Chapter 407 Rural Areas
It was already the beginning of 1998, and the national election was drawing closer, and the whole of India seemed to be in a state of restlessness.
As the "kingmaker", Uttar Pradesh is naturally a place that all major political parties are vying for.
Politicians frequently appeared in front of the media, and the Progressive Party was not willing to be left out and began to penetrate into the heartland of Uttar Pradesh.
With Devaram as the leader, the Progressive Party can easily penetrate into the local grassroots.
It is said that Indian farmers have a hard life, and they themselves know that farming is not enough to make a living.
Even if they don't commit suicide because of their heavy debts, they don't see any prospects.
The reason they continue to farm is not because of traditional customs, but because if they look for other ways out, their situation may be even worse.
For them, the so-called alternative livelihood means nothing more than joining the growing ranks of migrant workers, traveling back and forth between urban and rural areas, doing monotonous temporary jobs and receiving meager wages.
Devaraam was going to take Muna to a village called Kazi, where the villagers had participated in the last Red Sorghum demonstration.
The two drove west from Lucknow along a highway lined with restaurants and shops.
Finally, when the city finally disappeared from sight, they saw another, even more blurred scene.
Pharmaceutical factories are scattered across the vast expanses of land, separated from the outside world by square walls.
These pharmaceutical factories are little more than isolated areas with brick walls, iron gates and security guards.
There are also several large construction sites where workers are mixing cement, painting walls, and busy building apartment buildings that have already taken shape.
Munnar's battered Maruti compact car jolted violently as it climbed the hill, as the road was littered with garbage and waste.
He was equipped with an Ambassador car a few years ago but was reluctant to drive it, especially to rural areas like Kazi.
After going downhill, the car entered a valley. There were clusters of houses on the side of the road. Behind the houses was a continuous flat land that extended all the way to a small hill.
The farmer Devaram was looking for was not at home, but Devaram knew where to find him and took Munna to a rugged, rocky area behind the house.
He stopped by a stream. The stream was shallow and narrow, almost a ribbon, and it was shining green.
That's not the original green of nature, but that bright green, which is a bit creepy.
He said this was once a canal that carried clean water, that crops once grew on this land, and that this rocky land was once farmland.
There was a man herding sheep nearby, and when he heard Devaram's voice, he came over.
The man said that he used to grow rice here, but later the land became barren, so he had to make a living by herding sheep.
The two followed the stream and climbed the hill they had seen on the road earlier.
When he reached the top of the mountain, Muna smelled a foul stench that made his eyes and nose hurt.
Below them lay a lake of bubbling brown water, and although they were not close to it, the stench was so strong that it felt like standing over a vat of sulfuric acid.
Devaram pointed out the factories on the other side of the lake to Munna, and it was these factories that discharged wastewater that polluted the entire area.
Although Uttar Pradesh is poor, it still has some industrial foundation.
There are five traditional heavy industrial cities alone, and there are a large number of pharmaceutical companies near Lucknow.
India's patent law encourages the production of generic drugs, especially in the past two years when the drug smuggling trade has been booming and many pharmaceutical factories have been put into operation.
But behind the dazzling trade volume of generic drugs is the beginning of suffering in rural areas.
The two came down from the mountain, and Munna and Devaram stood on the roadside chatting with the villagers.
Some of them came on foot, some on motorcycles. People loved Devaram because he had been with them from the beginning, fighting the factories that were harming them.
The villagers took the polluting factory to court but lost the case.
They also staged protests but were severely beaten by thugs hired by the factory.
They also seized control of a truck that was dumping garbage in the area, but police arrested them but released the driver.
They even requested the government to stop the pollution, but the State Pollution Control Board said the area was not polluted.
The villagers, regardless of religion, caste, wealth, or status, came together to form a united front, but their chief was bribed by the corporations and then murdered by another competitor.
Fifteen years ago, people here could grow rice, but now they can't grow anything.
Some people started raising livestock, while others started selling part of their land.
Others went to the other side of the mountain to open up wasteland and grow red sorghum, a drought-resistant crop that does not require polluted lake water for irrigation.
However, the cultivation of red sorghum was not going smoothly. The last incident with the seed merchant almost caused the villagers to lose their families.
Some people really see no hope and want to escape from here, but they can't make up their minds.
Because their family has lived in this land called Kazi for 500 years, and even the polluted lake has a history of 400 years.
