucial event that eroded the democratic credentials of the Indian state, and the struggle against it provided the decisive break between state and civil society. Therefore, it is no accident that the ‘temples of modern India’ got de-sacralised and the ‘destructive development’ pursued by the Indian state came to be intensely interrogated by the late 1970s. As one reviews the trajectory of resistance movements against displacement caused by dams three broad and over-lapping patterns emerge. All the three have several stages, some common and some different. In the case of the first trajectory, the following stages may be identified. Stage one: the government (federal or provincial) grants the  permission for the corporation (which may be in the public or private sector) to launch the project. Invariably, this is shrouded in secrecy and the public will not have any information, not even the population likely to be affected by the project. Stage two: when engineers and bureaucrats arrive on the project site to survey the area and do the markings, the enterprising media (print and/or electronic) spies on these activities and flash the news about the impending project to the public. Stage three: non-governmental organisations (NGOs) working in the area attempt an assessment of the negative and positive consequences (both short-term and long-term) for the local people and the exploitative designs of the corporations. Large-scale mobilisations of the agitated future victims follow. Stage four: expert committees are appointed by the government to understand whether the claims made by the NGOs are correct and the mobilisations initiated by the activists are sustainable. If the experts’ opinion is to stall the project, even if the vested interests support the project, it is likely to be stalled. Such a trajectory is likely only if the civil society activists involved in resistance movements have a common perspective and/or the experts take a consensual view. Even when the provincial government is eager to launch the project (because the project can be cited as an achievement for electoral gains), the federal government may stop it. Such happy

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conjunctions are extremely rare but not unheard of. One such case is that of the stalling of dam construction at the Silent Valley in Kerala in the 1970s (see Herring 1991). Today, the Valley is a world heritage site for rare species recognised by the UNESCO. The second trajectory shares the first three stages, but if differences among the civil society activists surface, and are forcefully articulated, the victims themselves are likely to be confused about the contradictory impact assessment available. In fact, the local people may get differentiated into ‘winners’, ‘losers’ and the ‘unaffected’. The situation gets further exacerbated because of lack of consensus among experts. It is not uncommon that the experts are sharply divided regarding their impact assessment. Such a scenario gives birth to a sharp division between the opponents and supporters of the project giving birth to stage five. During stage five, those civil society activists who are convinced about the largely negative consequences of constructing the dam will continue their resistance. The project initiators will try to weaken the mobilisation by bribing, threatening and intimidating the leaders of the resistance movement. If the movement persists in spite of all these, agent provocateurs will be pressed into service to create situations of violence. Should the participants who opposed the project fall a prey to this, the state seizes the opportunity to deploy police and para-military forces to control the ‘law and order’ situation. This may lead to the use of firearms by the state forces to control the ‘unruly crowd’ leading to deaths and injury of civilians. The sixth stage witnesses the third entry of the state (the first two being sanctioning the project and deploying the forces to maintain law and order) via a judicial commission to enquire about the violent incidents. The commission would condemn violence; invariably reprimand the state bureaucracy and police which did not acquit themselves well in managing the law and order situation. However, the commission would highlight the imperative of continuing the project in the ‘national interest’, as if the nation is a piece of territory inhabited only by well off people. A few officials will be transferred, some of the movement activists will get punished and/or stigmatised. The resistance whittles down and, after a lapse of time, the project is launched. Those who get displaced are demoralised and, without the requisite resources to resist, they invariably accept the adjudications of the project authorities as compensation. This imaginative reconstruction of the trajectories of resistance movements is not isomorphic with particular cases but largely

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tallies with most cases in India and is constructed on the basis of information available in several studies (see Fernandes and Thukral 1989; Paranjpye 1990; PUCL 1990; NCA 1991; Sheth 1991; Baboo 1992; Sharma 1992; Ram 1993; TISS 1993; Kothari 1995; Ota and Agnihotri 1996; Mathur and Marsden 1998; Mahapatra 1999; Parsuraman 1999). There is a third trajectory possible as exemplified by those projects physically located at the border of two or more provincial states. The classic case in contemporary India is that of the Narmada Bachao Andolan (NBA) (Save Narmada Movement). The state of Gujarat enthusiastically supports the construction of a dam with the highest height possible, the state of Maharashtra is mildly opposed to it, and the state of Madhya Pradesh is largely ambiguous. Similarly, there are both opponents and supporters of the resistance movement among civil society activists, bureaucrats and experts. It may be noted here that the resistance is not to the construction of the dam as such, but to its height. The opponents argue for series of small dams instead of one giant dam. The negotiations by international agencies such as The World Commission on Dams and the pronouncements by the Supreme Court of India have not led to the resolution of the problem, and the resistance movement continues unabated. The supporters and opponents of the Sardar Sarovar Project (SSP) are stuck with their respective ideological orientations, which is the characteristic feature of the third trajectory I am referring to. The credo of supporters is developmentalism; they advocate ‘development’ at any cost even if millions of people are uprooted  and rendered ‘ecological refugees’. On the other hand, those who insist that the project should be abandoned even if only limited displacement occurs, because the integrity of the environment is to be maintained in its pristine purity, are indulging in environmentalism. If the blind supporters of the dam are advocating ‘mal-development’, the opponents are championing ‘anti-development’, and both are unsustainable positions. The knowledge generated through the analyses of resistance movements is not amenable to be used in such situations. Why? Typically, social movement studies are post-event enterprises; these are studies of terminated movements. Ongoing movements are rarely studied by researchers either because their course may change drastically or because their duration could be too long. Furthermore, the emotional identification of participants in the resistance movement and the

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opponents’ utterly negative attitude towards it make it extremely difficult to arrive at an objective evaluation of the impact of the movement. While knowledge generated through analysis of resistance movements is useful for theory construction, it is not as helpful to be invoked for policy formulation to rehabilitate the victims concerned. Such knowledge no doubt, may be useful to be applied in subsequent similar cases, but this rarely happens. In contrast, the impact assessment of displacement is to be done before the event occurs; it is a pre-event analysis. Rarely sociologists are called upon to make such studies. Moreover, these studies relate to material compensation to be provided to the oustees. The economists are widely believed to be better equipped to undertake such studies. Here the real issue is not only the quantum of compensation, but the type of compensation; the resources to be provided to the oustees to rehabilitate themselves, a consideration that rarely enters in the studies by economists. Furthermore, sociologists are not at ease with prescription, the bulwark of policy studies. In contrast, economists are at ease with prescription. Finally, sociology has been happier to engage with history rather than futurology. Once again, the orientation of economists is prospective and futurological rather than historical. Pithily put, the reluctance on the part of sociologists to engage in prescriptive and prospective studies has rendered them incapable of making path-breaking policy analysis.

III The trajectory of resistance mobilisation portrayed above remains general, and it is useful to discuss the specificities of a particular case. The case most suited for this analysis is that of the NBA, to which I referred to earlier, for three reasons. First, NBA has a history of two decades of active mobilisation; second, it has global visibility; and third, it is the most widely documented case of its type in India (see CSE 1985; MARG 1986; Alvares and Billorey 1987; Kalpavriksh 1988; Paranjpye 1990; Joshi 1991; NBA 1991; NCA 1991; Sheth 1991; Morse and Berger 1992; Sharma 1992; LCHR 1993; Ram 1993; TISS 1993; Baviskar 1995 among others). There are their levels of resistance to dam construction at SSP—at the grassroots level, the participants are concerned mainly with material

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compensation; at the second level, the mobilisation becomes norm-oriented; and at the third level, it transforms into a value-oriented movement (see Smelser 1962): (1) Those, which are concerned about resettlement and rehabilitation, and the quantum and quality of compensation. These bread-and-butter issues enthuse the oustees who are the local participants. These mobilisations are not against dam construction but for a better deal for the victims; these are local and micro mobilisations. These mobilisations do not make a movement in that there is no articulated ideological content to them. They are elementary collective behaviour caused by the panic due to the feared loss of shelter and means of livelihood. (2) A few mobilisations which go beyond the issue of fair distribution of compensation, and raise the issue of displacement. They question the inevitability of displacement to achieve development and often insist on reducing displacement to a critical minimum. They have an ideological content and hence can be legitimately designated as a movement. The activists who are involved in the mobilisation and the academics who opposed the construction of dams have a concern beyond mere resettlement of the oustees. The juxtaposition between ‘national development’ and local resistance is often debated by these participants; they are national in reach and meso in orientation. These are norm-oriented movements. (3) A third set, in which only a few mobilisations fall, interrogates the very paradigm of development implicated in the construction of huge dams. These mobilisations are concerned with both culturocide (systematic dismantling of the lifestyle of people, see Oommen 1986) and ecocide (the destruction of their ecology). Local participants do not articulate these concerns; they may not be even conscious of them. The activists and academics who are involved in meso level movements are aware of these issues, but are not equipped to pose them. Therefore, these questions are to be raised by an intellectual community functioning at the national/international level. These are macro and global mobilisations; they are value-oriented movements.

The NBA contains all the three types of mobilisations. As one moves from the first through the second to the third level, consensus regarding the movement goal decreases and dissensus increases. Thus, the very notion of development is contested at the third level. The electrifying notion of ‘national’ development is the refrain of those who support the project. According to former chairman of the Narmada Valley Development Agency:

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T.K. Oommen No trauma could be more painful for a family than to get uprooted from a place where it has lived for generations. . . . Yet, the uprooting has to be done. Because the land occupied by the family is required for a development project which holds promise of progress and prosperity for the country and people in general. The family getting displaced thus makes a sacrifice . . . so that others may live in happiness and be economically better off (quoted in Alvares and Billorey 1987: 64).

The domain assumptions in the passage cited above are as follows: (a) the project will bring about progress, (b) it will generate happiness for the beneficiaries, and (c) the oustees will have to be patriotic. The assumptions, even if valid, do not hold for the people as a whole, much less to the victims of the project. The position taken by a sociologist is more disquieting. He asks rather rhetorically: ‘Why should any one oppose when tribal culture changes? A culture based on lower level of technology and quality of life is bound to give way to a culture with superior technology and high quality of life. This is what we can call development’ (Joshi 1991: 68). Such a position stigmatises tribal culture and quality of life; it holds that their displacement is development. There are several questions here. Should social scientists categorise cultures as inferior and superior, though they should recognise the differences between cultures? Should an alien culture, even if presumed to be superior, be imposed on an unwilling people? Should such an imposition be called the process of development? These are value-loaded questions, and whether or not one answers these questions positively or negatively depends on one’s ideological orientation. To wit, development is a contested notion. The beginning of NBA’s mobilisation could be traced to 1985. Its effort was to accelerate the process of implementing fully the excellent compensation package announced by the state which included land in the command area of the project to the oustees, providing land even to the erstwhile landless in the project area, and the like. But gradually the NBA leaders realised that none of these promises materialised and the government was indulging diversional therapy through promises to avoid violent confrontations. Understandably, the ideological position of NBA was reformulated and it . . . demanded an end to all projects which devastate the environment and destroy people’s livelihoods, and called for the adoption of a socially just and

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ecologically sustainable pattern of development. Its defiant message, to politicians and planners, was that people are no longer prepared to watch in mute desperation as project after destructive project is heaped on them in the name of development and progress . . . (NBA 1991: 4).

The metamorphosis in NBA’s position from facilitating rehabilitation through questioning displacement to rejecting the model of development implied in the Sardar Sarovar Project (SSP) was gradual and was based on its experience in confronting the state. A movement is sustainable only when there is a confluence between the ideological visions of its leadership and the material needs and aspirations of the grassroots participants (Oommen 1977). Happily, such a confluence exists in the case of NBA, which explains its continuation for more than two decades. Typically, social movements are change-oriented, though their direction could be past or future oriented. However, to sustain a movement, there should be consistency in movement goals. In the case of dams, two sets of actors and their goals pull in two opposite directions. Those who define big dams as instruments of development perceive opposition to them as an ‘anti-development’ activity. These developmentlists do not ask the question: Development for whom and for what? Conversely, those who launch resistance to the construction of dams insist that what will happen through the instrumentality of big dams is ‘mal-development’ and hence an anti-people project bringing about culturocide of the affected people and ecocide of their habitat, in addition to the material impoverishment of the people. Thus, there is no consensus about the purpose for which the dam is constructed. This explains the deep division between the supporters and opponents of the NBA. A movement may terminate because of co-optation, discreditation, institutionalisation and repression (Rush and Denisoff 1971). In the case of NBA, neither co-optation nor institutionalisation is possible because of the deep divide between its leaders and those who support SSP–the politicians, bureaucrats, technocrats and a section of beneficiaries. No effort was spared to discredit the NBA and it is labelled as ‘anti-developmental’ and ecologically fundamentalist (Sheth 1991). And, the state apparatus has been continuously pressed into service to repress the movement leading to numerous arrests, lathi-charges and firings. The government also usually blacks out the movement events from All India

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Radio and the Doordarshan, the media it controls. In January 1989, the government tried to contain NBA’s dissent by invoking the Official Secrets Act to prevent mobilisations in the project area. In spite of all these, the movement continues. This is an indication that the movement participants perceive SSP as an embodiment of development pathology.

IV How to steer the exit from this impasse? I suggest that we need to do two things. One, a new set of questions should be asked. Two, a new perspective about development should be developed. The new set of questions should shift the attention from resettlement and rehabilitation to displacement. In the case of resettlement and rehabilitation, the sociologist enters the scene post-project that is, after the displacement occurs due to the initiation of the development process. At this stage, one can only argue about the nitty-gritty of compensation. However, if the focus shifts to displacement, it is possible to start interrogating the inevitability thesis regarding displacement. The relevant questions here are: (i) Is displacement always inevitable? (ii) If the answer is in the affirmative, can we reduce the quantum of displacement to the critical minimum and how? (iii) What precautionary measures (legal, administrative, cultural) are to be taken in advance so that the social and cultural cost of displacement can be minimised? Such questions provide the meeting ground between a sociology of displacement and a sociology for resettlement and rehabilitation; they blend theoretical issues and practical concerns. Fortunately, such orientations are now becoming evident. For example, Michael Cernea observes: ‘The optimal response to predictable impoverishment risks is to search for project alternatives that could eliminate altogether the need to displace people, or could at least reduce the number of displacees’ (2000:  43, emphasis added). The moot question is: Why is it that these eminently practical issues have been neglected for long by sociologists? My hunch is that while those who address practical questions are devalued by professional peers, they applaud those who attempt theoretical analyses. But the paradox is that the policy makers and implementers marginalised those who indulge in abstract theory building devoid of practical use. Sociologists are responsible for the marginalisation of sociology and that is why we need to blend theory and praxis.

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The second suggestion is to develop a new perspective about development. There are two elements in this: technology and environment, and these are inextricably intertwined. Much of the displacement occurs because of the reckless application of modern high technology anchored to inanimate energy. Instead of endorsing either of the prevailing polar views that technology is necessarily and always an instrument of human emancipation or it is an unmitigated evil, it is necessary to accept that technology is a conditional good. Such a perspective also renders the juxtaposition between high and appropriate technology irrelevant. In fact, all technologies—high, intermediate and low—are appropriate, contextually. This call for our endorsing technological pluralism (see Oommen 1992b). Experiences the world over have demonstrated that the degradation of physical environment is caused by the type of development in vogue today. The value-orientation to nature is critical here; the prevailing tendency to exploit nature excessively for human welfare is rendering mother earth sick. It is necessary to recognise that the health and well-being of humankind is possible only if mother earth is nurtured. All elements on planet earth should have their place and the right to Gaia (see Lovelock 1988). I venture to suggest that the Green Project is an attempt to shift our focus from the prevailing homocentrism to cosmocentrism. To conclude, development pathologies are of different grades and shapes. At the macro level, they are caused by the rash application of high technology and manifest as degradation of environment. At the meso level, development pathologies take the forms of disparity and discrimination. Finally, in the micro context development pathologies appear as distress and displacement. I have attempted to analyse displacement caused by dam construction intended to bring about ‘development’. In the course of this analysis, I have suggested the need to combine the sociology of movements and policies with the sociology for movements and policies. Such an effort will render sociological knowledge eminently usable for accelerating an appropriate process of development. This seems to be the route to extricate sociology and sociologists from their current marginality.

Note This is the revised version of a paper presented at the seminar on ‘Sociological Knowledge for Induced Development’ held at Bibliotheca Alexandrina, Egypt, 30–31 May 2005.

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9 ‘They are All Set to Dam(n) Our Future’: Contested Development through Hydel Power in Democratic Sikkim Vibha Arora

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ams and hydroelectric (hydel) projects taming river waters have long been associated with technocratic pursuit of economic growth, technical mastery, and the idea of development (Khagram 2004: 4). They have become ‘political symbols of conquest of nature, representative of progress, and the development of a modern state’ (Klingensmith 2007: 2). They attained iconic status as temples of modern democratic India and national achievement during the Nehruvian period. Following such a model, Himalayan Sikkim identified hydropower generation as the critical variable and cornerstone of its development planning after joining the Indian union in 1975. Meanwhile, the top-down liberal development model of dams and hydropower projects imposed arbitrarily without public consultations became questionable and unacceptable to tribal and rural communities which were uprooted, displaced, impoverished, and made destitute in the name of public and national interest. Hence, the 1980s saw questions of equity and justice taking centre stage, with mega dams and multipurpose hydropower projects no longer being considered symbols of national progress, sacred or above public criticism, but sometimes as tombs (Gadgil and Guha 1995; Dreze et al. 1997; Khagram 2004). The

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emergence of social movements against hydropower projects such as Narmada, Tehri, and the Silent Valley has signalled not merely the asymmetries of power, but facilitated the crystallisation of fault lines in the political economy as well. Immense socio-political conflict was generated by the faulty implementation, unchecked ecological degradation, and inadequate resettlement policies for the affected and displaced (Khagram 2004). Simultaneously, modern technocratic top-down development planning and practices have been critiqued by both anthropology of development (see Escobar 1995: 44; Grillo 1997: 11–19) and transnational networks and transnational non-governmental organisations (see Khagram 2004: 11–12). Impervious to this widespread critique of development through hydraulic gigantism (see Kalpavriksh 1988; Ganguly-Thukral 1992; Baviskar 1995; Dreze et al. 1997; Iyer 2001; McCully 2001; Khagram 2004), the development planners identified the cascade development of the perennial river waters of Rangit and Teesta1 as the panacea for modernising Sikkim’s economy, generating employment for its youth,2 earning revenue to offset fiscal deficit and servicing its debt, financing human development, and meeting domestic and national energy needs. Speeches by political representatives in legislatures and administration in press and public reports continually circulate a performative rhetoric of people-centred development in democratic Sikkim.3 The government maintains that they have obtained the necessary environmental clearances for hydropower projects and followed a democratic and participatory approach to implement them. The rhetoric of the democratic government was challenged on 20 June 2007 when three Lepcha youth affiliated to the Affected Citizens of the Teesta (ACT)4 and the Concerned Lepchas of Sikkim (CLOS),5 with the support of the Sangha of Dzongu,6 began an indefinite relay hunger-strike in Gangtok (the capital of Sikkim)7 to pressurise the government into revoking these projects over the Teesta. The Lepcha activists banner proclaiming, ‘In the name of development, do not make us refugees in our own homeland [Sikkim]’, and another asserting, ‘Dzongu is the holy land of the Lepchas. Lepchas have the responsibility to protect it’, challenge definitions of what constitutes public interest in Sikkim (Arora 2007b). On the other hand, Lepcha legislators, including Sonam Gyatso Lepcha (the MLA [Member of Legislative Assembly] of Dzongu), assert that the development prospects offered by hydel projects are being welcomed by the Lepchas of Dzongu, wherein the majority of the residents

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have accepted them. Hence, the state government maintains that, if there are some protesting voices, pleading voices of some Lepcha youth sitting on an indefinite hunger-strike, they are marginal, anti-national, and anti-Sikkimese. This is precisely how the Chief Minister of Sikkim, Pawan Kumar Chamling framed ACT and its leaders in his public speech on the occasion of the independence-day celebrations on 15 August 2007 in Gangtok. Institutions, state, and social groups enter into contingent interactions in complex situations to express power and exercise control over resources. If environmental impact studies and public hearings were conducted fairly, why are these affected people agitating and opposing these projects? The eruption of these protests in alliance with other civil society organisations signal the deep-seated contradictions and contested meanings of public interest and rejection of nationalist projects that could culminate in a loss of culture and identity for the indigenous ethnic minorities.8 In this paper, I analyse the contested formulations and perceptions of public interest and development in Sikkim in order to reiterate the need of not ignoring but integrating culture in any project planning. This analysis is based on my multi-sited and extended fieldwork in the region since 2001, and is supported by a review of relevant literature, reports of project developers and carrying capacity studies, newspaper articles, and information from official and activists’ websites. The first section discusses the privileging of hydropower model of development in Sikkim. Following cultural ecology, the second section explains the emergence of recent protests demanding closure of hydropower projects in Dzongu and the trajectory of their non-violent oppositional politics. In the final section, I argue that development in Sikkim has become both a contested discourse and a site of identity politics. Tracing the continuities of the Teesta hydropower protests with the Rathongchu movement, I emphasise the need for participatory planning and decolonising development by integrating culture with development.

Development through Hydropower The recognition of Shri Pawan Chamling, the Chief Minister of Sikkim as the greenest Chief Minister in the country in the year 1999 epitomises the policy, administrative, and legal initiatives and efforts articulated by this Government

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over the years in the field of environment and sustainable development. Over the years, he has spearheaded a relentless movement towards inculcating a better environmental ethics in the people, benchmarked development to ensure ecological security, forbade projects and programmes contrary to sustainable development, legislated stringent measures for better conservation and protection of the flora and fauna of this beautiful State (‘Towards Greener Sikkim’, ).