The lake once covered an area of 40 acres, and there are remains of hunting lodges on the lakeside where maharajas used to come and hunt deer.
As they were talking, there were bursts of bombing sounds, shaking the ground beneath their feet.
The sound came from a quarry that was built privately without government approval five or six years ago. Yellow trucks loaded with stones passed by them from time to time, and there was always a dusty little boy sitting next to the driver.
After a stroll around the village, Devaram took Munna to his home.
There were so many people there and it was so noisy that Muna couldn't remember many of their names.
They were all former members of the Communist Party, including shop owners, lawyers, waiters and housewives, and they all seemed to have added a halo to themselves because of their respective political activities.
Munna also met Devaram's wife Godavari, a beautiful woman with a slightly dark complexion and a slight limp. She worked as a teacher in the school and also as her husband's assistant.
While drinking tea, Devaram told Munna about the previous life-cutting party, and others added to their comments.
In the early years, their party was called the New Democratic Party, a true leftist, and one of the many Naxal factions engaged in underground work.
Those were dark days, and almost all the major political parties in India were calling for the destruction of the genocide party.
Politicians in the cities were particularly hostile to the Cutthroat Party, and they assigned police to assassinate a large number of Cutthroat Party members.
In order to save their lives, many people either left their hometowns or quit political parties and lived in anonymity.
It was not until the 1990s that the government allowed them to operate openly.
But after such a long period of persecution, there is no longer any party that sacrifices its own lives, and most people have returned to being ordinary people.
Devaram is now in charge of the Agricultural Workers' Union in the Heldoi region only as a leftist.
"It's a shame that after two decades of suppression, even the original armed forces have been disbanded."
"You have your own weapons?" Muna asked in surprise.
"It was not uncommon in those days. If you didn't have a gun, you were dead. We had to protect ourselves, otherwise we would be killed by the so-called upper-class mob."
"The upper mob? Not the police?"
“Hey, at that time we were preparing to carry out land redistribution in the countryside, and the upper-class farmers hated us more than the police,” laughed Devaram.
Muna was dumbfounded. Even he had never thought of such a radical policy.
Talking about land redistribution in India is like rushing to see Lord Shiva.
He even wondered how Devaram survived.
"Are those upper-class peasants the landlords here?" he asked.
"They were farmers at first, but they were better at exploiting others. Gradually, they became the upper class in the countryside. I'll take you to meet them someday."
"So what do you do now? That agricultural workers union."
"Help them solve their problems." Devaram tilted his head towards the others in the room.
People began to speak up, saying they would organize women to make hand-rolled cigarettes and try to protect farmers who were in trouble because of loans from private money lenders.
“Most of the money lenders are involved in the gold and jewellery business,” said Devaram. “If you borrow 1,000 rupees, you have to pay back 2,000 after 12 months. We try to negotiate the interest rate with them, but it’s not always successful.”
Muna wrote down these issues one by one, which would be a shortcut for the Progressive Party to reach the grassroots.
Surprisingly, for a Dalit farmer, Devaram appears confident and polite.
He told Muna that if he wanted to truly understand how the farmers here lived, he should visit the district office.
He said that as soon as the government stopped the public bank's loan program, some people came out to lend money.
The disbanding of state agriculture offices has led to a glut of seed dealers who act as middlemen.
The state-owned seed development companies that used to buy seeds from farmers at reasonable prices are now in name only, with their original warehouses abandoned and their offices empty.
“Loans and seed companies are key,” Muna concludes.
"Yes, if these two problems are solved, the survival of farmers will be guaranteed."
"It's not that difficult." Muna nodded.
"What?" Devaram was stunned.
"It would be best if we could organize a rally to listen to their voices and then announce the Progressive Party's next policy."
"You already have an idea?"
"As for loan issues, we can only go to the Ministry of Finance for coordination. I happen to have some connections there. The seed company can be restored to state ownership, or we can find a reliable private enterprise. That's also not difficult."
"Oh!" Devaram only then realized that the person standing in front of him was not an ordinary person, but the Minister of Industries of Uttar Pradesh.
The other person's age and simple appearance confused him. He looked like an ordinary rural youth.
In fact, in Muna's view, the agricultural problems in Kazi Village are nothing at all.
They had not seen what the eastern countryside was like in the past; they did not have to look far to see the village of Kana, which was a living example.
One in three people there do not survive to adulthood, and every child who grows up is a lucky one.
But that was in the past. The East is now undergoing fundamental changes.
(End of this chapter)
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