Located in Northeast India, Himalayan Sikkim, measuring, 7,096 sq km, is inhabited by about half a million (540,493) people (Census of Sikkim 2001) belonging to twenty-two ethnic groups. These diverse ethnic groups are classified into three broad categories: the Lepchas, the Bhutias, and the Nepalis.9 In 1975, the underdeveloped erstwhile Buddhist kingdom of Sikkim joined the Indian Union. A democratically elected ‘super-active government’10 was given the responsibility of developing and modernising the state. The population of Sikkim is predominantly Hindu (68 per cent), and the Buddhists comprise a large section (27 per cent), while the Christians comprise a small component of the population (3 per cent) (Lama 2001: 7). About 21 per cent of Sikkim’s population belongs to Scheduled Tribes,11 while the Scheduled Castes (exclusively of Nepali origin) comprise about 5 per cent of the population. Official discourse continually highlights government’s development intervention, maintenance of social harmony among an ethnically plural society, and political stability as the defining features of this model state (ibid.: 90). As a Special Category State, economically, Sikkim is largely dependent on preferential funding from the central government.12 The Special Category States receive substantial financial and non-financial support from the central government in the form of 90 per cent as grants and 10 per cent as loans. This ratio is 30 per cent grants and 70 per cent loans for non-Special Category States (Lahiri et al. 2001: 44–45). After joining the Northeast Council in December 2002, Sikkim has access to additional funding for developing infrastructure, roads and transport, communications, health, education and for alleviating poverty (see ). It is maintained that, post-1975, nearly three-quarters of the state budget is spent on development activities (Lama 2001: 84), though expenditure on salaries and interest-payments nearly pre-empt most of this (Lahiri et al. 2001: 16). Despite protracted government interventions in the last thirty years, according to the Governor of Sikkim, S. Agarwal, the state

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ranks fifth among all Indian states in terms of poverty (The Statesman, Siliguri, 3 December 2007). More than 40 per cent of its population is living below the poverty line (Lama 2001: 15). Industrial development has been a low priority, though the tertiary sector has been expanding steadily with the growth of tourism. Therefore, structural shift has been much slower than in other parts of India, with agriculture continuing to contribute nearly 49 per cent of the state domestic product (Lahiri et al. 2001: 42). The sectoral distribution in 1995–96 was about 52.03 per cent in the primary sector, 13.65 per cent in the secondary sector, and 34.31 per cent in the tertiary sector (Lama 2001: 18). Greater details about development planning and the state of human development are available in two official publications, namely, Sikkim Human Development Report (ibid.) and Sikkim: The People’s Vision (Lahiri et al. 2001). Such documents play a vital role in the articulation of the argument that human and economic development is taking place, while, at the same time, legitimising (un)popular development policies to the national government and the wider world (see ibid.; Lama 2001, Planning Commission 2008). In the recently released Sikkim Development Report, the democratically elected government of Sikkim,13 in conjunction with the bureaucratic machinery and in collaboration with experts, identified hydropower, tourism, and international trade through the Nathula pass as the panacea for development of this remote and industrially backward Himalayan state (Planning Commission 2008). These reports, however, do not necessarily represent the aspirations of the people in whose name they are being framed and disseminated. The government repeatedly asserts that power generation is critical for rural electrification, for meeting the growing urban domestic consumption, for generating industrial employment, and for promoting tourism. However, power generation is much below the domestic requirements. Micro-hydel projects can meet domestic demands, but cannot become revenue generators. This explains the government’s favourable slant towards hydraulic gigantism. The decision to construct multi-purpose mega projects on the Teesta is guided by the perceived necessity to achieve economic growth through the sale of power (Lama 2001). Unlike Bhutan, Sikkim has not been able to sell any power; it, in fact, needs to buy power for its domestic consumption (Planning Commission 2008: 27).

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Originating in the Himalayan glaciers at 8,598 m, the Teesta rapidly flows downstream, cutting deep gorges, to drop at 213 m in Melli, within an aerial distance of 100 km (Pandit 2007: 4–8). Its perennial waters and cascade present a rich opportunity for power generation. There is tremendous scope of exporting and selling power generated through hydel projects over the Teesta and other tributaries and streams (Planning Commission 2008: 117). The state government reiterates the employment-generating and the huge revenue-earning potential of these multi-purpose hydro projects, but it has neither skilled personnel to design and manage such projects nor the resources to finance them. This explains the soliciting and approval of private investment in these hydel projects. Hydel projects are not new to Sikkim; they can be traced to the 50  kW Ranikhola micro-hydel project commissioned as far back as 1927 to cater to the needs of the royal family and residents of Gangtok (Kharel 1998–2000: 1). Most existing hydel projects are stated to be run-off-the-river schemes.14 Until end of 1979, Sikkim had a total power-generation capacity of only 3 MW with only a few towns being electrified (Lama 2001: 77). The shelving of the Rathongchu Hydroelectric Project on eco-social and environmental grounds in 1997 has had a profound impact on meeting the energy demand-supply gap in Sikkim and crystallising the nativist sentiments among the indigenous people (Arora 2003, 2006c). It is very much possible for Sikkim to achieve self-sufficiency in power generation by designing mini-micro hydropower projects (Lama 2001: 82–83), which will neither displace nor disrupt people’s livelihoods and cultural practices. However, the modernist state favours the gigantic mega projects, despite their tremendous capacity to alter the natural and social worlds. Hence, in 1998, the Sikkim Power Development Corporation Limited was founded to provide cheap pollution-free electricity by following a project recourse financing approach to exploit the vast hydroelectric potential (Kharel 1998–2000: 23). The Sikkim government has pinned high hopes on cascade development of the Teesta in six stages through twenty-six hydropower projects to generate an estimated capacity of 3,635 MW. Various private companies of national and international repute are involved in implementing these (see Table 1). The companies find the efficient facilitative environment provided by the state government and expected future profits attracting them to Sikkim. As Y.N. Apparao, Managing

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Table 1 Teesta Hydroelectric Power Projects Installed Capacity (MW)

Stage

Area/Location

Teesta I

Zemu Lake

320

Under study

Teesta II

Lachen-Lachung

750

Under survey

Teesta III

Chungthang

Teesta IV

Singhik

495

EIA under study by NHPC

Teesta V

Dikchu

510

Completed by NHPC

Teesta VI

Shirwani/Rangpo

500

Environmental clearance was given to LANCO

1,200

Remarks

Environmental clearance has been given to Teesta Urja Ltd.

Source:

Director of Teesta Urja Ltd. that is setting up the controversial 1,200  MW Teesta III shared, ‘We took up the project because the Sikkim government is proactive and quick in decision-making. . . . Land acquisition, along with forest and environmental clearance, took less than two years’ (cited in Jishnu 2008). The explicit purpose of Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA) is to assist in scientific decision-making process based on environmental and socioeconomic studies to ensure that projects are economically cost-effective and environmentally sustainable, and that they do not violate the norms of social justice. The EIA studies identify the interventions necessary for mitigating the adverse impact on the ecology by  preparing an Environment Monitoring Plan, a Catchment Area Treatment Plan, and a Disaster Management Plan, and formulating a Relief and Resettlement Policy. These studies are a prerequisite for obtaining any clearance form the Ministry of Environment and Forests (MoEF), Government of India and obtaining a No-Objection Certificate from the State Pollution Board. Environmentalists Ashish Kothari and Shekhar Singh repeatedly point to the utter disregard for norms laid out for conducting EIA and the lack of accountability and transparency in implementing development projects. In almost all such cases, NGOs

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and affected people have protested, pointing to violations and destructive implications, and often even offering alternatives. Yet all this has been systematically ignored (Kothari et al. 2004). Big hydel projects and dams significantly impact the environment not only in the local catchment area, the reservoir area, downstream, and command area, but globally too, as they contribute to climate change (Thakkar 2007b). The Teesta cascade projects are advertised as environmentally benign and largely run-of-the-river projects located in low-density population areas, and that, therefore, they would not displace people on a large scale (Kharel 1998–2000). Even the EIA studies of these projects and the carrying capacity studies of the Teesta Basin do note that many of the hydropower projects are located in geologically fragile and ecologically sensitive biodiversity-rich areas (Pandit 2007: 29). Eight of these proposed hydropower projects are located in North Sikkim, in and around the Kanchendzonga Biosphere Reserve. Under Sikkim Government Gazette Notification (No. 95, 26 August 1977) and Kanchendzonga Biosphere Notification (MoEF No. J-2201/76/91-BR dated 27 February 2000), an area of 2,619.92 sq km was demarcated as a Biosphere Reserve, which is to be left undisturbed. However, in clear violation of these notifications, five hydel projects—Lingza, Rangyong, Ruckel, Ringpi, and to some extent Panang—are situated in and around this area. In India, rules have been flouted time and again in order to give speedy clearance to projects at both the state and national levels (Thakkar 2007a). Clearances have been issued without requisite studies being done and consulting the affected people (Wangchuk 2007: 35). The National Hydroelectric Power Corporation (NHPC) is executing two of the larger projects on the Teesta, though its track record is deplorable (Thakkar 2007c). Neeraj Vagholikar (2007b) mentions that, while deliberating on giving an environmental clearance to the Teesta V project, in 1998, MoEF had recommended that a carrying capacity study of the Teesta basin be done. In 1999, while giving clearance to Teesta V, MoEF had stated that it would not clear any other hydropower projects until the carrying capacity study was completed. In this regard, the Centre for Interdisciplinary Studies of Mountain and Hill Environment (CISMHE), based at Delhi University, was assigned the responsibility of conducting a carrying capacity study of the Teesta. After six years of research, CISMHE submitted a ten-volume report in December 2007 (). Meanwhile, in clear violation of its own rulings, MoEF has given clearances to several new projects. These include the Rolep Hydroelectric

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Project (36 MW), which was issued clearance in February 2004; Chujachen Hydroelectric Project (100 MW), in December 2005; Jorethang Loop Hydroelectric Project (96 MW), and Teesta III Hydroelectric Project (1,200 MW) in 2006 (Environment Information System Sikkim, ). In many instances, the people concerned were not aware of scheduled public hearings, as those had not been publicised. Activists accuse the government of not sharing project information and explaining the purpose and impact of these projects on the affected people (Wangchuk 2007). These violations and criticisms, it must be said, are not unique to the Teesta projects in Sikkim either (see Kothari et al. 2004). There are several instances when ACT was forced to file an RTI (Right to Information) petition in order to access the necessary documents. The larger of these hydroelectric projects entail construction of large dams and diversion of the river waters through longhead race or underground tunnels where they pass through a powerhouse before being dropped back into the river at a downstream location.15 Teesta III in Chungthang envisages the construction of a 60 m high concrete dam and a reservoir of gross capacity of 5.08 cubic m and Panang in Dzongu involves the construction of a 56 m high concrete gravity dam. In Teesta  V stage, NHPC has already constructed a 95 m high reservoir and 17 km long underground tunnel. At a rough estimate, Stages III and IV of the Teesta project are expected to respectively submerge 156.41 hectares and 359.89 hectares of forest (Rudra 2003). On the one hand, the government claims that the number of families who will be displaced by these hydropower projects is not very large. For instance, the Panang project located in Dzongu, that requires 56.835 hectares of land, including 23.629 hectares of forest area, would displace about 116 families, while rendering only nine families landless (Assam Tribunal, Guwahati, 5 Aug 2007). On the other hand, it is estimated that Teesta would add 50 million environmental refugees (Rudra 2003). More recently, M.K. Pandit, the Director of CISMHE, under whose supervision a carrying capacity study of the Teesta basin was conducted nearly six years back, has admitted that Stages I to III of the Teesta project are neither environmentally advisable nor feasible. Many of the hydropower projects on the Teesta are located in the high-risk zone IV of the seismic zoning map (Pandit 2007: 31). The drastic increase in the number of landslides in the Teesta Basin with increased developmental activities, especially the construction and

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blasting activities, for these hydropower projects is noted with alarm. The CISMHE study recommends that it is not advisable to have dams above the height of 80 m in North Sikkim (ibid. 2007: 220). Opposition to these projects is documented in this report. Researchers acknowledge that many people were not opposed to infrastructural development, but clearly argued that this could not be achieved at the cost of losing their culture and identity (ibid.: 193). Scientists and social scientists have jointly recommended evolving a mechanism to check the influx and ensure that migrants do not settle and dilute the cultural specificity of the indigenous and other groups of Sikkim (ibid.: 220). Geographer Maitreyee Choudhury, who researched and wrote the section on the socio-cultural aspects for the carrying capacity study, has acknowledged the expression of substantial local opposition to projects located in the Dzongu. This was due to the fear of influx and settlement of outsiders which would dilute Lepcha culture and simultaneously bring crime and disease in a restricted-access area. Her report documents the high level of awareness among the Lepchas about their rights as the indigenous people, including the right to self-determination, protection from cultural ethnocide, and the right to control, use, and oppose the alienation of their natural resources. She recommends that Teesta projects should not be implemented by ignoring either the local sentiments or vocal opposition by the indigenous people severely affected by them (Choudhury 2007: 134–35). During my fieldwork, many bureaucrats working in the power and forestry departments (on being assured of anonymity) were also critical of these Teesta projects, while fearful of expressing their dissent. They admit that these projects would cause immense destruction of existing flora and fauna, degrade forests, and disrupt the hydrological cycle, while blasting activities will trigger numerous landslides.

Emergence and Organisation of Opposition to Teesta Projects Lots of water flowed down river Teesta and Rangit, but we never understood its importance, now we will generate huge revenue through this flowing water (Chief Minister Pawan Kumar Chamling, Independency Speech in Gangtok, 15 August 2007.

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Vibha Arora Hills after hills are bombed by dynamite, tunnels after tunnels dug inside our sacred hills, our most beautiful rivers, damned beyond recognition and along with it our dying trees, fishes, animals and ecology . . . (weepingsikkim.blogspot.com, 23 February 2008).

Identities and interests are crystallised as part of the cultural politics over landscape (Arora 2006a). Development projects often generate unplanned outcomes for and unanticipated responses from the people whose very interest they profess to promote. People are neither a passive folk on whom development projects can be imposed by a technocratic state, nor can their life be reductively defined in utilitarian cost-benefit terms. Bureaucratic appropriation of river waters for national development and their transformation into an economic resource disregards local cultural traditions and livelihood integrated with the riverscape. Regimes of hegemonic representation that legitimise resource extraction have not gone unchallenged by cultural politics. Who are the people declaring that government and project developers in Sikkim are all set to dam(n) their future? Are these voices a minority representing sectional interests? Why are these voices unheard and ignored by leaders democratically elected by the people of Sikkim? Indigenous Lepcha youth affiliated with ACT and CLOS, and the Sangha of Dzongu, who are protesting against the twenty-six hydel projects planned or under construction on the Teesta in Sikkim declare: ‘We are not against development, but will fight against development that will extinguish our culture.’ Formally launched in July 2004, ACT is the rechristened name of Joint Action Committee, which was an organisation formed in July 2002 by the people living in the Teesta Basin in North Sikkim. They define themselves in following terms: ‘We are a group of people affected by dams on the Teesta and its tributaries in the Lepcha reserve of Dzongu in Sikkim.’ Organisations of Lepchas based in Kalimpong and Darjeeling in the northern West Bengal have also organised hunger strikes and joined rallies in support of the indigenous Lepchas. The Tibeto-Burman Lepchas term themselves Rong (a Lepcha word meaning the dwellers of the valley) and they define themselves by their association with the sacred mountain Kanchenjunga that is regarded the source of their knowledge, culture, religion, wealth, resources, and place of their origin. The Lepchas trace their social origins and the birth of their lineage ancestors to specific (sacred) sites such as the five peaks of Kanchenjunga, the other sacred mountains, lakes, caves, and sites in

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Sikkim and the Darjeeling Hills (Arora 2004, 2006a). Over the past century, with their numbers dwindling to about 90,000 persons, who are physically dispersed in Sikkim and in the Darjeeling Hills of West Bengal, they have become an indigenous minority in the region. Deemed a vanishing tribe (Foning 1987), the Lepchas are said to be loosing their cultural moorings after the settlement of migrants in their homeland. Culture, politics, and ecology are inseparable in Lepcha cosmology. Given the strong place-based identities of the Lepchas, any severance of their connection with the sacred sites strikes at the heart of their culture and civilisation. The Teesta is assigned religious significance in their folklore and it cannot be viewed only as an environmental and economic resource. Many of their sacred sites are located on the banks of this river or near the originating source of its tributaries. The Teesta constitutes the lifeline of their livelihood, society, and culture. According to a famous myth, a furious Teesta once deluged the entire landscape and nearly led to extinction of all flora and fauna excepting those who got sanctuary on the peak of Mt Tendong in South Sikkim. Every year, Lepcha shamans offer prayers to placate the protective deities and ensure harmony and environmental balance in the region. For these protesting Lepchas, ‘the rape of Teesta’16 has officially begun and the river is weeping out and reduced to becoming a dry stream, stripped of its glory and weeping at its untimely death. Similarly, Dzongu is not a piece of real estate available for commercial exploitation. Located in North Sikkim, it is historically recognised as a tribal reserve area, exclusively inhabited by the Lepchas belonging to this reserve, such that even other Lepchas are prohibited from residing here permanently and purchasing land. Under the provisions of Article 371F of the Constitution of India, the government is mandated to protect the unique cultural heritage and interests of the indigenous Lepchas and Bhutias who were rendered a political minority with the incorporation of Sikkim into India (Arora 2006b). Hence, the sanctity of this ecologically fragile and culturally rich Dzongu can neither in principle nor in practice be undermined by either migration and settlement of outsiders or the implementation of environmentally destructive development projects. The Sikkim government time and again maintains the rhetoric of its commitment to protect the rights of the indigenous Lepchas, whom they, in fact, recognised as the ‘Most Primitive Tribe’ in 2005. Political ecology is embedded in a wider network of cultural politics in the form of cultural ecology. ‘Natural resources have a value within a

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larger economy of signification which crucially shapes their modes of appropriation’ (Baviskar 2003: 5052). Struggles over  resources are simultaneously struggles over meanings and futures. For the Lepchas, Dzongu represents the last bastion of their cultural heritage and the only place in the region where they feel free to follow their distinctive cultural and religious traditions. Its alienation is unacceptable to them. Dzongu contains a number of important sacred sites such as caves where Guru Rinpoche meditated, the Keshong Lake, the Kongsa hot springs, and the Tholung temple revered not only by the Lepchas but by all Buddhists of Sikkim. The Panang Hydel project harnesses the waters of the Tholung River. The sanctity of this area is well documented in historical and religious texts, including the pilgrimage guide to Sikkim and anthropological literature (Arora 2006a), but the area has never enjoyed the status of being a holy land (Wangchuk 2007: 49). Activists opposing the projects have adopted an uncompromising posture; ‘We will accept nothing less than a complete scrapping of hydel projects in Dzongu.’ Vociferously protesting against the desecration and alienation of their ancestral roots, the activists urge: ‘In the name of development, do not make us refugees in our own homeland.’ These concerns are strongly being raised since 2001. The activists have filed petitions with the National Appellate Authority at Delhi questioning the grant of necessary environmental clearances,17 repeatedly sent delegations to convince the state government to commission a review of the ecological impact of these projects, generated debate during hearings and public-meetings, and demanded a better relief and compensation package for the affected and displaced families. After being personally assured by the Chief Minister that he would review the projects located in North Sikkim, the activists decided to call-off their rally scheduled for 12 December 2006. Meanwhile, the Panang Project received environmental clearance in January 2007 and developers started to acquire land in Dzongu. With government assurances belied repeatedly, the activists were left with no option but to mobilise public opinion against the project and launch protests. Since 20 June 2007, Lepcha youth are participating in a relay hunger-strike in Gangtok, organising sit-ins, and rallying against hydel projects in Gangtok, Kalimpong, Darjeeling, and even Delhi to galvanise public sympathy and express solidarity with other groups opposing arbitrary imposition of development projects. The satyagraha by Dawa Lepcha (34 years), General Secretary of CLOS, and Tensing Lepcha

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(20 years), General Secretary of ACT, that began on 20 June lasted for sixty-three days. As Dawa Lepcha and Tensing Lepcha declare, ‘We may die in our efforts, but we will not see our land being plundered by capitalists.’ Adopting Gandhian methods of non-violence and resistance (Arora 2008), sitting under an inspiring framed picture of Mahatma Gandhi, the activist base is largely composed of young men and women including Buddhist priests/lamas. In a press release, the activists shared that ‘these fasts symbolically recall the sacrifice made by the freedom fighters, particularly Mahatma Gandhi, to achieve democracy and self-rule for ordinary Indians’ (Blog entry for 17 August 2007). Religious prayers by lamas to the protective deities of Sikkim in gnas-bsol, offerings, and shamanic rituals provide spiritual support to these satyagrahis. Pressurised by these activists, in September 2007, the Sikkim government constituted a review committee, largely comprising government officials such as the Chief Secretary, Secretary of Power, etc. Athup Lepcha, who was the sole activist nominated for inclusion in the committee, declined to participate in it, since the activists demand for an independent review was not heeded nor were other activists included in it. Determined to agitate against what they term to be the arbitrariness of the government, these activists have sent numerous delegations to Delhi to appraise ministers in the Union government. A thirty-member delegation staged a dharna on 5–6 December 2007 at Jantar Mantar in Delhi in collaboration with other human rights activists. ‘Dams over Dzongu will be built over our dead bodies’, proclaimed the banner marking the 200th day (on 6 January 2008) of this satyagraha. Faced with a stalemate, the relay-fast continued at Bhutia-Lepcha House, while activists continued to campaign in a low-key manner in Dzongu during the winter months. On 5 February 2008, during a visit to Dzongu, members of the review committee were greeted by peaceful show of protest and banners opposing the projects. Petitions demanding a fair review and shelving of projects were submitted by Lepchas and lamas belonging to twenty Buddhist temples of Dzongu to members of the review committee. Subsequently, on 10 March 2008, about three hundred Lepchas of Dzongu staged a rally in Gangtok carrying placards and banners demanding the closure of all hydel projects in North Sikkim. Preceding this rally, the activists offered prayers at the sacred stones at Kabi on 7 March 2008 to galvanise moral support. Dawa Lepcha and Tensing Lepcha commenced a second round of indefinite fast on 10 March 2008 along with Gyabu Lepcha (19 years) of Dzongu. As Dawa Lepcha

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shared, ‘their intention is not to challenge or confront authority, but merely to make a sincere appeal to the concerned authorities’ (Editor 2008). Largely non-political, the protests are increasingly acquiring political overtones with politicians belonging to Sikkim Himali Parishad, Sikkim Bhutia Lepcha Apex Committee, Sikkim United, and Communist Party of India extending their support to and occasionally participating briefly in the relay satyagraha. The emergence of protests against Teesta III and Teesta Low Dam projects located in North Bengal, with an ethnically diverse population, and Teesta II project in Lachen and Lachung in North Sikkim, inhabited mainly by Sikkimese Bhutias, substantiate the activists’ claim that they are generally concerned about Sikkim and not merely the fate of the Lepchas. However, over time, the movement has been identified as being that of Lepchas and that too to specifically safeguard Dzongu. The activists have been extremely critical of the reservoir constructed and massive tunnelling undertaken by NHPC in the Teesta V phase in South Sikkim. By using the RTI Act, ACT has exposed the corruption and the paltry compensation given to the people displaced in Teesta V.18 It has strategically gathered the support of numerous civil society organisations such as Kalpavriksh, which is an influential environmental action and research group of India. Neeraj Vagholikar, a Kalpavriksh activist, has written several articles in national newspapers to mobilise public opinion in their support (Vagholikar 2007a, 2007b, 2007c). Other important partners include the South Asian Network for Dams, Rivers and People; North East Society for Protection of Nature; Delhi Forum; Intercultural Resources; River Basin Friends; Legal Initiative for Forests and Environment; and Centre for Organisation, Research and Education, Manipur. The protesting activists have successfully galvanised public sympathy at the regional, national, and international levels. In March 2008, the heroic duo Dawa Lepcha and Tensing Lepcha began the second round of their indefinite satyagraha along with Ongchuk Lepcha, who fasted for eighty-six days with them. On 13 June 2008, just a few days prior to the first anniversary of their first satyagraha, Dawa Lepcha and Tensing Lepcha broke this satyagraha that lasted for ninety-six days. They were given a government notification announcing the withdrawal of letter of intent given to four hydropower projects located in Dzongu19 and an invitation to negotiate. However, the relay satyagraha was not withdrawn since the controversial 280 MW Panang Hydroelectric

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Project was not terminated and the Chief Minister laid the foundation stone of 1,200 MW Teesta III project at Chungthang. Explaining his decision, the Chief Minister stated that a Memorandum of Understanding on Panang project had already been signed and it would additionally provide sustainable alternative livelihood to the Lepchas of Dzongu.20 In April 2008, nearly 500 Lepchas from Kalimpong and Darjeeling attempted a pilgrimage to Dzongu: ‘We are basically going to a pilgrimage to our holy land and this march will create an awareness of the significance of this place to everyone’, explained Azuk Tamsangmoo.21 Renowned environmentalist and people’s movement leader, Medha Patkar had intended to join the rally. The imposition of Section 144 under the Indian Penal Code, to maintain law and order due to the possibility of clashes between pro-project and protesting factions, led to its abandonment and Medha Patkar instead went to Gangtok to extend her moral support to the agitations and heavily criticised the government.

Participatory Planning and Culturing Development Development has largely followed a top-down technocratic approach, which has treated people and culture as abstract concepts and statistical figures that could be moved around on charts of progress (Escobar 1995: 44). It is not surprising to find discourses of culture and development standing in oppositional camps within Sikkim, even though the culture of development practice entails participatory development planning and implementation in public interest. One needs to distinguish between development as a discourse and as a process, though both are interconnected. Development itself has become a site of struggle and resistance, with people and social movements questioning a national development model which deprives them of their livelihood, identity, and dignity. The tendency to regard development as an all-powerful monolithic enterprise and something beyond influence is quite pervasive and is now termed the myth of development (Grillo 1997: 20). There are several co-existent discourses of development, of which M. Hobart (1993: 11–12) identifies three: (i) the discourse of developers, (ii) the discourse of local people, and (iii) the discourse of the national government and its local officials. These are not only

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different, but sometimes even incommensurable. His postulate is evident in the ongoing discussions on the Teesta hydropower projects. The project developers have defined development in utilitarian terms of cost-benefit and profit, while the government has underscored its need to extract and distribute scarce resources in the name of development while posturing to safeguard the indigenous. Project reports have ignored dissent to these projects, while carrying capacity studies underscore the necessity to harness public support for these projects and ensure that local culture is not eroded. Differing conceptions of what and how development should be undertaken are available and in circulation among Lepchas and the other ethnic constituencies residing in Sikkim. In a context where who is regarded a local as opposed to who is an outsider and migrant (not a Sikkimese, yet an Indian or a Nepali of Sikkim) being a difficult political question (Arora 2005, 2007), crafting discourses of the local was extremely challenging for me. Extending the arguments advanced by Hobart (1993) and Escobar (1995, 1997), I have shown the necessity of ethnographically documenting multiple voices while crafting the local discourse of development and shattering the myth of development. Within this restricted-access remote locality of Dzongu of North Sikkim, where I have been conducting fieldwork since 2001, there persist differing conceptions of what is democratic development with the simultaneous awareness that these Hydel projects will profoundly shape their future. For some Lepchas, the project implies ready cash for land that is not merely now unproductive, but for land that they are not permitted to sell to outsiders, and at a price many times more than the prevailing market rate. Hence the government and project developer’s promise of more schools, more hospitals, more roads and transportation, and greater employment opportunities looks attractive. Some Lepchas who have received modern education are concerned about the negative impact of the projects on the environment and culture of Dzongu. Their cultural politics has questioned ‘the development gaze’ (see Croll and Parkin 1992: 33) that treats them as passive objects. Questions of indigeneity, cultural identity, and political power are foregrounded here. For the vocal section opposing development, these hydropower projects also signal their powerlessness against wider forces including the state and greedy capitalists. Yet, the strengthening power of Lepchas’ non-violent resistance and widening of public support beyond Dzongu in national and international arenas testify that any attempt to deny them a future will be resisted.

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At this juncture, I will emphasise that neither such articulations nor such protests are unique or novel in Sikkim. They can be traced to the discourses advanced by the indigenous Lepchas and Bhutias, and the Buddhist Sangha during 1993–97, when they opposed the Rathongchu Hydroelectric Project (Arora 2006c). At the height of the Rathongchu agitations, the lamas had questioned the moral legitimacy of the state and threatened: We, the monks of Sikkim, hereby demand that the Rathongchu hydroelectric project located at Yoksum be stopped immediately . . . the gnas-bsol text is to the Sikkimese Buddhists what the Ramayana is to the Hindus, the Koran to the Muslims, and the Bible to the Christians. If the Rathongchu Hydroelectric project is not stopped and abandoned, we, the lamas of Sikkim are ready to burn our gnas-bsol text, as its meaning and purpose will be lost (Extract from a memorandum submitted by the Buddhist monastic order to the Chief Minister of Sikkim on 29 July 1995).

Rather than conferring legitimacy to government and development planning, hydel projects have required to be legitimised by the modern state. D. Klingesmith’s assertion (2007: 252), that a challenge to a dam can be a challenge to much more than just a dam, is quite relevant to the Sikkimese context where the legitimacy of the government has been undermined by public opposition. In August 1997, Chief Minister Pawan Kumar Chamling was forced to shelve the ecologically viable and economically profitable Rathongchu Hydroelectric Project to avert an ethnic imbroglio. The main reasons cited by the Sikkim government for its closure were escalating ethnic tensions, preserving Yoksum as a sacred landscape, respecting the religious sentiments of the Buddhists, checking environmental destruction caused in the area by frequent landslides, the escalating costs of construction, and gaining favourable public opinion before the general elections scheduled for 1998. It is this decision, along with some other policies, that won Pawan Kumar Chamling the award of being the Greenest Chief Minister in 1999 from the Centre for Science and Environment. Clearly, development planning and the government have already forgotten the lessons that they should have imbibed from the Rathongchu case. The situation was simpler in that case, as it was a state-government project and a political decision resolved the ethnic imbroglio. However, most hydropower projects on the Teesta are joint ventures, involving public and private companies, hence the situation is complicated for the state government which has signed memoranda of understanding with private capitalists who want to recover cost and

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make profits from these projects. Activists are demanding the public sharing of information about these projects in order to generate consensus about development. Not many among the Lepcha community are educated enough to understand or comprehend these project reports. Nonetheless, communication gaps and the lack of consultation have fermented discontent against the government in general. There is an urgent necessity to take informed decisions, as these projects will profoundly impact the future of democracy in this land and the rights of the indigenous people. At the time of writing this paper, the peaceful relay hunger strike that had begun on 20 June 2007 had clocked more than 470 days, and the activists were getting restless. The Sikkim government maintains that it will preserve Dzongu and is committed to safeguard the indigenous rights of the Lepchas, while accusing the protesting activists of being anti-democratic and threatening the tranquillity of peaceful Sikkim. The situation has deteriorated to an unimaginable extent with the government having invested too much in these hydel projects to withdraw them, while the protestors’ uncompromising stand makes it difficult for them to accept these projects. Finding a middle ground through negotiations is an urgent need. I will conclude this article by emphasising that community participation in decision-making can effectively prevent large and avoidable costs of the mid-way withdrawal of projects, while better planning, sharing of project details, and consultative implementation can resolve conflicting definitions of public interest and avert ethnic imbroglios. Alternative development paradigms advance the necessity of inculcating a culture of development rooted in decentralised planning and routed by a decolonised mind.

Notes This paper is dedicated to the people of Sikkim. I thank Marcus Banks, David Gellner, Charles Ramble (University of Oxford), Gérard Toffin (Centre National de la Recherché Scientifique, Paris), P.S. Ramakrishna (Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi), Mahesh Rangarajan (Delhi University), Ritwick Datta and Rahul Choudhury (Legal Initiative for Forests and Environment), S.C. Jain (former Law Secretary, Government of India), and Prodipto Ghosh (former Secretary, Ministry of Environment and Forests, Government of India) for advice, comments, and encouragement. A version of this paper was presented at the International Planning History Conference, Chicago, in July 2008. The usual disclaimers apply.

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1. The hydropower generating potential of these two rives is estimated to be around 8,000 MW (Lahiri et al. 2001: 21). 2. According to census estimates, about 15 per cent of Sikkim’s population is under 15 years of age. Hence, generation of employment is identified as a development challenge. 3. See, for instance, ‘Foreword’ by Chief Minister Pawan Kumar Chamling in Lama (2001: xi). The green vision of the government is available in a comprehensive document at http://www.sikenvis.nic.in. 4. Its website defines it to be ‘an organisation of the indigenous Sikkimese citizens to protect the land and the people against the threat of devastation of the biodiversity hotspot (Kanchendzonga Biosphere Reserve), endangering the demographic profile of the indigenous primitive Lepcha tribes and the right to live in one’s own homeland in dignity and security in the name of development harbingered by numerous mega hydropower projects at one go’ (www.actsikkim.com). 5. Formed on 2 December 2006 by educated Lepchas to safeguard Dzongu’s delimited status and Lepcha cultural heritage by opposing all hydel projects being implemented in Dzongu (Wangchuk 2007: 39–40). 6. An association of Buddhist lamas of Dzongu formed in May 2007. 7. I was conducting fieldwork in Gangtok when these protests were launched. 8. Rivers are not only watercourses, but also the loci of cultural heritage and religious veneration in India. 9. The Nepali category is not homogeneous, as it comprises groups, which migrated from East Nepal—such as the Rai, Magar, Yakha, Khombu and Mechi—and settled in Sikkim, and other Nepali groups such as Gorkha, Newar, Chetri, and Sunwar. Many of these communities have multiple identities and there are degrees of inclusion and exclusion in social relations between ethnic groups. 10. Expression used by Lahiri (2001: 15) to describe the state government’s development intervention. 11. In 1978, the Lepcha and the Bhutia groups were accorded Scheduled Tribe status, and the Limbu and the Tamang were recognised as being Scheduled Tribes in 2002. However, the 2001 Census had already been conducted and, therefore, the current Scheduled Tribe population does not include the Limbus and Tamangs. 12. There are eleven Special Category States: Arunachal Pradesh, Assam, Himachal Pradesh, Jammu and Kashmir, Manipur, Meghalaya, Mizoram, Nagaland, Sikkim, Tripura, and Uttranchal. 13. Thirty-one of the thirty-two sitting MLAs belong to the ruling party, namely, Sikkim Democratic Front. 14. That is, they do not entail construction of large reservoirs for storing water. There is no spinning reserve to take care of the increased load during peak time such as the monsoons (Kharel 1998–2000: 8). 15. One of these tunnels (Dikchu to Singtam) in East Sikkim is 17 km long, which means that the river will be dry for long stretches while 80–90 per cent of its water gets diverted into underground tunnels. 16. This is the phrase used to describe the condition of the river on 26 February 2008 (see weepingsikkimm.blogspot.com). 17. Personal communication from Tseten Lepcha, Dawa Lepcha, and their lawyers Ritwick Datta and Rahul Choudhary.

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18. The issue of inadequate compensation given to people has been documented in some regional newspapers such as NOW published from Gangtok. 19. The 90 MW Ringpi, 33 MW Rukel, 120 MW Lingza, and 141 MW Rangyong projects were shelved. 20. The main source of income for the Lepchas of Dzongu has been cardamom cultivation. However, the declining productivity of cardamom in recent years has affected their livelihood drastically. 21. He is an influential member of Rong Ong Prongzom, which is the Lepcha Youth Association. I have met him in the course of his several visits to Delhi when delegations have come to submit memoranda of requests to ministers at Delhi. He also participated in the dharnas at Jantar Mantar in Delhi during December 2007 and is one of the key players in spearheading the movement in Kalimpong.

References Arora, V. 2003. ‘Negotiating diversities in contemporary Sikkim, India: The case of the Rathongchu Hydroelectric Project’, in Proceedings of the Annual Conference of the British Political Association (e-publication). Leicester. ———. 2004. Just a pile of stones!: The politicization of identity, indigenous knowledge, and sacred landscapes among the Lepcha and the Bhutia tribes of contemporary Sikkim, India. PhD Thesis. Oxford: University of Oxford. ———. 2005. ‘Being Nepali in Sikkim’, Contemporary India, 4(1–2): 127–48. ———. 2006a. ‘The forest of symbols embodied in the Tholung sacred landscape of North Sikkim, India’, Conservation and Society, 4(1): 55–83. ———. 2006b. ‘The roots and the route of secularism in Sikkim’, Economic and political weekly, 41(38): 4063–71. ———. 2006c. ‘Texts and contexts in Sikkim, India’, in E. Arweck and P. Collins (eds.): Reading religion in texts and context: Reflections of faith and practice in religious materials (83–102). Aldershot: Ashgate Publications. ———. 2007a. ‘Assertive identities, indigeneity and the politics of recognition as a tribe: The Bhutias, the Lepchas and the Limbus of Sikkim’, Sociological bulletin, 56(2): 195–220. ———. 2007b. ‘Unheard voices of protest in Sikkim’, Economic and political weekly, 42(34): 3451–54. ———. 2008. ‘Gandhigiri in Sikkim’, Economic and political weekly, 43(38): 27–28. Baviskar, A. 1995. In the belly of the river: Tribal conflicts over development in the Narmada Valley. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 2003. ‘For a cultural politics of natural resources’, Economic and political weekly’, 38(48): 5051–55. Census of Sikkim. 2001. Provisional population totals: Paper 1 of 2001. Gangtok: Census of India. Choudhury, M. 2007. Carrying capacity study of Teesta basin in Sikkim: Socio-cultural environment-Vol. X. Delhi: Centre for Interdisciplinary Studies of Mountain and Hill Environment, University of Delhi. Croll, E. and D.J. Parkin. 1992. ‘Cultural understandings of the environment’, in E. Croll and D.J. Parkin (eds.): Bush base; forest farm: Culture, environment and development (11–36). London: Routledge.

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Dreze, J.; M. Samson and Satyajit Singh (ed.). 1997. The dam and the nation: Displacement and resettlement in the Narmada Valley. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Editor. 2008. ‘Dawa and Tensing return with ACT rally, resume indefinite hunger strike’, NOW, Gangtok, 11 March. Escobar, A. 1995. Encountering development: The making and unmaking of the third world. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Foning, A.R. 1987. Lepcha: My vanishing tribe. Delhi: Sterling Publishers. Gadgil, M. and R. Guha. 1995. Ecology and equity: The use and the abuse of nature. London: Routledge. Ganguly-Thukral, E. 1992. Big dams, displaced people: Rivers of sorrow and rivers of change. New Delhi: Sage Publications. Grillo, R.D. 1997. ‘Discourse of development: The view from anthropology’, in R.D. Grillo and R.L. Stirrat (ed.): Discourses of development: Anthropological perspectives (1–33). Oxford: Berg. Hobart, M. 1993. An anthropological critique of development: The growth of ignorance. London: Routledge. Iyer, R.R. 2001. ‘World Commission on Dams: An analysis of a relationship’, Economic and political weekly, 36(25): 2275–81. Jishnu, L. 2008. ‘Damming the Teesta-Part I’, The business standard, Delhi, 7 January. Kalpavriksh. 1988. The Narmada Valley project: A critique. New Delhi: Kalpavriksh. Khagram, S. 2004. Dams and development: Transnational struggles for water and power. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Kharel, P.P. 1998–2000. Annual report of the Power Department. Gangtok: Government of Sikkim. Klingensmith, D. 2007. One valley and a thousand: Dams, nation and development. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Kothari, A. et al. 2004. Why is the government systematically undermining the environment? New Delhi: Kalpavriksh, Toxic Links, and Centre for Equity Studies. Lahiri, A.; S. Chattopadhyay and A. Bhasin. 2001. Sikkim: The people’s vision. Gangtok and Delhi: Government of Sikkim and Indus Publishing Company. Lama, M.P. 2001. Sikkim: Human development report-2001. Gangtok and Delhi: Government of Sikkim and Social Science Press. McCully, P. 2001. Silenced rivers: The ecology and politics of large dams. London: Zed Books. Pandit, M.K. 2007. Carrying capacity study of Teesta Basin in Sikkim: Executive summary and recommendations. Delhi: Centre for Interdisciplinary Studies of Mountain and Hill Environment, Delhi University. Planning Commission, Government of India. 2008. Sikkim development report. New Delhi: Planning Commission and Academic Foundation. Rudra, K. 2003. ‘Taming the Teesta’, The ecologist Asia, 1(1): 7–8. Thakkar, H. 2007a. ‘Centre absent from water projects,’ India together (e-journal). ———. 2007b. ‘India’s dams: Largest methane emitters among the world’s dams’, Countercurrents (e-journal). ———. 2007c. ‘NHPC track record,’ Dams, rivers and people (e-journal). Vagholikar, N. 2007a. ‘Plumbing the Teesta–I’, The statesman, Kolkata, 19 November. ———. 2007b. ‘Plumbing the Teesta–II’, The statesman, Kolkata, 28 November. ———. 2007c. ‘Risks without enough gain’, The telegraph, Kolkata, 11 December. Wangchuk, P. 2007. Lepchas and their hydel protest’, Bulletin of tibetology, 43(1–2): 33–57.

10 Revisiting the Baliraja Dam Struggle: A Study of an Environmental Movement in Maharashtra* Satyapriya Rout

Introduction

S

cholarly writings on localised lower-class resistance are relatively new. In sharp departure from the study of large-scale historical processes, like capitalism, imperialism, and colonialism, which have profound influence upon social, cultural, and class identity of individuals as well as nations, greater attention is now being paid to natural resource base of our country and the increasing social conflicts arising out of its depletion.1 The physical facts about the degradation of the country’s environment are by now well documented (see CSE 1984, 1985). However, the human consequences of such degradation and chronic shortage of natural resource base upon the livelihood of thousands of resource-dependent people largely remain unexplored. A further manifestation of consequences of this environmental crisis has been its transformation into social conflicts between competing groups of resource users. In some cases, these conflicts have remained localised, often being a conflict between rich farmers and landless labourers over the issue of access to common grazing ground; in others, they have spread

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across large regions providing a backdrop for a vibrant environmental movement in the country.2 Environmental movements like Chipko or Narmada Bachao Andolon have been well documented in the social science literature. However, there are several lesser known localised movements, which have either remained unexplored or explained as social conflicts, rather than as environmental movements. The present paper attempts to analyze one such movement that occurred in the 1980s in the Khanapur taluka of Sangli district in Maharashtra. Unlike the major environmental movements over water in India which have been against the construction of dams, the ‘Baliraja dam struggle’ (the Baliraja, for short) was a movement for building a dam on the river Yerala. In revisiting the Baliraja dam struggle, I want to examine the imprints that the ideas and ideologies of Baliraja have upon the agricultural pattern in the region now, in terms of its emphasis on equity and sustainability. Furthermore, most of the works on the Baliraja have viewed it only as an instance of social conflict, rather than as environmental movement. The paper, therefore, tries to locate the Baliraja dam struggle from the broader framework of Indian environmental movement, bringing out its socio-ecological and ideological dimensions. The paper is based on both primary and secondary sources of data. In-depth interviews and discussions were conducted with (a) key individuals, including local people from Balwadi and Tandulwadi, who were associated with the movement, (b) members of Mukti Sangharsh, the organisation which spearheaded the movement, and (c) academicians at the University of Pune and the Shivaji University (Kolhapur). Besides my empirical work in the villages that were the movement’s locale, several published and unpublished papers and newspapers reports on the Baliraja dam struggle were consulted to gain an insight into the movement’s history.

Environmentalism and Environmental Movement in India: A Theoretical Understanding Environmental movement may be defined as ‘an organised social activity consciously directed towards promoting sustainable use of natural resource, halting environmental degradation or bringing about environmental restoration’ (Gadgil and Guha 1995: 98). An understanding of

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these organised social activities as environmental movements requires an inquiry into the social base of such protests. A large segment of what is currently known as environmental movements is, in fact, peasant struggles in defence of traditional rights over land, water, and other resources wrapped in the robe of environmentalism—a fact which Ramachandra Guha (1989) describes as a distinction between ‘private’ and ‘public’ faces of Indian environmental movement.3 Such an understanding of the social base of environmental movements in India rests upon two core assumptions: (i) that environmental degradation is not necessarily a phenomenon restricted to the industrialised world, and (ii) that physical pollution of the environment is not necessarily the only consequence of environmental degradation. Such an understanding makes it clear that environmental movements in India are inevitably the continuing struggles over the processes of production and extraction. These are conflicts concerning issues like resource capture, mode of resource use, and technology adopted for its extraction (ibid.; Gadgil and Guha 1992). To agree with A. Baviskar (1995), environmental movements in India have been contests between two versions of economy–‘political economy of profit’ and ‘moral economy of need’. Such a contest not only reveals the desire to control and establish ownership over nature, but also brings out claims about differential relationships, uses, and worldviews of nature. An understanding of the social base of environmental conflicts in India is incomplete without an examination of the actors involved in them. Occasionally, environmental movements in India have pitched the poor against the poor, and, at times, they have pitched the rich against the rich. However, the most persistent environmental movements have always set the rich against the poor. Generally, it has been a conflict between ‘ecosystem people’—those who depend heavily upon natural resources of their locality for survival—and ‘omnivores’—those with social power to capture, transform, and use natural resources from a wider catchment area (Guha and Martinez-Alier 1997: 12).4 Analysing environmental movements as struggles over resource capture and understanding their social base leads us to conceptualise an ‘environmentalism’ peculiar to India as against environmental movements in the industrialised countries. ‘Indian environmentalism’ or ‘environmentalism of the poor’, as it is popularly known among environmental historians (ibid.; Ramachandra Guha 2000) may be understood as the resistance from the ‘ecosystem people’ to the process of resource capture

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by the ‘omnivores’. The origin of the idea of such an environmentalism spans from the challenge posed by environmentalism that grew up in the America and western Europe and the hypothesis of post-materialism, which claims that poor countries cannot possibly generate environmental movement of their own (L. Thurow, cited in Gadgil and Guha 1995: 99).5 Rejecting the idea of post-materialism, and in a sharp deviation from the environmentalism in the developed countries, environmentalism in India has centred around nature-based conflicts. More important, these conflicts have had their origin in ‘lopsided, iniquitous and environmentally destructive process of development in independence India’ (Guha and Martinez-Alier 1997: 17).6 Explaining the facets of Indian environmentalism, Ramachandra Guha (2000) highlights its inherent traits. To begin with, the concern for environment is juxtaposed with an equally strong and often more visible concern for social justice. The second feature is its unique language of protest. Unlike the industrialised countries, where modern electronic media are frequently used to disseminate information and organise support, the means of communication here at home relies more heavily on traditional networks and primordial loyalties, such as village community, caste, tribe, and lineage (ibid.: 106).7 By their very nature, environmental movements in India have been defensive (Gadgil and Guha 1995: 2), relying more on direct action.8 The third striking feature has been the ‘significant and determining’ role played by women. The participation of women in environmental movements is often attributed to their closer day-to-day involvement in the use of nature, an argument strongly posed by scholars of eco-feminism in India (cf. Shiva 1988). Finally, environmental movements in India have challenged the process of development on the basis that it has been destructive, anti-poor, and elite- and state-centred; and that it has been biased in favour of industrial and urban growth. To these four characteristics of environmentalism in India, a fifth one may be added, that is, the role played by the middle-class intellectuals, mostly from outside of the community. Most forest dwellers, tribal people, and peasants in India do not have adequate intellectual leadership that can articulate their views and opinions, and disseminate them in the wider world.9 In such a situation, middle-class intellectuals have often given the leadership and helped the local people to articulate their ideology and organise vibrant protests. Having depicted the unique features of environmentalism in India, let me now discuss the ideological dimensions that have guided it.

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M.  Gadgil and Ramachandra Guha (1995) identify three broad ideological dimensions that have decided the course of action of environmental movements in India. These ideological dimensions have been influenced by two great worldviews, that is, Gandhi’s and Marx’s. Being grounded on Gandhi’s idea of gram swarajya, the Gandhians reject the modern philosophies of rationalism and industrial growth; instead they propagate an alternative strategy of growth, which is environmental sensitive and has its roots in the Indian tradition. ‘Ecological Marxism’ of the radical Marxists, on the other hand, relies more on modern science and technology, and perceives the causes of environmental degradation as being rooted in the political and economic inequalities of societies. The third dimension, that of the ‘appropriate technocrats’, tries to maintain a balance between the two opposing strands and strives for ‘a working synthesis of agriculture and industry’ (ibid.: 108–09). Being influenced by western socialism, it emphasises the potentials of resource conserving, labour intensive, and socially liberating technologies. Environmental movements in India, to summarise the discussion, have been continuing struggles over extraction and appropriation of her natural resource base. Instead of a conflict over productive versus protective use of the resources, they call for an alternate productive use of resources, which while fulfilling the livelihood requirements of rural poor also ensures environmental sustainability. They not only emphasise who should use the natural resource base of the country, but also prescribe how and for whom it should be used.

Baliraja Dam Struggle: A Socio-Historical Background Agrarian Changes, Emerging Drought Situation, and the Genesis of the Movement Khanapur taluka is situated in the eastern part of the Sangli district of Maharashtra. Historically, this south-western region of the state has a numerical preponderance of the Maratha-Kunbi caste, which makes up about half of the total population. Over the years, agriculture, agrarian relations, and the land-use pattern have undergone significant changes in this region. Till the beginning of the 20th century, bajra and jawar (millets) were the main crops of this region. With the commencement of Mutha

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canal in Bombay Deccan in 1874 and Nira Left Bank canal in 1885, capitalist agriculture and commercial crops replaced the subsistence-oriented cropping pattern. Soon after independence, sugarcane blocks were created in the area, with a proposal for year-round assured water supply through irrigation for sugarcane cultivation (Attwood 1992). This system resulted in large-scale growth of sugarcane cultivation and sugar co-operatives.10 Khanapur is one among the four drought-prone talukas of Sangli district. The average recorded annual precipitation being 50.8 to 58.4 cm, drought has become a recurrent phenomenon for this area, particularly after the severe drought of 1971–72, which occurred in almost all parts of Maharashtra. However, the local historical experiences and the descriptions in the District Gazetteers suggest that drought was a rare phenomenon till mid-1960s, and water was flowing in the rivers and streams at least for eight months in a year. The situation seems to have become serious from the later half of the 20th century, more specifically from the 1970s. Besides the broader ecological reasons for drought, the changing land-use pattern, agrarian relations, and shifting cropping pattern are also said to have played a major role in this. With the advancement of technology to lift water, the rate and speed of ground-water extraction has also increased. While, in 1961, there were only seventy-eight diesel and electric pumps in the Khanapur taluka, by 1971, these had gone up to 3,452, and by 1981, to 23,100 (Joy and Rao 1988). Furthermore, while the number of tractors in the taluka had increased from two to twenty-six between 1961 and 1971, the working population in the taluka for the same period had decreased from 84,000 to 54,000 (Patankar 1985). The data for the south-western region of Maharashtra reveals a similar picture: the number of tractors per 100 hectare of gross cropped area has increased from 11.70 in 1978 to 29.17 in 1987, and to 38.81 in 1992 (Mohanty 2009: 67). Thus, in an area where the average rainfall is around 50.8 cm, there was a tremendous increase in water pumping, investment in agriculture, and development of irrigation during that period with consequent changes in agrarian relations, land-use and cropping pattern, and orientation of agriculture. The recurrent drought, resulting from the cumulative effect of factors like deforestation, scanty rainfall, changing cropping pattern and agricultural practices, depletion of groundwater due to excessive extraction, and loss of top-soil through erosion severely affected the livelihood of the rural poor which depended substantially on agriculture.

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Such a situation of degenerated agriculture led to large-scale out-migration from the area. It is estimated that nearly 30,000 people were uprooted from their land in the Khanapur taluka alone in the decade following the 1971 drought in Maharashtra (Patankar 1985). Most of the people, who went out of their village in search of employment, were absorbed by the textile industries in Bombay as manual workers. However, the lingering strike in the textile industries in Bombay during the early 1980s witnessed a reverse migration towards the villages, where some of the workers were engaged in manual work under the Employment Guarantee Scheme (EGS). Upon returning, these striking workers understood the dissatisfaction of the peasants over the drought situation and the increasing corruption in the EGS work. This led to a wider rural unrest with combined efforts of toiling peasants and the striking industrial workers in south-western Maharashtra. On 28 October 1983, nearly 3,000 EGS labourers, representatives of textile workers, activists of political organisations like Sramik Mukti Dal and Peasants and Workers Party gathered together at Vitta in Khanapur taluka and established a common platform called Shoshit Shetkari Kashtakari Kamgar Mukti Sangharsh. That day witnessed the birth of the Mukti Sangharsh movement, which spear-headed the struggle for the Baliraja Dam in the two villages, namely, Tandulwadi and Balwadi on the banks of river Yerala.

First Phase of the Movement: Beginning of an Anti-Drought Struggle The first phase of the Mukti Sangharsh movement, which spans almost three years, that is, 1983 to 1986, was devoted to building a strong base for future struggle, and focused on various issues ranging from demand for employment in rural areas to evolution of a people’s strategy for drought eradication. In the initial stages, that is, during the end of 1983 and in the beginning of 1984, the movement revolved around the issue of rural unemployment, and series of struggles were organised for setting up of employment guarantee projects. Gradually the focus of the movement shifted from employment issues to the broader problem of drought, which had become a permanent phenomenon in the area. Consequently, agitations were organised for taking up agriculturally productive and anti-drought works under EGS, such as construction of

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percolation tanks, village tanks for irrigation and drinking facilities, afforestation, etc. With this changing focus, the Mukti Sangharsh movement, which started as a simple struggle demanding relief for unemployed rural poor, established itself as an anti-drought movement, working upon the basic causes and remedies of the broader problem of drought (see Omvedt 1987). The movement attempted to understand the drought situation from a scientific perspective by studying the rainfall pattern, water situation, geological conditions, cropping pattern, and vegetation in the region. In this regard, the Mukti Sangharsh activists organised Vigyana Yatra (science fair) in collaboration with People’s Science Movement of Maharashtra, students of local colleges and universities, and drought-affected peasants in the villages of Khanapur taluka during 1983–84 to raise the consciousness of people about the failure of the state to eradicate the drought problem and to encourage them in participating in alternative people’s scientific development plan (Patankar 1985). Such a campaign of scientists, activists, educated youth, and peasants revealed that incidents like drought were more a human creation—a part of ‘bourgeois ideology of state’, as Gail Omvedt (1984) puts it–rather than a product of natural forces. With an intention to widen the scope of the movement, Mukti Sangharsh organised a protest march of peasants at Shivaji University, Kolhapur in August 1985, demanding that peasant issues such as drought should be an integral part of the university’s curriculum. The University responded initially with a massive police force in defence against the protest, but later set up a drought abolition committee, which subsequently got involved in the drought eradication efforts of the peasants and co-operated with the movement. The agitation for drought eradication became stronger with the setting up of the women’s wing of Mukti Sangharsh—Stree Mukti Sangharsh—which led the Balwadi and Tandulwadi women to participate in the dharna organised by United Front of Women’s Organisations in Bombay in March 1986.

The Second Phase: The Issue of Sand Excavation and Building of the Baliraja Dam The Khanapur taluka is home to three major rivers: Agarni, Nandini, and Yerala. Of these, the river Yerala is the biggest and was known to have been perennially flowing till the early 1970s. A tributary of the

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river Krishna, the Yerala emerges near Khatav taluka of Satara district and flows southward for about 120 km. It flows through two talukas in Sangli district, namely, Khanapur and Tasgaon. From the mid-1970s onwards, the Yerala has remained a dried-up bed for most part of the year, containing sand deposits on an average of 3 m. While commercial sand extraction from this river began as early as 1971–72, it became a thriving business after 1980. Unmindful of the fact that nearly a population of 75,000 with a total of 95,629 acres of land is dependent on this river for survival, the government in its efforts to increase revenue during the drought situation started allowing private contractors to quarry and sell sand from the dried-up riverbed in a big way, without making any scientific study about its ecological impact (see Joy and Rao 1988). In a drought-prone area like south-western Maharashtra, sand in any dried-up riverbed holds an added advantage: it acts as the major medium for water storage and percolation. Therefore, the presence or absence of sand in a riverbed not only determines the availability of surface water in the river, but also decides the level of groundwater in any geographical area. Once the sand is extracted from the riverbed, and if the catchment area contains less vegetation cover, silt deposit occurs in the riverbed because of increased soil erosion. Furthermore, the large pits left behind after mining of sand also get filled with silt deposits, which prohibit water from percolating to the underground aquifer. Given the significance of sand in a riverbed, the indiscriminate sand mining in the river Yerala, without any foresight for its future environmental effects, definitely projected a sorry state of affair. It was in this context of drought, indiscriminate sand excavation, and the increasing ecological concerns in the area highlighted by sustained campaigns of the Mukti Sangharsh activists, that the idea of building the ‘Baliraja Smruti Dharan’ (dam in memory of King Bali) in the river Yerala emerged during mid 1986.11 Initially, people in the two villages opposed the permits given to outside contractors to mine sand and demanded the rights in favour of the villagers. In their efforts towards finding permanent solutions to the drought situation, the farmers, under the leadership of Mukti Sangharsh, came out with a proposal to construct a check dam on Yerala, alongside the two villages, from the profits generated by selling a limited quantity of sand from the riverbed. The pioneers of Baliraja movement envisioned that the construction of such a dam would bring benefits to the peasants of the two

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villages by providing assured irrigation facilities in situations of drought. It was expected that the proposed dam would serve several purposes like ‘generation of productive employment through use of local natural resources, conservation of local ecological balance, and making a break through in the fatalistic outlook and dependent attitude of the poor people in the drought prone area’ (A. Phadke 1989: 865). The Mukti Sangharsh movement, which organised the people to struggle for the construction of the dam, had four basic objectives behind the movement (Joy and Rao 1988; A. Phadke 1989, 1992, 1994): (i) to construct a dam in Yerala river using the surplus generated from limited extraction of sand to combat the drought situation in the area, (ii) to share the irrigation water from the dam on an equitable basis, even allotting a share to the land-less families, (iii) to use water from the dam effectively through a scientific and ecologically sound cropping pattern that would keep out water intensive crops, and (iv) to develop nurseries and forestry in the two villages to arrest the process of ecological degradation and to provide vegetation cover and prevent soil erosion.

People’s movement for Baliraja Dam gained momentum with the submission of a memorandum to the district collector of Sangli, dharna by women in front of the collector’s office, gherao of government officials at the village, and taking into custody the trucks and people loading sand on to them. As a result, the collector agreed to set up a committee consisting of experts from various fields and the Mukti Sangharsh activists to study various effects of sand extraction in the villages. The expert committee appointed by the collector confirmed the claims of Mukti Sangharsh about the ecological impact of the sand excavation. The committee stated in its report that ‘the normal hydraulic activity of the riverbed would be broken due to the accumulation of the silt and clay in the pits left behind after the excavation of sand resulting in the drying up of wells’ (cited in Joy 1989). The plan and estimates of the dam were submitted to the collector in October 1986 for granting technical sanctions for the construction of the dam.12 The tehshildar of Khanapur taluka gave the initial permits to Baliraja Memorial Dam Committee to sell the sand; between October and November 1986, using 19 permits, each of 100 brass (1 brass = 2.83 cu. m), as many as 875 truckloads of sand was sold, generating a profit of

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Rs. 85,000 for the dam (see Vijapurkar 1987). The construction work at the dam site started on 23 November 1986 through sramdan (contribution of voluntary labour) by NSS (National Social Service) students of local colleges and villagers of Balwadi and Tandulwadi. However, on 14 January 1987 the sub-divisional officer of Miraj (Sangli district) visited the dam site and announced the reinstitution of the auction system for sand, and rejected the demand for sand quarrying on the ground that, without government sanction for the dam, the district authorities could not issue permits to sell sand (Omvedt 1987). Without paying heed to such an incident, the enthusiastic villagers went ahead for the foundation-stone laying ceremony of the dam on 25 January 1987, with the presence of Mukti Sangharsh activists, student and teacher volunteers from local colleges and the Shivaji University, Kolhapur, and other eminent persons and freedom fighters from the area. The beginning of 1987 marked serious struggles by the peasants of the two villages under the leadership of Mukti Sangharsh for regaining the right to sell sand and for the construction of the dam. A huge protest march was carried out on 26 January 1987 at the Khanapur taluka office, and, on 27 January, more than 100 protesting peasants were arrested for breaking through the police cordon. The absence of government permit to extract sand for the purpose of the dam could not, however, stop the efforts of the people for constructing the dam. The Mukti Sangharsh activists started raising funds through contributions and interest-free loans from individuals and organisations, and Baliraja Dam Sahayaka Samitis were set up in Bombay and Pune for this purpose (Seshu 1988). The struggle continued consistently for nearly two years and, finally, the technical sanction from the government for the dam came in March 1988, and the right to excavate sand was regained in December 1988. The first gate of the dam was inaugurated ceremoniously on 5 March 1989 and, on that occasion, Mukti Sangharsh returned the loans taken from the sympathisers for the dam construction of the dam.

The Third Phase: Experimenting with Equitable Water Distribution A much cherished objective of Baliraja movement, besides agitation against sand excavation and for the construction of the dam, was that of sharing the stored water among the households of Balwadi and Tandulwadi in an

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equitable manner. The movement’s commitment towards ensuring equity was evident from the fact that it attempted to detach water from landholding. It fundamentally questioned the notion of riparian rights over water, where those having land, more precisely nearer to a water course, establish monopoly right over water. The Baliraja movement proposed that all the households in the two villages, including the landless ones, would have a share over the water. It was expected that the landless households can either sell their share of water to those who have land and need excess water, or can take land from others on a share-cropping basis for cultivation using their share of water. Keeping such an idea in mind, the participants of Baliraja movement planned to provide water to all the households in the two villages for subsistence cultivation of three acres of land. For sharing the water from the Baliraja Dam, two irrigation schemes were developed by establishing Baliraja Water Co-operative at Balwadi and Bapuji Patankar Water Co-operative at Tandulwadi. The Baliraja movement adopted an alternative method for distribution of water. Instead of lifting water first to a highest contour for storage and then distributing it through force of gravity, the movement proposed to use small water pumps to pump water from the dam and then directly pass it on to the fields through water channels (A. Phadke 1999). With much research and experimentation, during 1993–94, the movement started using polythene pipes with protective covers, and a total area of nearly 15 acres were irrigated using water from the Baliraja Dam. The total coverage area was further extended to 33 acres in 1994–95. However, such a system of low-cost water distribution system started showing problems when the polythene pipes began leaking. As a result, in 1995–96, people had to go for low-pressure cement pipes with their own financial contributions and collective labour, and the total area irrigated using water from the Baliraja Dam increased to 55 acres.

Baliraja in the Landscape of Resistance over Nature: A Critical Analysis The Current Scenario of Baliraja: An Unfinished Struggle with Partial Success The Baliraja movement began with much hype for addressing the problems of drought situation in the drought-prone regions of Maharashtra. It also had a great vision of equitable distribution of natural resources

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along with an emphasis on sustainability. However, the current situation that was observed during the course of empirical research in the two villages was different compared to its stated objectives. The movement was built upon three aspects of resource use: conservation, equity in sharing, and ensuring sustainability. Conservation of water was the first step of the movement in its efforts towards addressing the drought situation. To achieve this objective, the dam was built on the river Yerala. Secondly, the conserved water was supposed to be shared among the households of the two villages in terms of equal water rights, that is, water sufficient for irrigating three acres of land per household. Thirdly, sustainability of the resource was emphasised by putting a restriction on the water-intensive cropping pattern, and devoting 30 per cent of the land area for biomass production. However, the field visits to Baliraja revealed a picture, where the opinion of the villagers was divided and the construction of the dam had already come to a halt. People in both the villages attribute this situation to the conflicts between the local leader and the outside leadership of Mukti Sangharsh, which was guiding the movement. Ideally, the Baliraja movement offered ecological, social, and economic solutions to address the problem of drought situation in south-western Maharashtra. With regard to the ecological issues, it addressed the reckless mining of sand in Yerala. Later, with the plan of Baliraja Dam and irrigating the fields with less water-intensive crops along with biomass production, the plan shaped into a sustainable resource use proposition. Equal share of water to each household irrespective of size of the holding focused on the equity issue in a significant way. Though the Baliraja movement seems to be a right approach towards addressing the issue of water scarcity, there are a few factors that underscore its failure. First, during the visit to the villages and the dam site it was found that the construction work was incomplete. Whatever may be the reasons behind it, the incomplete work means the movement has not reached to its desired end. Second, there were two water user associations that are functioning in both the villages more or less on the lines of various formal and informal associations/co-operatives functioning in the region (see Jyotishi and Rout 2005). The Bapuji Patankar Co-operative (Tandulwadi) and Baliraja Co-operative (in Balwadi) function with limited members in each group. These co-operatives allocate water for the irrigation of three acres of land per family with a restriction on crop choice. However, both the water co-operatives extract

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groundwater by means of electric pump-sets instead of the desired use of surface run off water, which the movement aimed at. Third, the equity aspect is also highly questionable in what exists in the two villages. The big farmers, who are the members of the associations, get water at a relatively less price from the other existing co-operatives to irrigate three acres of land, in which they cultivate less water-intensive crops mainly for self-consumption. On the other hand, they grow high water-intensive crops like sugarcane from the water they extract using their own pump-sets. This type of scenario contradicts the water scarcity aspect. The Baliraja movement might be a sustainable proposition in this regard, but, it has failed to create a perception of water scarcity among the people. Fourth, a piece-meal approach like the Baliraja movement is not a solution to the scarcity of groundwater or surface water, specifically when groundwater is extracted from the aquifer for irrigation purposes. When the magnitude of the problem is at the aquifer level, it has to be dealt with at a much larger plane, with the stated objective of dealing with water scarcity, instead of confining the movement to a few villages with a model which failed to create an awareness of water scarcity. On all these counts, Baliraja movement may be termed as an unfinished struggle with partial success with respect to its logical and desired ends in terms of conservation, equity, and sustainability.

Ideological Dimensions of the Baliraja Movement Theoretically speaking, the Baliraja movement, spearheaded by Mukti Sangharsh, was constructed along two ideological dimensions: ‘ecological Marxism’ and ‘appropriate technocratism’. The origin of the movement was marked by the protest by the returnee textile workers. The constant support of political parties like Peasants and Workers Party, Sramik Mukti Dal, etc. have further strengthened the Marxist base of the Baliraja movement. The movement started with two fundamental premises: exploitation and surplus extraction. It highlighted the fact that poor peasants and landless labourers are subject to exploitation by a nexus of the rural agricultural bourgeoisie, urban industrial capitalists, and agricultural merchants. The incident of sand excavation from river Yerala was projected by Mukti Sangharsh as a process of surplus extraction from rural areas by the ‘bourgeoisie state’ and its allies: administrative bureaucracy, capitalist merchants, and contractors. The pauperisation of the

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rural mass in the background of drought situation was pointed out as a direct consequence of such exploitation and surplus extraction. In such a condition of exploitation and surplus extraction, the Baliraja movement was considered as a class struggle of rural proletariat against the bourgeoisie state and its allies. The ‘appropriate technocrats’ have had a profound influence on the Baliraja movement. Their efforts to arrive at a working synthesis between agriculture and industry, big and small units, and modern and traditional technology had resulted in promoting rural reconstruction at Balwadi and Tandulwadi villages. From its inception, Mukti Sangharsh had taken the help of ‘science’ to build awareness among people about the ecological impacts of sand extraction. The presence of progressive technocratic elements in the movement becomes more explicit in the third phase of the movement, when Mukti Sangharsh worked towards ensuring equitable distribution of stored water from the Baliraja Dam using low-cost pipe lines. Their commitment towards equity and use of alternative methods of technology mirrors the influence of a mixture of western socialism and indigenous knowledge to solve the drought-related agricultural problems of rural Maharashtra.

Leadership Structure and the Vocabulary of Protest in Baliraja The Baliraja dam struggle had as its mass base the peasants, landless labourers, and industrial workers who were directly affected by the prevailing drought situation and the environmental abuse by means of sand extraction. However, the key leadership role were assumed by Mukti Sangharsh activists, who, though hailing from the region, were not themselves directly engaged in the production process. Among the Mukti Sangharsh activists involved more or less full time in the movement, there was a labour organiser and trade union leader, a researcher from a Pune-based research and advocacy group, a freedom fighter and social worker, and a sociology teacher. Environmental movement in India is often characterised by its twin-leadership structure: the local and the outside leadership. The local leaders mobilise the people for mass protest and unite the participants of the movement for more direct action. The involvement of outside leadership, mostly middle-class intellectuals, helps in articulating and formulating the

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ideologies of the struggle and giving the movement a wider publicity (see Omvedt 1984). The core leadership group in the Baliraja resembles a similar picture. Popular local leaders from Balwadi and Tandulwadi—for instance, Sampatrao Power and Vilas Balu Chavan—were crucial in organising local people. The efforts of these local leaders were strengthened by the support of Mukti Sangharsh and intellectuals from Pune and Bombay. Mukti Sangharsh was not only successful in popularising the Baliraja dam struggle, but, because of its links to other Marxists/Communists and trade union organisations, also in moulding the Baliraja politics by putting pressure on the state and local bureaucracy. The ‘vocabulary of protest’ of the Baliraja dam struggle may be classified into three categories. First, the peasants, landless agricultural labourers, and industrial textile workers from the region exhibited collective ‘show of strength’ through demonstrations, protest marches, rallies, public meetings, etc. at different taluka and district headquarters and shouting of slogans, depicting the pathetic condition of peasants and the exploitative nature of the state. Besides asserting the presence of rural proletariat in the nearby towns and cities, which are the locus of political power, this show of strength also intended to make the educated urban masses to realise their responsibilities towards their fellow rural citizens. The demonstration by Mukti Sangharsh, particularly at the premises of Shivaji University, Kolhapur, has had this intention: the demonstrating peasants demanded that the research and studies in the University should also look into rural problems. The second strategy of direct action by the Baliraja movement was that of ‘sit-down-strike’ as manifested in dharna and gherao of public officials. During the course of the movement, Mukti Sangharsh had organised several dharnas in front of taluka office at Khanapur, sub-divisional officer’s office at Miraj, and the district collector’s office at Sangli. The protesting peasants have on many occasions gheraoed the contractors along with their trucks demanding the auctioning of sand in their favour. It should be noted here that, while the former strategy of direct action intended at a larger audience, the latter focused upon individual targets, mostly a figure of higher authority. As its third strategy of mass direct action, the Baliraja movement aimed at putting ‘moral pressure’ on the state through hunger strikes and jail-bharo andolans. In the initial months of 1987, Mukti Sangharsh organised several morchas, satyagrahas, and bhuk hartals in protest against the auction of rights for extraction and sale of sand in favour of

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private contractors. The most striking one was that of the indefinite hunger strike by ten peasants and Mukti Sangharsh activists on 31 January 1987 which continued until the midnight of 3 February. Another incident of moral pressure upon the state was when the drought-affected peasants brought their cattle on to the road on 30 July 1984 and demanded either the police arrest them along with their cattle or else provide free fodder to the cattle. One of the highlights of the movement was that, despite its Marxist orientation, Mukti Sangharsh also took resort to the Gandhian ways and methods of popular protest. Therefore, the vocabulary of protest of the Baliraja movement consisted of a combination of Marxist revolutionary rebellion along with the Gandhian non-violent protest including bhuk hartals and satyagrahas and jail-bharo andolans.

The Baliraja Dam Struggle: A Critique of Development From its very inception, the Baliraja dam struggle has posed a serious question to the development policies adopted by the state. Whether through the growing rural unrest over the prevailing drought situation or through the protest against excessive sand extraction, the movement has always exposed the destructive aspect of the dominant development paradigm. It has revealed that encouragement of water-intensive crops like sugarcane by the state in a drought-prone region not only threatens subsistence-oriented livelihood of rural poor, but also results in the degradation of the ecological balance of the region. The movement’s rejection of the model of development offered by the state through the EGS projects becomes clear from the following Marathi slogan adopted by the participants of the movement: Khadi ahmi phodnar nahi Rasta ahmi sodnar nahi Dushkal ghalavlyasivay ahmi rahnar nahi (We will not break rock We will not leave roads We will not stop without eradicating drought)

Through its opposition to ‘stone-breaking’ work under EGS, the movement intended to stress that it is not enough to provide temporary relief through EGS projects; rather, schemes like this should be oriented

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towards productive purposes by means of creating permanent assets which can support the livelihood of the poor in a drought situation. Particularly, emphasis was laid on rebuilding agricultural assets like land, percolation tanks and bunds, and working towards afforestation of the area to halt soil erosion. The movement’s experiment with equitable water distribution was a revolutionary step in water management. It not only questioned the established riparian rights over water, but also tried to detach water rights from land, by ensuring the landless a right over water. The proposed equitable sharing of water from the water stored in the Baliraja Dam may be considered as a development alternative in three senses: method, agent, and goal. The water co-operatives in both the villages adopted alternative methods, in terms of pipelines, water storage tanks, etc. to channel water to agricultural fields. Contrary to mainstream development, where the state is considered as the only agent for delivering the benefits of development, in the case of Baliraja, it was the peasants themselves, who acted as the prime agents of development through their local institutions. Finally, in terms of goal, the Baliraja experiment showed its commitment to sustainability by restricting on the choice of crop, and visualised the long-term benefits to the peasants with a focus on equity, rather than emphasising the immediate gains from water.

Conclusion The present scenario of Baliraja, especially the half-constructed dam, may lead one to conclude that the movement is an unfinished, haphazard struggle with partial success in terms of its objectives, namely, conservation, equity, and sustainability. However, such a conclusion is unfair to the movement keeping in mind its long-term consequences and the challenges that the Baliraja-type struggles pose to the state-promoted policies of development and resource management. Despite being a small-scale localised protest, the Baliraja struggle has the characteristics of an environmental movement and, therefore, it may be equated with any other nature-based conflict. A few concluding observations may be put forth to substantiate this. First, the Baliraja struggle represents a case of competing claims over natural resources, namely, sand and water. It mirrors a conflict between the eco-system people, that is, the subsistence peasant

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cultivators and the omnivores, such as private contractors engaged in sand quarrying, capitalist merchants favouring sugarcane cultivation, and the state. The Baliraja case not merely accounts for a struggle for who should have control over the precious and productive resources like sand and water, but emphasises the point as to how should such natural resources be utilised—whether for ensuring subsistence of the greater mass of population or for incurring profit for the state and its allies. It is really a conflict between two world-views: using the productive resources for subsistence and exploiting them for profit. Second, like other bigger environmental movements in India, the Baliraja movement possesses two faces: the private and the public. Its private face represents a struggle for ensuring social justice, a constant endeavour by drought-affected peasants to guarantee a sustainable source of livelihood. Whereas its public face highlights the concerns for environment, ecological degradation due to excessive sand-mining, and issues of sustainability in the face of unregulated groundwater extraction for commercial cultivation. Finally, despite being a failure in terms of its stated objectives, the Baliraja movement forces us to re-think our development strategies and resource-management policies: whether the development of people lies in micro watershed projects like the Baliraja or in the major and medium river valley projects, which carry with them the problems of displacement and impoverishment. On the above grounds, the Baliraja experiment may serve as a model to be emulated by others as a viable alternative to the current practices of destructive and conflict-ridden development programmes.

Notes * The author would like to thank Prof. Gail Omvedt, Prof. G.K. Karanth, Dr Amalendu Jyotishi, Dr Pratyusna Patnaik, and the anonymous referee for their comments and suggestions on this paper. The help and support provided by Bharat Patankar’s family at Kasegaon, Maharashtra, Shri Vilas Balu Chavan and Shri Sampatrao Powar at the study villages are duly acknowledged. The usual disclaimers apply. 1. Ramachandra Guha (1989) documents two distinct approaches in the study of social protests. The first approach, social-organisational paradigm, is concerned with analysing large-scale historical processes and master processes of social change like capitalism, imperialism, and the rise of the nation-state. It studies the role of political parties in organising the discontent, the role of the state as a mechanism of repression, and the historical outcomes of such social protests. It views protest as an

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instrument that is oriented towards specific economic and political goals. The second approach, political-cultural paradigm, which studies lower-class social protest, on the contrary, argues that resistance in societies depends on systems of political legitimacy and the interplay between ideologies of ‘domination’ and ‘subordination’. It suggests that lower-class social protest takes place only when there is a perceived erosion of patterns of legitimate authority. Unlike the former approach, which gives importance to end results and where the significance of the movement is gauged by its success, the latter approach emphasises the expressive dimensions of protest, the language in which social actors express their discontent with the prevailing arrangements. The great environmental movements like Chipko and Narmada have their origin in local protests against resource capture by outsiders. Besides being an environmental movement, Chipko is more viewed as a local protest by peasants against marginalisation of their source of livelihood and for having access to forests (see Ramachandra Guha 1989). Similarly, before being an environmental movement, the Narmada Bachao Andolon was a local struggle for justice and against the threat of displacement from the parental land (see Baviskar 1995). In his analysis of the Chipko movement, Ramachandra Guha (1989) distinguishes between ‘private’ and ‘public’ profiles of the movement. While Chipko, as an environmental movement, reflects its public face, more prominently, as a peasant struggle, it reveals its private face. Ramachandra Guha describes Chipko as a continued peasant struggle in defence of the traditional rights over forest and in support of livelihood. Gadgil and Guha (1995) distinguish between three categories of population based upon their relationship with nature and resource capture: ‘ecosystem people’, ‘omnivores’, and ‘ecological refugees’. Ecosystem people are those who depend upon the natural environment of their locality to meet most of their material needs. The bulk of the rural poor, who cultivate their fields and hope for rains in order to grow their food, gather wood or dung to cook it, and build their huts with locally available bamboo or sticks, come under this category. Omnivores are the real beneficiaries of economic development who grow at the cost of ecosystem people. These beneficiaries are big landowners with access to irrigation, modern entrepreneurs in the pockets of industrialisation, workers in the organised sector, and urban professionals. They not only have purchasing power to pay for modern artefacts, but also control over state mechanism to ensure that they get these resources at subsidised prices. For example, the big landowners of Karnataka and Maharashtra growing sugarcane pay very little for the electricity they use to pump water to their fields, and the urban inhabitants pay less for the water that is brought to them from long distances. Ecological refugees suffer the most in the process of development. As natural resource decreases and the capacity of ecosystem to support the needs of these people declines, they are forced to migrate to the nearest urban centre in search of employment. Often they are directly hit by the process of development and are forced to leave their natural habitat due to construction of dams and curing of mines. In spite of such division of humankind over their relationship with nature and process of resource capture, Gadgil and Guha admit that these three categories are not all inclusive and that their boundaries are not rigid. Unlike in the third world countries, environmental movements in the industrialised North developed as a result of the emergence of post-material and post-industrial society. The struggles against hazardous wastes and effluents of industries have

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Satyapriya Rout contributed to a profound re-orientation of American environmentalism (for details, see Guha and Martinez-Alier 1997; Ramachandra Guha 2000). For a critique of the process of national development process and a detailed discussion of its lopsided and unequal results, see Baviskar (1995: 19–48). Baviskar analyzes environmental movements as being integral to the very process of national development, which has been, for most part, environmentally insensitive and ecologically destructive. This does not mean that the print and electronic media are not used at all for dissemination of information relating to environmental movements in India. In recent years, the ideological supporters of movements have tried to spread information widely through newspapers, magazines and the Internet. Since the environmental movements in India have been defensive in nature and rely more upon direct protest, use of such print and electronic media have been limited in scope. Ramachandra Guha has identified four broad strategies of direct action in the environmental movement in India: ‘show of strength’, ‘disruption of economic life’, ‘focusing individual targets’, and ‘putting moral pressure on the state’. Each of these strategies uses several forms or languages of protest. For example, disruption of economic life is manifested through more direct and militant act of protest such as hartal, rasta roko, or bundh (where educational institutions and other offices are forced to shut down; roads are blocked and buses are not allowed to run) with an intention to create a law and order situation. Similarly, the language of protest of focusing individual targets vary from dharna (sit-down strike in front of specific sites) with an intention of stopping particular activity to gherao (surrounding an authority or government official, not allowing him/her to move) unless demands are fulfilled. On occasions, moral pressure on state is put through bhuk hartal (hunger strike) and jail bharo andolan (voluntary courting arrest by violating the law). Briefly, pradarshan (demonstration), hartal (shut-down strike), rasta roko (road blockade), dharna (sit-down strike), gherao (surrounding), bhuk hartal (hunger strike), and jail bharo andolan (voluntary arrestment) are some of the techniques which make up the language of environmental movements in India. According to Omvedt, ‘their own leadership has tended to become co-opted and brahminised, while outside left leadership very often tells the local people their problems rather than asks them’ (1984: 1865). This, however, is not always the case. What the local people lack is a proper voice and a medium through which to express it, which in most cases is fulfilled by outside leadership. While sugarcane is a water-intensive crop, in Maharashtra the crop is almost entirely fed by irrigation through a combination of ground and surface water extraction. It is reported that the Krishna river valley in south-western Maharashtra accounts for a third of the state’s sugarcane crop (R. Phadke 2002: 240). In this region, one ton of sugarcane requires sixty to seventy tons of water (Jadav 1984: 34), which is almost eight to ten times more than the water requirements of other crops in the state (Fighting Drought 1986: 769). Naming the dam after the peasant king Bali mirrors taking resorts to subaltern historiography (see Ranjit Guha 1982–1985). In the Brahmanical Hindu tradition, King Bali was the demon king who was trampled down for his pride by the Brahman boy Waman, an avatar of Lord Vishnu. But, in the peasant tradition, not only in Kerala, where the Onam festival is centred around him, but in Maharashtra also, Bali is remembered as the ideal peasant king. The popular Marathi proverb ‘Ida Pida Talo,

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Baliche Rajya Yeo’ (let all the sorrows go, let the kingdom of Bali come) glorifies the reign of the peasant king Bali (see Omvedt 1987; Joy 1989). Therefore, the Baliraja Dam represents the aspirations and efforts of the drought-affected poor peasants to bring back the prosperity and equality in the rural arena which once existed in the kingdom of Bali. 12. The design and estimation for the dam was prepared by Shri K.R. Datye, a progressive engineer from Bombay associated with Mukti Sangharsh. The length of the dam was proposed to be of 120 m, with a height of 4.5 m, with a storage capacity of 0.566 million cu. m of water. It was estimated that the dam would have an irrigation potential of 380 hectares, increasing the production approximately by 2.8 tons per hectare.

References Attwood, D.W. 1992. Raising cane: The political economy of sugar in western India. Boulder: Westview Press. Baviskar, A. 1995. In the belly of the river: Tribal conflicts over development in the Narmada Valley. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. CSE (Centre for Science and Environment). 1984. The state of India’s environment: A citizens report. Delhi: Centre for Science and Environment. ———. 1985. The state of India’s environment: A second citizens report. Delhi: Centre for Science and Environment. Fighting Drought. 1986. Economic and political weekly, 21(18): 769–70. Gadgil, M. and Ramachandra Guha. 1992. This fissured land: An ecological history of India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 1995. Ecology and equity: Use and abuse of nature. Harmondsworth, Middlesex: Penguin Books. Guha, Ramachandra. 1989. The unquiet woods: Ecological change and peasant resistance in Himalayas. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. ———. 2000. Environmentalism: A global history. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Guha, Ramachandra and J. Martinez-Alier. 1997. Varieties of environmentalism: Essays north and south. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Guha, Ranjit (ed.). 1982–1985: Subaltern studies (Vols I to IV). New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Jadav, M.C. 1984. Sugarcane cultivation: A regional survey. Mumbai: Himalaya Publishers. Joy, K.J. 1989. ‘Bali Raja Smruti Dharan: The people’s dam—An alternative path to development’ (unpublished paper). Khanapur (Maharashtra): Mukti Sangharsh. Joy, K.J. and N. Rao. 1988. ‘The great sand robbery and impending ecological disaster’, Economic and political weekly, 23(33): 1669–71. Jyotishi A. and S. Rout. 2005. ‘Water rights in the Deccan region: Insights from Baliraja and other water institutions’, Economic and political weekly, 40(2): 149–56. Mohanty, B.B. 2009. ‘Regional disparity in agricultural development of Maharashtra’, Economic and political weekly, 44(6): 63–69. Omvedt. G. 1984. ‘Ecology and social movements’, Economic and political weekly, 19(44): 1865–67. ———. 1987. ‘Of sand and King Bali’, Economic and political weekly, 22(9): 365–66.

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Patankar, B. 1985. ‘Alternative strategies for development: Experiments from Sangli district’ (unpublished paper). Khanapur (Maharashtra): Mukti Sangharsh. Phadke, A. 1989. ‘A people’s dam’, Economic and political weekly, 24(16): 865. ———. 1992. ‘Science and sustainable development’, Economic and political weekly, 27(45): 2411–13. ———. 1994. ‘Anti drought movement in Sangli district’, Economic and political weekly, 29(48): 3024–25. ———. 1999. Historical review of Baliraja Dam: The people’s dam’ (unpublished paper). Khanapur (Maharashtra): Mukti Sangharsh. Phadke, R. 2002. ‘Assessing water scarcity and watershed development in Maharashtra: A case study of the Baliraja memorial dam’, Science, technology and human values, 27(2): 236–61. Seshu, M. 1988. ‘People’s dam near completion’, Indian Express (Bombay), 18 July 1988. Shiva, V. 1988. Staying alive: Women, ecology and survival in India. New Delhi: Kali for Women. Vijapurkar, M. 1987. ‘For a people’s dam’, Frontline, 31 October–13 November 1987: 91–95.

SECTION III Forest and Water Issues

11 Social and Ecological Drift of a Planned Urban Centre: A Study of Rourkela, Orissa Rajkishor Meher

R

ourkela is the first planned steel town to have been built by the Government of India soon after independence to promote planned economic development with accent on rapid industrialisation. The planners conceived of Rourkela as a growth centre radiating impulses of economic development to different corners of the country and accordingly made provisions for the orderly growth of the town. The experience of the last four decades, however, suggests that social and economic forces generated by the establishment of the steel plant in Rourkela could not be contained by the neat land-use plans and plans for the provision of various facilities in the city. The planners could not anticipate the speed and direction of the growth of the informal sector under the impact of steel industry. Civic amenities and urban infrastructure that had been built could not cope with the huge inflows of migrants. Lacking adequate entitlements, the poor migrants squatted on public lands and slums sprang up even in the steel township which was the exclusive residential locality of the employees of the steel plant. Gross violations of master plans occurred as illegal constructions came up in both residential areas and industrial and business centres leading to overcrowding and congestion. Large-scale immigration into the town has created considerable social unrest. ‘Outsiders’ have come to occupy prominent jobs and

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positions in the city whereas the local tribals have been uprooted from their habitats owing to the construction of industrial units and to extensive mining in the area. The situation has given rise to feelings of acute deprivation among the tribals. They have now come under the influence of the Jharkhand movement which has been forcefully articulating the interests of the tribals in the area and has been opposing the incursions of ‘outsiders’ into the region (Sharma 1976). The migrants from the coastal regions of Orissa too have become politically active in the city; they have launched their own ‘sons of the soil’ movement demanding that only Oriyas be recruited to various posts in the steel plant and other public sector and government establishments. These movements have created considerable social tension in the city. This political discourse has pushed to the background the ecological crisis brewing in the area. There is a general apathy to environmental issues in the town; preoccupied with their daily struggle for existence, the poor accept their deteriorating living conditions and health as the unavoidable price they have to pay for their survival. This situation has, for a variety of reasons, made even the authorities of the public sector steel plant apathetic to issues of environmental protection. Further, the salience of social cleavages that have developed seems to have actually contributed to ecological decay and degradation by instilling in the residents feelings of acute insecurity making them reluctant to move out even from crowded localities. This paper attempts to delineate such interconnections between urbanisation, emerging social ecology, and the environmental drift of Rourkela.

I Before independence, Rourkela was a small railway station on the Bombay-Howrah railway line in the Chota Nagpur plateau that extends into Orissa. It was a small hamlet in a densely forested area mainly populated by the Munda, Kharia and Oraon tribes. It was part of the Sundergarh district of Orissa. Following the construction of the railway line in the early 20th century, the economic penetration of the region began; several timber companies to exploit the forest resources came up and several limestone quarries were dug. In 1950, a private cement factory near Rourkela had also come up. Yet, it was the setting up of the steel plant in the early 1950s that triggered off rapid

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urbanisation and industrialisation resulting in extensive ecological degradation (Senapati 1975). The decision to exploit abundant natural resources of the region followed the findings of an expert committee set up by the Government of India soon after independence to select a location for the construction of a steel plant in the country. The committee recommended Rourkela as the ideal location. Besides straddling an important railway line, the region is well endowed with rich deposits of iron ore, manganese and limestone. Brahmani, the second largest river of Orissa passes through the region and the Hirakud dam, which was then being planned, would be close enough to supply the electricity needed for the project. The Government of India entered into a collaboration with two firms from the then Federal Republic of Germany to set up the steel plant at Rourkela and established a public sector corporation called the Hindustan Steel Limited (HSL) for the purpose. The Government of Orissa also played a critical role in facilitating the decision of the central government. Realising that the project would usher in rapid industrialisation and economic development of the State, it cleared more than 20,000 acres of land in and around Rourkela and offered it free to the HSL. Consequently, 2,500 families of the 30 villages were uprooted. It also brought out a notification in the Orissa Gazetteer on the 22nd of February, 1954 specifying that an area of about 200 sq. km will be acquired for the development of industries, establishment of a steel plant and allied and ancillary industries in the region (Misra 1958). In 1995, the construction work of the steel plant and of the township to house the employees of the proposed plant was taken up on a war footing. The Master Plan of the steel township was conceived on the estimation of a total population of 100,000 for the fully industrialised Rourkela. The steel township was divided into 19 sectors and provision was made for the construction of 14,000 houses with the amenities of drainage, sewerage, potable piped water, and electricity. There were provisions for a number of primary and secondary schools in different sectors of the town, a Science College and an Engineering College. The latter, after its construction became prominent enough to be conferred the status of a Regional Engineering College. For training technical personnel at the supervisory level so as to meet the needs of the steel plant as it expanded, the plan envisaged the setting up of a full-fledged

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training institute. Provisions were made for a well-equipped modern hospital, health centres and dispensaries, shopping centres and recreation centres in various sectors. The Master Plan also provided adequate space for the location of the steel plant and its future expansion, for ancillary and small-scale industries and for various other urban conveniences and servicing institutions. The construction of the steel plant was completed in the early 1960s. With this, the original village of Rourkela shot to national prominence. The steel plant project triggered off massive immigration from various parts of the country. In the beginning, the attraction was the numerous employment opportunities due to construction of the plant; later, prospects of jobs in the steel plant and various other industries and commercial institutions provided the incentive. In 1951, the total population of the 30 villages in the project area was 15,562. The 1951 census counted the population of Rourkela village as about 2,500. The swirl of urbanisation generated by the construction of the steel plant and the township not only increased the population to 90,287 in 1961, but also swept away the distinct identities of the villages in the project area. The 1961 census conferred for the first time the status of a town on Rourkela. The census also noted that it had already become the largest town in the district of Sundargarh. Since 1961 Rourkela has been growing rapidly. The 1991 census (Table 1) counted Rourkela’s population as over 3,99,000; it is now classified among the prominent cities of Orissa. Table 1 Growth of Population in Rourkela 1951–1991 Year/Census

Area (in sq kms.)

1951 1961

Total Population

Growth (Per cent)

15,562 94.21

90,287

480.18

1971

121.73

1,72,502

91.06

1981

139.04

3,22,610

87.02

1991

157.20

3,98,692

23.58

Source: 1. District Census Handbook-Sundargarh (1951, 1961, 1971, and 1981). 2. Census of India, 1991 Provisional Population Totals: Rural-Urban Distribution, Series I, India, Paper 2 of 1991.

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Urbanisation of Rourkela has spilled beyond the confines of the steel township. The village of Rourkela, which lay outside the township, expanded into what is now known as the civil town which pushes against the boundary of the steel township. The civil town had a population of less than 4,000 in 1951; in 1961 it increased sharply to thirty five thousand. Located in the narrow wedge between the steel plant and the steel township, the growth of the civil township has meant that people and buildings had to squeeze into the narrow strip of land. To stop the resulting haphazard growth and reduce congestion in the immediate  vicinity of the steel township, the Town Planning Organisation of the Government of Orissa formulated its own Master Plan in 1965 for the civil town. The projected population for the civil town after all its different areas are fully developed was 80,000 by 1975. This Master Plan sought to develop residential plots in the covered area of old villages such as Bandomunda, Durgapur, Pradhanpali, Mohulpali and Raghunathpali and earmarked sites for educational institutions, government offices, green belts, parks, play grounds and shopping and community centres in various zones (Map. 1). As has been pointed out earlier, the population of both the steel township and the civil town soon exceeded projections of the Master Plans. More than 50,000 workers from different parts of the country were brought by various contractors to the project site to construct the steel plant and the township. After the steel plant was commissioned, HSL started recruiting workers and managers to operate the plant. Skilled and unskilled workers were recruited at the project site itself. Besides the local people who were displaced by the project, preference was given to the workers who were engaged in the construction of the steel plant and the township. A muster roll of construction workers was prepared for the purpose. Encouraged by the prospect of regular employment, most of the construction workers decided to stay on in Rourkela even after the expiry of their contract. Those who got regular jobs brought members of their family to settle down. To cater to the needs of the growing population, the informal sector expanded providing a variety of goods and services. Rourkela also started attracting a large number of poor and illiterate people from different parts of Orissa and from the neighbouring States of Bihar and Madhya Pradesh. As regular jobs in the steel plant and its ancillary units were limited, the

Rajkishor Meher

Map 1

206

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207

migrants crowded the informal sector eking out their livelihood as petty shopkeepers, vegetable vendors, milk suppliers, cycle rickshaw operators and casual labourers. Lacking adequate entitlements, they squatted wherever they could find some vacant space. As the two Master Plans had not anticipated these trends of immigration, the infrastructure and amenities of Rourkela could not cope with the pressure of increasing population. The planners failed to reduce congestion and the urban authorities could not enforce the planned land use by preventing encroachment of public land. The civil town bore the brunt of the pressure; slums proliferated everywhere and haphazard constructions of buildings added to the congestion of both residential and business areas. The steel township too could not entirely escape the forces of urban degradation that swept the city.

Pattern of Immigration The fact that the urbanisation of Rourkela was externally induced left a strong imprint on the social composition of the city which in turn coloured social and political processes of the city. To implement the project speedily, the project authority chose to off-load different components of the project to reputed construction companies and contractors hailing from different parts of the country. The contracting companies in turn subcontracted some portions of their jobs to smaller companies and contractors. As Orissa had been neglected during the British period, the State had hardly any experience of industrialisation. Hence, there was no ready workforce and pool of technical and managerial personnel at hand to implement the project. To make up for the shortage, the contracting companies had to bring workers from outside the State using their social networks. Vacancies of technical and managerial personnel were advertised at the national level and were filled by qualified people coming from far off places. In the initial stages, several foreigners were also recruited as engineers and managers in the plant. Consequently, the new industrial town of Rourkela acquired a national and cosmopolitan character. It is seen from Table 2 that Rourkela had become a Class-I town in 1971. The percentage of migrant population in Rourkela was high, in comparison to other Class-I towns of Orissa. Non-migrant population in Rourkela formed only 29.14 per cent of the total population of the

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Table 2 Migrant and Non-Migrant Population in the Class-I Towns of Orissa during 1971* City/Urban Agglomeration

Total Population

NonMigrants

Intra-District Inter-District Migrants Migrants

Inter-State Migrants

Berhampur

1,17,065

72,575 (62.00)

27,860 (23.80)

8,680 (7.41)

7,050 (6.79)

Bhubaneswar

1,04,745

34,695 (33.12)

19,990 (19.08)

41,555 (39.67)

8,505 (8.12)

Cuttack

2,03,905

1,21,450 (59.96)

33,855 (16.60)

31,475 (15.44)

17,125 (8.40)

Rourkela

1,70,000

49,540 (29.14)

13,160 (7.74)

44,955 (26.44)

62,345 (36.67)

Sambalpur

1,03,855

49,775 (47.93)

19,690 (18.96)

22,400 (21.57)

11,990 (11.54)

Figures in brackets indicate percentages. Source: Census of India, 1971. Migration Tables, Part-II-D, Series 16, Orissa, pp. 334–35.

town, whereas in other Class-I towns of Orissa the figure ranged between 33 per cent to 62 per cent. Migrants to Rourkela hailed mainly from outside the district. The percentage of inter-district migrant population hailing from within the State of Orissa was 26.44, a figure which places the city next only to Bhubaneswar, the capital of the State. Rourkela, however, registered the highest percentage of inter-State migrant population in the State. The 1981 census data reveal the reinforcement of this growing trend of immigration. In 1981, Rourkela alone recorded 78 per cent of the total urban population in the district of Sundargarh. It is seen from Table 3 that in 1981 more than 50 per cent of the male population of the district consisted of those whose native places lay outside the district. In the urban areas of Sundargarh district, the percentage of male population hailing from outside the State was 26.64, and the figure for male migrants from the other districts of Orissa was 23.90. Among the inter-State migrants, the adjoining State of Bihar contributed the highest percentage (14.06). Contributions of other neighbouring States, viz., West Bengal (3.69) Uttar Pradesh (2.26), Madhya Pradesh (1.66), Andhra Pradesh (1.21), were much less, though significant. Similarly, in the category of migrants from other districts of Orissa namely Cuttack, Ganjam, Puri and

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Table 3 Precentage Distribution of Males in the Urban Areas of Sundergarh Born in Other States of India and in Other District of Orissa, 1981 SI.No.

State of Birth

1.

Andhra Pradesh

2.

Bihar

3.

Percentage

District of Birth

Percentage

1.21

Sambalpur

2.20

14.06

Kendujhar

0.27

Haryana

0.50

Mayurbhanj

2.00

4.

Kerala

0.98

Baleswar

1.92

5.

Madhya Pradesh

1.66

Cuttack

8.16

6.

Maharashtra

0.18

Dhenkanal

1.23

7.

Punjab

0.63

Phulbani

0.07

8.

Rajasthan

0.43

Bolangir

0.85

9.

Tamil Nadu

0.37

Kalahandi

0.22

10.

Uttar Pradesh

2.26

Koraput

0.06

11.

West Bengal

3.69

Ganjam

4.98

12.

Other States and Union Territories

0.67

Puri

1.93

Total

26.64

23.90

Source: Census of India, 1981. Migration Tables Orissa, Series 16, Part-V-A&B.

Baleswar had a larger share as compared to the share of Sambalpur, Kendujhar, Dhenkanal and Mayurbhanj—the districts adjacent to Sundergarh. Social links provide the corridors of urban migration in India. People rarely move without prior information. Rao, in his studies pointed out that social networks based on ties of kinship, caste, village and language provided the most effective channels of communication favouring decisions on migration (1974; 1976). Therefore, in order to grasp the pattern and dynamics of migration into Rourkela, the questionnaire for my doctoral research included a section on migration and the social background of migrants (Meher 1994). From a scientifically designed sample of 316 households in Rourkela, I found that, there are 127 (40.19 per cent) households of migrants coming outside Orissa. Among these households, 77 (24.37 per cent) have come from Bihar, 15 (4.75 per cent) from West Bengal, 13 (4.11

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Table 4 Years of Residence of Heads of Households in Rourkela SI. No.

Years

1.

Residing since birth

2. 3. 4. 5.

No.

Percentage

27

8.54

30 years and above

90

28.48

20 years to 30 years

100

31.65

10 to 20 years

64

20.25

0 to years

35

11.08

316

100.00

Total

Source: Field Data collected by the author during 1988–89 for doctoral research.

per cent) from Uttar Pradesh, 8 (2.53 per cent) from Madhya Pradesh, and 5 from Haryana, Maharashtra, Kerala and Nepal. Of the remaining 189 households belonging to Orissa, only 64 (20.25 per cent) households reported their place of origin from Sundargarh district. Among the households hailing from other districts of Orissa, 93 (29.43 per cent) are from the coastal districts of Cuttack and Ganjam. Table 4 below shows that the heads of only 27 (8.54 per cent) households were born in the city. The heads of as many as 90 (28.48 per cent) households came to Rourkela to work during the days of construction of the steel plant. The remaining migrants came after the steel plant was constructed. It is found from Table 5, that only the heads of 105 households (36.33 per cent) reported that they had come to Rourkela of their own accord to work in the steel plant. Quite a few of these independent migrants were skilled workers, who had completed diploma and certificate courses in various technical fields. They began their careers as apprentice trainees in the steel plant. Heads of 95 households (32.87 per cent) had received help and encouragement from close relatives already working in the city. The heads of another 73 households (25.26 per cent) were brought as members of work gangs collected by ‘jamadars’ or jobbers who belonged to the village or the region of the migrant. Nine heads of households were brought directly by the contractors to work under them and seven were helped by friends who were already working in Rourkela. Social and personal networks of the migrants and their urban contacts have strongly

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Table 5 Distribution of Personal Support Received by Heads of Migrant Households in Rourkela SI. No.

Type of Personal Support

No. of Households

Percentage

1. 2.

Relatives

95

32.87

Friends

7

2.42

3.

Jobbers from one’s village/region

73

25.26

4.

Contractor

9

3.11

5.

None

105

36.33

Total

289

99.99

Source: Field Data collected by the author during 1988–89 for doctoral research.

influenced the settlement pattern and occupational profile of the town (Patel 1963; ILO 1972).

III Rapid industrialisation and urbanisation has drastically changed the social composition of Rourkela and other villages in the project area. According to Roy Burman’s study (1968), tribal households formed slightly over 67 per cent of all the households of the 30 villages constituting the project site. Scheduled Caste households formed about 8 per cent of all the households while about 11 per cent belonged to the lower castes and about 6 per cent belonged to the middle castes. The Muslim households constituted 1.7 per cent and the upper caste households formed about 3.5 per cent of all the households. Due to rapid industrialisation, in 1961 the proportion of tribal households came down to about 22 per cent and of Scheduled Castes to just over five per cent. In 1981, while the proportion of Scheduled Caste households went up slightly to over 8 per cent, the proportion of tribal households which had declined in 1971), rose to over 16 per cent. The subsequent rise of the proportion of tribal households is most probably due to the uprooting of tribals from the vicinity of Rourkela due to extensive mining. Extensive ecological degradation caused by mining,

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deprived the tribals living in the forests of their source of sustenance thereby forcing them to migrate. Most of these tribals have been reduced to the status of daily wage earners in the informal sector of Rourkela. Only those tribals who received compensation for their lands and forests when they were uprooted from the plant site were fortunate.

Distribution of Castes and Communities in Residential Areas As after the 1931 census population Indian censuses did not enumerate castes other than the Scheduled Castes, I had to resort to an indirect method for studying the social composition of the residential settlements in the city. I used the 1984 voters list of Rourkela Assembly Constituency that covered 56,661 households (nearly 86 per cent of the enumeration for Rourkela in the 1981 census) to identify the caste composition of different wards of the assembly constituency. I inferred the caste and community background of the voters from the names and surnames listed in the voters list. This is no foolproof method but in the absence of accurate data, would provide a rough social profile of the city. Of course, whenever I found particular surnames confusing or strange, I went to the wards in which those names occurred frequently to enquire about the caste and community affiliations they signified. I could not, however, adopt this method in the case of Muslims because their Arabic names did not give me a clue to heir caste or regional background. Further, since the voters lists are prepared separately for different electoral blocks of the city and since these blocks invariably coincided with the broad divisions of localities in the city, I could use the lists to locate concentrations of particular castes and communities. In Table 6, I provide the broad distribution of castes and communities in the various localities of Rourkela. Table 6 shows that households of higher castes such as Brahmins, Karans and Kshatriyas constitute 25.50 per cent, households of middle castes including Khandayat, Chasa, Bania, Marwari and Agaria constitute 26.62 per cent and those of lower castes such as blacksmiths (Luthuras), potters (Kumbharas), weavers (Tantis), milkmen (Gaudas), goldsmiths (Sunaris) and gardeners (Malis) constitute 11.15 per cent of the constituency. Thus caste-Hindu households constitute more than 60 per cent of the voter households in the constituency. The share of

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213

Scheduled Caste households is only 12.08 per cent and despite their numerical majority in Sundargarh district, the share of tribal households in the city is merely 18.38 per cent. Muslim households comprise 4.59 per cent of the households in the constituency, the share of Christian households, including converted tribals, is 3.57 per cent, and of Sikhs is 1.40 per cent. The share of non-Oriya households, excluding the Muslim households, is 21.33 per cent. It can be inferred from Table 6 that some localities in the city are enclaves of particular castes and communities. In the Regional Engineering College (REC) campus, Fertilizer Township and sectors 3, 4, 5, 7, 13, 14, 19 and 21 of the steel township, higher caste households constitute more than 40 per cent of total number of households. These localities house professionals, executives, supervisors and highly skilled workers. Localities such as Jalda Resettlement Colony, Jhirpani Resettlement Colony and peripheral villages of Laukera, Tumkela, Hamirpur and Bhawanipur around the steel township mainly consist of tribals who eke out their subsistence in the informal sector. The Nala Road area accommodates mainly Muslims of both high and low-income categories. Certain localities such as Rourkela Market area, Bandomunda, Fertilizer Township, Sectors 7, 8, 13, 14, 20 and 21 of the steel township have a higher proportion of non-Oriya households as compared to their average representation (21.33 per cent) in the constituency. In these localities are found concentrations of executives and supervisory staff of the steel plant, railway employees or big traders and merchants of the city. Railway employees of different grades mainly reside in Bandomunda, trading castes and communities are concentrated in the Rourkela market area and fertiliser township, and higher level executives and professionals reside in the steel township. The broad classification of the city localities that has been adopted, however, hides certain aspects of social life in the industrial city. For this, the analysis is required to be carried to the level of residential clusters and pockets in these localities. Thus, it is noticed that within certain localities, including even the steel township, the houses of Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes cluster together. Bengali households are clustered in sectors 7, 13 and 14, the South Indian households in sectors 7 and 18, Hindi speaking employees reside in sectors 5, 16 and 20 and the Oriyas in sectors 1 and 2 of the steel township. The Modern India Labour Colony one of the big squatter localities of the city was set up by the HSL in the 1950s to accommodate construction workers of the steel plant.

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Table 6 Caste, Religion and Linguistic Distribution of Households in Rourkela Assembly Constituency According to 1984 Voter’s List SI. No. Name of Locality

No. of HHs. High Castes 3866

Middle Castes Low Castes

1.

Panposh Area

901 (23.31) 1071 (27.70) 433 (11.20)

2.

Uditnagar

2422

603 (24.90)

685 (28.23) 282 (11.64)

3.

Basanti Colony

1595

575 (39.65)

521 (32.66)

4.

Malgodam Area

4678

779 (16.65) 1079 (23.06) 739 (15.80)

5.

Rourkela Market Area

3173

681 (21.46) 1169 (36.84) 340 (10.71)

6.

Nala Road Area

1298

7.

Bandomunda Area

5596

1293(23.11) 1129 (20.17) 631 (11.28)

8.

Modern India Area

4198

739 (17.60) 1312 (31.25) 442 (10.53)

9.

Jalda Resettlement Colony

4120

168 (4.08)

42 (3.24)

78 (6.01)

117 (7.33)

37 (2.85)

375 (9.10) 509 (12.35)

10.

Fertilizer Township Aera

1206

487 (40.38)

348 (28.86)

115 (9.54)

11.

Jhirpani Resettlement Colony

1158

111 (9.58)

94 (8.12)

101 (8.72)

12.

REC Campus

686

290 (42.27)

177 (25.80)

51 (7.43)

13.

Peripheral Villages around the Steel Township

1175

63 (5.36)

14.

Sector 1

2482

791 (31.87)

15.

Sector 2

2032

555 (27.31)

554 (27.26) 230 (11.32)

16.

Sectors 3,4,5

2149

909 (42.30)

634 (29.50) 248 (11.54)

17.

Sector 6

2798

1006 (35.95)

910 (32.52) 327 (11.69)

18.

Sector 7

1294

596 (46.06)

19.

Sector 8

1575

20.

Sectors 13 and 14

1569

21.

Sector 15

2162

454 (21.00)

637 (29.46)

22.

Sector 16 and 17

2189

674 (30.79)

742 (33.90) 271 (12.38)

23.

Sector 18

1576

556 (35.28)

471 (29.89) 215 (13.64)

24.

Sector 19

1127

454 (40.28)

327 (29.01)

25.

Sector 20

1800

701 (38.94)

511 (28.39) 215 (11.94)

26.

Sector 21

363

148 (40.78)

108 (29.75)

27.

OMP Colony & Security Colony (Near Sector 21)

1374

358 (26.05)

457 (33.26) 146 (10.63)

Total

59661

130 (11.06) 202 (17.19) 875 (34.53)

232 (9.35)

454 (35.08)

127 (9.81)

615 (39.05)

568 (36.06)

153 (9.71)

664 (42.32)

485 (30.91) 166 (10.58) 176 (8.14)

100 (8.87) 47 (12.95)

15213 (25.50) 15883 (26.62) 6652 (11.15)

Source: Government of Orissa (1984). Voters’ List of Rourkela Assembly Constituency, Office of the Sub-Collector, Panposh Sub-Division, Rourkela.

SOCIAL AND ECOLOGICAL DRIFT OF A PLANNED URBAN CENTRE

SCs

STs

215

Muslims

Christians

Sikhs

Non-Oriya

400 (10.35)

904 (23.38)

119 (3.08)

216 (5.59)

25 (0.65)

626 (16.19)

282 (11.34)

531 (21.92)

35 (1.44)

76 (3.14)

51 (2.11)

454 (18.74)

81 (5.08)

244 (15.30)

19 (1.14)

57 (3.37)

34 (2.13)

292 (18.31)

1094 (23.39)

831 (17.76)

133 (2.84)

163 (3.48)

20 (0.43)

978 (20.91)

308 (9.71)

164 (5.17)

251 (7.91)

21 (0.66)

260 (8.19)

1279 (40.31)

1 (0.08)

1 (0.08)

912 (16.30)

39 (3.00)

1489 (26.61)

13 (1.00) 1088 (83.88) 89 (1.59)

141 (2.52)

48 (0.86)

1826 (32.63)

594 (14.15)

1051 (25.04)

34 (0.81)

120 (2.86)

24 (0.57)

394 (9.38)

495 (12.01)

2425 (58.86)

13 (0.32) 492 (11.94)

3 (0.07)

136 (3.30)

28 (2.32)

442 (36.65)

108 (8.95)

91 (7.55)

196 (16.93)

651 (56.22)

26 (2.16)

52 (4.31)

5 (0.43) 175 (15.11)

-

24 (2.07)

49 (7.14)

106 (15.45)

10 (1.46)

20 (2.91)

1 (0.15)

64 (9.33)

232 (19.74)

517 (44.00)

31 (2.64)

102 (8.68)

-

34 (2.89)

232 (9.35)

305 (12.29)

33 (1.33)

38 (1.53)

25 (1.01)

359 (14.46)

320 (15.75)

318 (15.65)

40 (1.97)

25 (1.23)

15 (0.74)

357 (17.57)

201 (9.35)

71 (3.30)

43 (2.00)

29 (1.35)

36 (1.67)

577 (26.85)

356 (12.72)

133 (4.75)

19 (0.68)

43 (4.54)

38 (1.36)

658 (23.52)

54 (4.17)

35 (2.70)

5 (0.39)

27 (2.09)

23 (1.78)

507 (39.18)

95 (6.03)

107 (6.79)

11 (0.70)

34 (2.16)

26 (1.65)

505 (32.06)

100 (6.37)

115 (7.33)

8 (0.51)

53 (3.38)

31 (1.98)

707 (48.88)

117 (5.41)

186 (8.60)

572 (26.46)

44 (2.03)

20 (0.93)

368 (17.02)

226 (10.32)

195 (8.91)

21 (0.96)

61 (2.79)

60 (2.74)

524 (23.94)

169 (10.72)

77 (4.89)

64 (4.06)

29 (1.84)

19 (1.21)

445 (28.24)

126 (11.18)

87 (7.72)

17 (1.51)

41 (3.64)

2 (0.18)

259 (22.99)

226 (12.56)

89 (4.94)

22 (1.22)

48 (2.67)

32 (1.78)

550 (30.56)

30 (8.26)

15 (4.13)

8 (2.20)

8 (2.20)

7 (1.93)

126 (34.71)

166 (12.08)

218 (15.87)

24 (1.75)

12 (0.87)

5 (0.36)

176 (12.81)

7208 (12.08) 10968 (18.38)

2740 (4.59) 2128 (3.57)

834 (1.40) 12727 (21.33)

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Rajkishor Meher

This colony is surrounded by the boundaries of the steel plant and of the fertiliser township. In one of its neighbourhoods Khandayats and other cultivating castes from Ganjam district reside and have established close community ties among themselves. Most of them are contract labourers in the steel plant while a few have become regular employees. The latter have opted not to move to the steel township even when they are entitled to accommodation there; they prefer the locality in spite of its squalor and congestion. In another portion of the colony Mundas from South Bihar have settled. In the Mahulpali squatter area, a majority of the migrant households belong to the Veniyata caste from a particular village in Parlakhemundi region of Ganjam district. They are all casual and contract labourers. Similarly, Goalas from Bihar, Bilaspuri workers, tribals of Chota Nagpur belt, migrant families of Sambalpur, Bolangir, Kalahandi and Sundargarh districts live in separate clusters. Such clustering is found among the Muslims who, as mentioned before, prefer to live in the congested Nala Road area even when some of them are rich enough to move out to better localities. Several Muslim workers in the steel plant reside in the plant township, but they have clustered in certain adjoining blocks of sector 15. The Sikhs have also preferred to retain their separate community identity by preferring to huddle together in localities such as the Mahatma Gandhi Road and Gurudwara Road of the Rourkela market area. This type of clustering reflects more the preferences of the residents rather an instance of segregation.

The City Ecology While caste and community solidarities seem to have strongly influenced the formation of residential neighbourhoods, the evolving land use pattern in the city has been structured by the location of the steel plant. The equivalent of the central business district of the city is on the northern edge of the steel plant comprising of the main market area, city railway station and the bus terminal. The zone of transition is formed by localities such as the Nala Road, Mahulipali, Oraon para, Plant Site Police Station area, Kumbharapara, Malgodam, Madhusudanpalli, Gopabandhupalli in the north; Modern India area comprising of localities such as Tarapur, Laltanki, Construction Colony, Modern India Labour Colony, in the southeast and of Captive Power Plant area, Phulbari, Champagarh Labour Colony in the northeast. In this zone industry, commerce and business intermingle with densely packed and subdivided dwelling units,

SOCIAL AND ECOLOGICAL DRIFT OF A PLANNED URBAN CENTRE

217

which are often in an advanced state of disrepair and dilapidation sheltering mostly the poor workers. The main slum and squatter areas are found in this zone. The slums and low-income areas are located within a range of three kilometers from the boundary of the steel plant and the main market area. The third zone houses the working class and the fourth zone consists of white-collar employees and professionals living in superior quality houses. This zone includes of the steel township consisting of 17 sectors located to the north of the steel plant, the fertiliser township and the Udit Nagar and Basanti colony of the civil township. In the steel township Sectors 1 and 2 are for low level employees, sectors 6, 7, 8 and 18 are for the middle level supervisors and the executives occupy sectors 3, 4, 5 and 19. The fertiliser township, which adjoins the Modern India area is also a mixed residential area, providing accommodation to all the employees of the fertiliser plant, a subsidiary of the Rourkela Steel Plant. Similarly, the Udit Nagar and Basanti Colony area provide housing for the low, middle level and high level white-collar employees and professionals. The affluent and posh colonies are Areas No. 7 and 8 in the civil town west of the plant and Koel Nagar and Shakti Nagar near sector 20 of the steel township. This zone provides spacious accommodation away from the hustle bustle of city life (Map. 2). Recent unanticipated developments, however, are altering the land use pattern of the city. A new industrial estate for small and ancillary industries has been developed on the north west side of the steel plant. Beyond Panposh in the west and across the river Brahmani, a big industrial estate called Kalunga has come up. In the south, the city has expanded as far as Lathikata beyond the resettlement colony on the Rourkela-Bonai road. A refractory plant and a distillery have come up in Lathikata. Similarly in the east, the city has expanded up to Bandomunda where the diesel locomotive workshop of the Indian railways is being built. These localities are still growing, and it is too early to anticipate how they will develop and what will be their impact on the settlement pattern and the social structure of the city.

Growth of Slums For a variety of reasons, the town planning department of Rourkela could not foresee the proliferation of slums in the city. The growth of slums is usually regarded as a symptom of urban decay and degeneration, but it is also a sign of expanding economic opportunities in the

Rajkishor Meher

Map 2

218

SOCIAL AND ECOLOGICAL DRIFT OF A PLANNED URBAN CENTRE

219

city. In the formative years, a number of jobs were available for skilled, semi-skilled and unskilled labourers in the construction of the steel plant and other related industrial units and establishments. This attracted numerous poverty stricken people from the countryside. The steel plant and the other large and medium scale industries that came up, however, could absorb only a limited number of these immigrants. The others, who were not so fortunate stayed on in the hope of finding some suitable job in the future. To sustain themselves, they took up any work that came by, be it that of a casual labourer, cycle rickshaw peddler, hawker, vegetable seller, domestic worker and the like. The government’s decision to encourage labour intensive ancillary and small scale industries also gave rise to a vast informal sector in which a number of workers were absorbed. Further, the emergence of a distinct middle class constituted by the highly paid managerial and supervisory personnel and their households generated a huge demand for a large variety of consumer goods and services at their doorsteps. As a result, informal sector manufacturing and servicing activities such as carpentry, masonry, plumbing, electric wiring and servicing, pottery, manufacture of metal utensils and shoes, tailoring, retailing, vegetable vending, scavenging and sweeping, load lifting, cycle rickshaw peddling and the like flourished. The scarcity of capital, low level of technological development and above all abundance of unskilled manpower and country artisans combined to create a large and segmented labour force in the informal sector—an experience shared by several rapidly growing cities in the developing world (Gilbert and Gugler 1987). According to the 1981 census, the share of the informal sector in Rourkela is about 25 per cent (Meher 1994). In contrast, the share of the informal sector is 45 per cent in Bombay, Calcutta and Ahmedabad (Joshi and Joshi 1976; Breman 1977 and Papola 1981). The low share of the informal sector of Rourkela is indicative of the early stages of its industrialisation. Labour practices in the informal sector are reminiscent of pre-capitalist regimes. The dominance of middle men, a profusion of small and scattered workshops and business units which often cannot even be detected by government agencies make it difficult to regulate the units of the informal sector and impose any labour welfare regime on them. Consequently, the prevalent wage rates are often below even the minimum wage prescribed by the government. There is hardly any regulation about the maximum number of hours of daily work, which

220

Rajkishor Meher

may often stretch to 10 hours. Often work has to be done in cramped, stuffy and badly ventilated buildings lacking in basic amenities. As such, working conditions adversely affect productivity and the workers face grim prospects of limited earnings which can barely meet their upkeep. Hence, they are compelled by their circumstances to encroach vacant public or private lands close to their places of work and live in jhonpris (huts) put together by using disposable materials they find in garbage dumps of the city. Such squatter localities and slums have come up around the steel plant and the main market area of the city, including some of the sectors of the steel township. There is no proper official record of the growth of slums in Rourkela. A survey conducted by the Town Planning Unit of Rourkela during 1986 identified 40 slum localities with a population of around 1,11,000 persons residing in 21,500 households. This gives an average household size of 5.17 persons in the slums as against the average size of 4.65 persons for the whole city, as worked out from the 1981 census. By using simple statistical techniques of intrapolation from the data presented in Table 1 for the years 1981 and 1991 Rourkela’s total population works out to about 3,60,878 for the year 1986. Hence, it can be estimated that 30.75 per cent of the population of Rourkela lived in the slums in 1986; in all likelihood, this figure might have increased in recent years. My survey of slum localities in the city pointed to the preponderance of Muslims, tribal Christians, Scheduled Castes, and Scheduled Tribes (Meher 1994). Of the 14,426 slum households in 27 localities detected by me, upper caste households constituted only 33.17 per cent, whereas, the proportions of Scheduled Caste and Scheduled Tribe households respectively were 15.33 per cent and 29.88 per cent. The figures for Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes were much above their respective shares of 8.15 per cent and 16.40 per cent of the population of the city in 1981. further, even in the slums there is clustering of households based on caste, religion and region. In localities such as Gualapara, Old Labour Colony, Captive Power Plant area, Champagarh Labour Colony, Phulbari and Bricks Labour Colony, Balijodi, Hatibandha Labour Colony, Kansar, Old Jalda, Jharmunda, Kaintabasa, Langrabasa and Bijubandha Jhonpri there are concentrations of tribal households who together constitute more than 40 per cent of all the households. Similarly, in localities such as ITI and Industrial Estate Jhonpri, Gopabandhupalli, Tarapur, Deongaon and Quarry Area,

SOCIAL AND ECOLOGICAL DRIFT OF A PLANNED URBAN CENTRE

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Kalinga Auto Colony, Construction Colony, Balipoda, Modern India Labour Colony and Old Rourkela Labour Colony, the concentration of upper caste households is more than 40 per cent of the total number of households. The proportion of Muslims in the Nala Road area is 84.16 per cent. The fact that even the rich Muslims prefer to remain in this area rather than move to better localities of the city is evidenced by their palatial buildings which tower over ramshackle jhonpris and dilapidated buildings that surround them. Rich Sikhs too prefer to live amidst poorer members of their community in the Gurudwara Road and Gandhi Road area.

Urban Social Structure My study revealed that many unskilled and semi-skilled workers came to Rourkela from Punjab, Haryana, Rajasthan, Kerala, Andhra Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, North Bihar and West Bengal. The local tribals work either as contract labourers in the steel plant or as casual labourers in the construction sites and small-scale industries of the city (Meher 1994). This finding further confirms Vithal Babu’s observation on the social impact of the construction of steel plants in Rourkela and Durgapur. In Rourkela, Babu estimates that out of 5,973 able-bodied displaced persons in the late 1950s, only 161 were provided with regular employment in the steel plant. Another 223 joined as work-charged employees and 630 as muster roll workers. The others remained idle and unemployed, living from day to day on the money paid as compensation by the steel project authorities. He reports that skilled, semi-skilled and even unskilled workers were brought by the contractors from different parts of the country, mainly from outside the State (1959: 237). An earlier study of contract labour in the Rourkela Steel Plant estimated that in the 1980s, the plant was employing around 11,656 persons as contract labourers (Sengupta 1983). Most of them were tribals and members of Scheduled Castes and other low castes hailing from Sundargarh, Sambalpur, Keonjhar and Mayurbhanj beside the tribals of Singhbhum and Gumla. They were mostly engaged in hazardous low status work that regular employees shun. The members of Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes (who constitute more than 70 per cent of the State’s population), could only get a small proportion of

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the regular jobs in the steel plant because they lacked technical education and proper socio-political networks. They were less mobile because in the 1950s and 1960s the transport and communication system of the State had not yet developed. Most of the unskilled and semi-skilled jobs in the steel plant have been monopolised by the high and middle castes such as Brahmin, Karana and Khandayat hailing from the advanced districts of coastal Orissa, viz., Cuttack, Puri, Baleswar and Ganjam. It is found that even among the more successful migrants from the coastal districts of Orissa there was disproportionate representation of those belonging to some particular villages. This is mainly because the contractors associated with construction work in Rourkela belonged to the coastal districts and they brought people from their own village or its neighbouring villages to work at the plant site. Villages such as the Polosora, Netinga, Gahama and Origad in Ganjam district, Editala in Baleswar district and Beruna in Cuttack district are prominently represented in the workforce in the steel plant. From my informal conversations, I discovered that more than 500 workers belonged to village Editala and its neighbouring villages in Baleswar district. Thirty to forty workers came from village Origad, 30 to 40 from village Polosora and another 30 to 40 workers from village Beruna. In contrast, Brahmanitarang, a small village located in the west at a distance of 8 km from the Rourkela Steel Plant has hardly 10 regular plant employees. Residents of villages on the periphery of the steel plant and low caste immigrants from Ranchi, Gumla and Singhbhum districts in Bihar and Mayurbhanj, Keonjhar, Sambalpur, Bolangir and Kalahandi districts in Orissa, are engaged in operating cycle rickshaws, coolie work, construction work, hawking, selling of vegetables and the like. This is true even of the natives of Sundargarh district who have migrated to the city in recent years. Extensive deforestation, partly due to widespread mining in the area and partly due to the growth of population, has pushed many of them out of their natal regions. Social clustering based on ties of kinship, caste, regional background and religion may be noted in certain trades and occupations. Thus, the moulders in the foundry workshops of Rourkela are from Pipli area of Puri district in Orissa or from Chakulia area of West Bengal; the natives of these areas were traditional foundry craftsmen and have acquired a reputation for their skill. In the informal sector, a large section of

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construction workers and handcart pullers hail from the Chhatisgarh region of Madhya Pradesh. Contract labourers of the steel plant are from Sundargarh, Keonjhar, Mayurbhanj, and from Ranchi, Gumla and Singhbhum of south Bihar. Similarly, most of the cycle rickshaw peddlers and hand cart pullers are members of lower castes from Sambalpur, Bolangir and Kalahandi districts, coolies are from Parelakhemundi region, vegetable vendors are from Jajpur region and panwalas are from Baleswar and Cuttack districts of Orissa. Trading and business communities which dominate organised trade, commerce and entrepreneurship of small-scale industries in Rourkela are from Gujarat, Rajasthan, Haryana, Punjab and West Bengal. Petty trade is cornered by the Muslims of Gaya, Ranchi and Mungher districts of Bihar. It is evident from the above description that urbanisation of Rourkela is typical of the urban processes in other parts of India. The social ecology of the city has been strongly influenced by particularistic ties of kinship, caste, region and religion. These ties have facilitated and shaped the process of industrialisation in Rourkela. Even the social profile of occupations has been strongly affected by these ties. Such social clustering confirms the findings of earlier studies by Breman (1979), Holmstrom (1985), Klass Vander Veen (1979) and Sheth (1968).

Environmental Impact The steel plant and other industries have increased pollution of the city. Exhaust from the LD furnace in the steel plant contains high levels of carbon monoxide, and nitrogen oxide which are inimical to health. The LD converters also release huge quantities of brown coloured iron dust into the atmosphere several times a day. Blast furnace slag has created a major disposal problem and pollutes the river during the rainy season. Coke ovens and the sintering plant also contribute to the atmospheric pollution. The steel plant authorities invested a large amount of money to install precipitators and dust catchers, but they have not been maintained properly. Effluents from the steel plant are discharged into the Guradinala by the sedimentation process; this process cannot, however, check the flow of coal tar, benzene, oil, and other acids into the water. The captive thermal power plant in Rourkela produces huge dumps of fly ash and releases large quantities of sulphur dioxide, arsenic and other poisonous gases into the atmosphere posing a major health hazard. The

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nitric acid plant emits nitrogen oxide into the atmosphere and the ammonia plant emits hydrogen sulphide into the river turning its water into a milky coffee colour. The release of waste steam cooling water and of hot liquid steam from the fertiliser plants add to water and soil pollution. The cement plant near Rourkela has increased the amount of cement dust in the atmosphere. Environmental pollution is quite palpable in Rourkela. There is a pall of dust hanging over the city most of the day and iron particles in the dust cling to the bodies of those who venture anywhere near the steel plant. Some of the congested parts of the city have experienced acid rain. The water of Brahmani river is highly polluted; it is bereft of fish and prawn for which it was once famous. The release of sewerage of the city has polluted the river Koel which, like the river Brahmani has shrunk in size over the years. The sewage treatment plant has not been working properly but the municipal authorities have not bothered about its upkeep. Thanks to the numerous industrial units that have come up in the Rourkela region, mining activities have been intensified. Mining for iron ore, coal and manganese, and limestone and dolomite quarrying have caused extensive deforestation. The forest cover in Sundergarh district has declined from over 54 per cent of the total area in the 1950s to around 38 per cent in 1988. Meteorological records of the district reveal that the average precipitation has declined steeply in the last three decades. The habitat of the local tribals who practised shifting cultivation has been subverted to such an extent that they migrate to the city in search of employment. Several of them also work as casual labourers in the mines. Environmental pollution has affected the general health of the city population. Incidence of asthma, paralysis, tuberculosis, neurological disorders, cataract, hypertension and rheumatic diseases has increased considerably. The city, especially the civil town lacks basic amenities like clean water, sanitation, drainage and proper roads. The poor in the city are huddled in cramped jhonpris, living next to stagnant bodies of polluted and contaminated water.

Social Effects The urbanisation of Rourkela has generated intense social stresses in the city. Prominent social cleavages have emerged generating considerable social tension. The local tribals resent the fact that ‘outsiders’—a

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term they use to refer mainly to the caste Hindus of the coastal Orissa and those from outside the State—have captured all the plum jobs in the city. This resentment has become more bitter in the recent years as second generation tribals who are educated, now find that their opportunities of being recruited to the more important managerial posts are blocked by these ‘outsiders’. These tribal youth find the ideology of the Jharkhand Mukti Morcha appealing because it seeks to set right the injustices suffered by the tribal communities at the hands of the ‘outsiders’. Thus, when the Orissa Co-operative Milk Producers Federation Ltd (OMFED) set up a milk dairy in Rourkela in the 1980s, the Jharkhand Mukti Morcha mobilised local tribals to agitate demanding that all the available vacancies in the dairy project be reserved for them. The agitation even issued threats of killing any ‘outsider’ who joined the co-operative. To defend themselves, the upper caste migrants from coastal Orissa have formed themselves into an umbrella organisation called Nila Chakra. This organisation ostensibly stands for the protection of the interests of all Oriyas, including the tribals of Orissa, but is dominated by the dominant castes of coastal Orissa. Under pressure from Nila Chakra, the Government of Orissa has made a residential certificate compulsory for registration in the Employment Exchange of Rourkela. This decision rendered several second generation job seekers born and brought up in Rourkela ineligible for jobs in Rourkela because their parents did not possess the residential certificate, notwithstanding their stay in the city for more than two decades. Politics of ‘insiders’ versus the ‘outsiders’ dominates the social discourse in the city. Although this charged situation has so far been contained, it may become explosive if the recent rising trends of unemployment and immigration are not effectively checked. The charged social atmosphere of the city has diverted public attention from the environmental crisis that is brewing in the region in spite of the fact that several non-governmental organisations and journalists have prominently highlighted the issue in the local newspapers and magazines. The social crisis has in some respects deepened the ecological degradation of the city; a feeling of insecurity confines the minorities to huddle together in congested areas. The authorities of the municipality, ministers of the State and even the managers of the steel plant and other public sector units in the Rourkela region are indifferent to the environmental issues. Locked in a grim struggle for livelihoods, the poor who are more directly affected by the pollution in the city, prefer to ignore

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the environmental problems. Many of them are even afraid that if environmental issues are raised, several industrial units may have to be closed which may deprive them of jobs. This study of Rourkela highlights some of the dilemmas of planned urbanisation and development. It is clear that meticulous plans for urban growth are subverted by the social contradictions generated in their implementation. Universal models of development can no longer afford to ignore the costs imposed on the local groups and communities in terms of displacement and deteriorating economic situation on the one hand and environmental degradation, on the other.

Note This paper is extracted from my Ph.D Thesis Industrialization and the Urban Social Structure: A Sociological Study of the Interrelationships Between Industry, Ecology and Society in Rourkela, submitted to Jawaharlal Nehru University in 1994. I thank my supervisor Professor M. N. Panini who has also taken the trouble of meticulously editing my earlier draft. I also thank the anonymous referee for her perceptive comments.

References Babu, V. 1959. Report on a Preliminary Inquiry on the Growth of Steel Town in India. Calcutta: UNESCO Research Centre. Bose, A. N. 1968. Calcutta and Rural Bengal Small Sector Symbiosis. Calcutta: Minerva. Breman, J. 1977. ‘Labour Relations in the “Formal” and “Informal” Sector: Gujarat’, The Journal of Peasant Studies, 4(3&4) April and July. Breman, J. 1979. ‘The Market for Non-agraian Labour: The Formal Versus the Informal Sector’ in S. D. Pillai and C. Baks (eds.) Winners and Losers: Styles of Development in an Indian Region, pp. 122–166. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Gillbert, A. and J. Gugler, 1987. Cities, Poverty and Development: Urbanization in the Third World. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Holmstrom, M. 1985. Industry and Inequality: The Social Anthropology of Indian Labour. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. International Labour Organization (ILO), 1972. Employment, Income and Equality: A Strategy for Increasing Productive Employment in Kenya. Geneva. Joshi, H. and V. Joshi, 1976. Surplus Labour and the City: A Study of Bombay. Delhi: Oxford University Press. Meher, R. K. 1994. Industrialization and the Urban Social Structure: A Sociological Study of Interrelationships Between Industy, Ecology and Society in Rourkela. Ph. D. Thesis. New Delhi: Centre for the Study of Social Systems, School of Social Sciences, Jawaharlal Nehru University. Misra, S. 1958. Rourkela: An Economic Survey. Bhubaneswar: Finance Department, Government of Orissa.

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Papola, T. S. I981. Urban Informal Sector in a Developing Economy. New Delhi: Vikas Publishing House. Patel, K. M. 1963. Rural Labour in Industrial Bombay. Bombay: Popular Prakashan. Rao, M. S. A. 1974. ‘The Migration to the City’. Yojana. 18(20): 7–13. ———. 1976. ‘Migration and Urban Area Development’, Social Change, 6(3&4): 3–7. Roy Burman, B. K. 1968. Social Processes in the Industrialisation of Rourkela, Vol.I, Monograph Senes, Monograph No. 1. Part XI-E, Census of India, 1961. New Delhi Government of India. Senapati, N. 1975. Orissa District Gazetteers—Sundargarh. Cuttack: Gazetteers Unit, Government of Orissa. Sengupta, N. 1983. Contract Labour in the Steel Region, Rourkela. Rourkela: Asian Workers Development Institute (Mimeo). Sharma, K. L. 1976. ‘Jharkhand Movement in Bihar’, Economic and Political Weekly, 11(2): 37–43, January 10. Sheth, N. R. 1968. Social Framework of an Indian Factory. Manchester University Press. Sovani, N. V. 1981. ‘The Role of Urbanization in Asia’, Artha Vijnana. 23(2), June. Van der Veen, K. W. 1979. ‘Urbanization, Migration and Primoridial Attachment’, in S. D. Pillai and C. Baks (eds.), Winners and Losers: Styles of Development in an Indian Region, pp. 43–80. Bombay: Popular Prakashan.

12 How Effective are ‘Pani Panchayats’?: A Fieldview from Maharashtra1 Manish K. Thakur and Binay K. Pattnaik

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f late, the voluntary sector and non-governmental organisations (NGOs) have made their presence felt in the area of Common Property Resources (CPRs). A noteworthy aspect of these new actors has been their concerted focus on the participatory forms of development (Chopra et al. 1990; Katar Singh 1991a, 1991b and 1994; Sengupta 1991; Singh and Ballabh 1996). The emergence of Pani Panchayats in Maharashtra can be seen in this context. Pani Panchayat is a specific model of integrated micro watershed development initiative pioneered by the Gram Gourav Pratisthan (hereafter GGP), a voluntary agency based in Purandar Taluka of Pune District. It refers to the organised effort of groups of farmers to formulate and implement community irrigation projects based on certain mutually agreed-upon principles for water sharing. Since Pani Panchayats deal with water, which is a CPR, they present an interesting instance of participatory development of CPRs. Though participatory, they are different from cooperatives. This difference manifests itself in their organisational structure and functioning. This paper attempts to look into the factors and processes behind the ‘success’ of Pani Panchayats while addressing the following questions: In what ways Pani Panchayats are a better organisational system than the government-managed irrigation schemes? Why Pani Panchayats emerge

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only in certain social settings and not in all places, though the problems faced on the irrigation front are more or less the same? What factors account for their emergence and sustainability? More specifically, what has been the role of social action groups and NGOs in the organisation and growth of Pani Panchayats? As far as the organisational dynamics of Pani Panchayats is concerned, our focus will mainly be on two types of conditions: (1) those facilitating the emergence of an institution, and (2) those helping sustain it (see also Wade 1987: 188). In particular, we have been guided by the framework suggested and elaborated by Palakudiyil (1996: 147–54) in the study of a cooperative lift-irrigation society in Ahmednagar District of Maharashtra. The data on which this paper is based were collected during brief spells of fieldwork of a month’s duration in 1997. These data pertain to the Purandar Taluka of Pune District which boasts of 38 Pani Panchayats. Significantly, it was in this Taluka that Pani Panchayat first made its appearance against the backdrop of severe drought of 1972–73 in Maharashtra. The late Shri Vilasrao Salunke,2 an engineer by profession and a budding industrialist, is credited with its original idea. Whereas the idea of Pani Panchayat emanated out of the larger concerns and objectives of the GGP,3 which he got registered in 1974, its sheer novelty presents us an interesting narrative of an innovative experiment in the field of community irrigation.

The Naigaon Experiment: The First Pani Panchayat The Naigaon village is in the Purandar Taluka and is 55 kilometres south of Pune city. At the time of the experiment, the population of the village was 1,600 with 300 households, and the total cultivable area of the village was 1,537 hectares. The GGP took on lease a 16-hectare plot of almost degraded temple-land on the hill slopes of Naigaon. This plot was part of a 200-acre micro-watershed where water could be impounded in a small percolation tank. The initial efforts included the construction of a tank along with soil and water conservation treatments in the catchment areas like levelling of contour bunds, contour ploughing, vegetative bunding, and the formation of water ways. The success of this experiment can be gauged from the fact that out of these 16 hectares, 9.60 were brought under protective irrigation,

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2.40 under afforestation, and the remaining four hectares under the percolation tank and other structures (Deshpande 1993: 102). Once this was demonstrated, the farmers began realising that rain-fed agriculture can be made more productive with a marginal supportive irrigation. The experiment had a catalysing impact on the farmers and, through long discussions on the benefits of water conservation, the first farmers’ cooperative lift-irrigation society (Pani Panchayat) was formed in 1979. This Pani Panchayat started functioning on the basis of the following seven guidelines: 1. GGP would help in formulating lift-irrigation schemes of cohesive groups. Individual schemes would be discouraged. The focus would primarily be on minor irrigation schemes. 2. The sharing of water would be based on the number of members in the family and not in proportion to the land owned by them. Every household would get water rights to a maximum of 2.5 acres with an allocation of 0.5 acre per capita. The land in excess shall remain under rain-fed conditions. This guideline was meant to incorporate the principle of equity in water sharing. 3. The members would have rights to irrigation. These rights would not be attached to the land. If the land was sold, water rights would revert to the Pani Panchayat. That is, water rights would not automatically get transferred to the new owner of the plot of land, though the seller of the land was a member of the Pani Panchayat. 4. Members would contribute 20 percent of the capital cost initially, the remaining 80 percent would be provided by the GGP as an interest-free loan (in the case of non-availability of government subsidy). If the government subsidy (of 50 percent) was available, then the remaining 30 percent would be met by the GGP as an interest free loan. The idea was to spread out the total cost of the scheme among the beneficiaries. Also, the beneficiaries would be fully responsible for administering and operating the scheme. 5. The landless labourers could also avail of water rights which would enable them to cultivate others’ land on an informal basis. The water right of half an acre per capita was fixed for those landless agricultural labourers who were working with the members in the scheme. These water rights would be transferred along with the labourer to the cultivator with whom the labourer chose to work. 6. Water-intensive crops like sugarcane, banana, or paddy would not be included in the cropping pattern of the beneficiaries. This measure was meant to reduce distortions in the equitable water sharing across crops and enhance the spread of limited water resources.

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7. The project would be entirely administered by beneficiaries with the help of a Pancha Committee from among themselves (Ibid.:103).

Salient Features of Pani Panchayats Once the villagers decide to form a lift-irrigation society, a Pancha Committee is formed. The Pancha Committee typically consists of a Gat Pramukh (group leader) and other members. It frames certain operational rules to ensure smooth functioning of the Panchayat. It then starts preparing documents regarding the records of rights, cropping pattern, no dues certificate from bank/village accountant and a letter of consent. It also acquires the land necessary for the pump house, pipelines etc. The appointment of a Patkari (water distributor), to look after water distribution according to the fixed time-table and the recovery of the pani patti (water charges fixed on crop/acreage basis), is the other task performed by the Committee. Besides, the Committee also ensures the recovery of the loan from the beneficiaries. In all these tasks, the representative of the GGP plays a key role. The GGP undertakes the technical survey of the area with the help of the technicians. It also helps in finalising capital requirements, mutual share and preparation of the documents, and facilitates the cooperative in obtaining various subsidies, sanctions, certificates and electricity from the state government. It has been claimed that the formation of Pani Panchayats has caused a decline in water-consuming crops and the unsustainable exploitation of water resources. Its achievements relating to the equitable sharing of irrigation water have also been appreciated. Community involvement has gained ground as reflected in the group decision-making, harmonious relationships across castes and classes, and the awareness of rights and duties among the farmers. The homogeneity of the members of the Pani Panchayats in socioeconomic terms, the low costs involved in the schemes of lift-irrigation, the principle of water rights given to the individuals on per capita basis, the commitment of the beneficiaries to the scheme, and equal distribution have been identified as the important reasons for the success of Pani Panchayats. According to Deshpande and Reddy (1990: 37), ‘the Pani Panchayat experiment has created an in-depth community awareness, strong interdependence, collective

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decision-making, resource literacy and above all an incremental income for better living conditions’. The fact that most of the Pani Panchayats are small, with less than 40 members each, makes their operation more efficient. Moreover, they were found to be capital efficient. Whereas some of them did depend on governmental subsidies, others functioned efficiently without any such subsidy. Their management has generally been effective and efficient, and care has been taken to ensure that the managerial power does not get concentrated in the hands of wealthier and socially dominant sections of the society. Although the primary objective of the Pani Panchayat is to improve agricultural production in chronically drought-prone regions, its organisational philosophy and distinctive approach connote promotion of local-level development initiatives. The economic and sustainable use of water has been a top priority of the Pani Panchayats. The self-imposed regulations on cropping pattern help reduce the overuse of water and land and the associated problems of land degradation like soil alkalinity, acidity, etc. The distribution of water rights based on the number of members in the family is an important step, howsoever small, towards correcting the distortions of landholdings. This reflects the social concern of Pani Panchayat at the local level.

Pani Panchayats: A Contemporary Profile4 So far 45 Pani Panchayats have been made operational.5 Most of them are concentrated in the Purandar Taluka (see Table 1), which has been the centre of the activities of Shri Salunke and the GGP since the drought of 1972. As the GGP is headquartered at Purandar and the survey for water conservation schemes was carried out in this Taluka alone in the early phase of its work, it is but natural to find 38 out of 45 Pani Panchayats in this Taluka. In absolute terms, the growth of these projects does not seem impressive. Over 15 years (1980–95), their number is stagnating at 45 (GGP 1997). Nonetheless, Pani Panchayats have benefited 1,550 households, covering a population of 10,000, while bringing 3,000 acres of land under their cover (see Table 2). As for loan recovery from the beneficiaries, 22 Pani Panchayats have paid back their dues to the GGP (Ibid.). Interestingly, the GGP

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Table 1 Taluka-wise Distribution of Pani Panchayats Taluka

District

No. of Pani Panchayats

Purandar

Pune

38

Ambegaon

Pune

1

Maval

Pune

1

Phaltan

Satara

2

Gihe

Satara

1

Jhanjhamni

Yeotmal

2

Source: GGP 1997. Table 2 Aggregate Details of Pani Panchayats Total Number of Pani Panchayats

45

Area under irrigation (in acres)

3,000

Number of households covered

1,550

Population covered Total HP employed for lift-irrigation Average life (in feet) Total project cost (in Rs.) Project cost per household (in Rs.) Irrigation per household (in acres) Cost per acre (in Rs.)

10,000 722 80–85 70,00,000 4516.13 1.9 2,333.33

Source: GGP 1997.

views them as successful, as the payment of loans amounts to a relationship of trust and mutual support. For the GGP, loan recovery not only indicates the smooth functioning of the Pani Panchayat but also the assured flow of benefits to its members. This does not mean that the GGP regards other aspects of Pani Panchayat functioning as inconsequential or less important. For a comparative analysis, we present below two case studies: Shindewadi Pani Panchayat, where the loan recovery has posed certain problems; and Mahur Pani Panchayat, where loan recovery has been successful.

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Shindewadi Pani Panchayat: A Case Study Shindewadi is a small hamlet of village Pangare located 18 kilometres south-east of Saswad, the taluka headquarters of Purandar. It has one primary school and is connected with the taluka headquarters through a metalled road. The Pani Panchayat in Shindewadi started functioning in 1985. In fact, it got initiated in 1981–82 itself, but due to non availability of electricity, it was lying idle for three years. This caused resentment among the villagers and they resorted to agitational programmes to get electricity connection. Some 1,200 people went to jail and they had to undertake a fast-unto-death to get electricity connection. This Pani Panchayat has two 30 HP pumps to lift water from a minor irrigation tank to the storage tank and two 12.5 HP pumps to draw water from this tank to the outlet tank. From the outlet tank, water goes to the respective fields through pipelines and channels. A primary school teacher in the village took the initiative and was instrumental in collecting Rs. 98,000 as contribution from the villagers. Rest of the money came from a government subsidy and the GGP loan. This Pani Panchayat has been named after a local deity and is called Babadeo Pani Panchayat. Relevant details of this Pani Panchayat are shown in Table 3. Shindewadi has 55 households. Ninety percent of them belong to the Maratha caste, while Chamars, a Scheduled Caste, dominate the remainder. Of the 55 households in the village, nine are those of the marginal farmers (owning below two hectares), 38 are small-farmer (owning two to four hectares) households, and the remaining eight belong to the category of big farmers (owning more than four hectares). Table 3 Details of Shindewadi Pani Panchayat Total project cost (in Rs.)

4,90,000

Subsidy (in Rs.)

2,45,000

GGP loan (in Rs.)

1,47,000

Members’ contribution (in Rs.)

98,000

Area under irrigation (in hectares)

120

Number of beneficiary households

55

Total HP employed

50

Source: GGP 1997.

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The Pani Panchayat in Shindewadi is unique in the sense that almost all the residing households are its members. Even so, it belongs to the category of less effective ones for two reasons: (1) it was facing some difficulty in recovering loans advanced by the GGP, and (2) though it has managed to resolve conflicts about the distribution of water, the other components of the Pani Panchayat package like change in the cropping pattern keeping in view the sustainability of water resources, land development, and plantation of trees on the field bunds have got little attention from the villagers. This seems to be characteristic of the Pani Panchayats in the sense that most villagers perceive it more as techno-economic assistance than a comprehensive package of social measures dealing with the twin issues of sustainability and equity. Seen thus, the actual operation of Pani Panchayats seems to undermine their basic social principles based on communitarian sharing of water in a sustainable way so as to maximise its gains in water-scarce areas. Sometimes, it appears that villagers volunteer to form a Pani Panchayat more because it promises to relieve them of the immediate sharing of the 80 percent of the project cost than out of a genuine interest in equitable sharing of water. In a way, this underlines the failure of the Pani Panchayat to communicate the novelty of its principles to the beneficiaries effectively.

Pani Panchayats in Mahur: A Case Study The Mahur village is about 28 kilometres south-west of Saswad, the taluka headquarters of Purandar. It has a population of 3,000 comprising of 300 households of various castes. Majority of the villagers belong to the dominant Maratha caste; there are 30–35 Scheduled Caste and two Muslim households in the village. The village has one primary school, one high school, and post office, and is connected with a metalled road to the district and taluka headquarters. The village has one flower-marketing and two dairy cooperatives. Besides, the village has a long history of informal cooperation, as is evident from the shramdan by the villagers for temple construction and their monetary contribution for the construction of a meeting hall on the project site of Pani Panchayat. There are three Pani Panchayats-Renukamata, Shriram, and Gurudatta-operating under the auspices of the GGP (see Table 4). However, they do not cover the entire population of the village. In fact, less than half the residing households come under the services of Pani

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Table 4 Details of Pani Panchayats in Mahur Renukamata

Shriram

Gurudatta

Total project cost (in Rs.)

2,11,000

3,11,000

1,40,000

Subsidy (in Rs.)

1,05,500

1,55,500

70,000

GGP loan (in Rs.)

63,300

93,300

42,000

Members’ contribution (in Rs.)

42,200

62,200

28,000

20

32

10

Area under irrigation (in hectares) Number of beneficiary households

52

46

25

Total HP employed

45

30

12.5

Source: GGP 1997. Table 5 Categorisation of Farmers in Mahur Category of Farmers

Percentage of Village Households

Big (>4 hectares)

42

Small (>2 and 2 and