some difference to the conditions of bonded labour.

The substance of the change has been to reduce the element of paternalism that went hand-in-hand with feudal bondage. Now the bondage remains, but paternalism has been replaced by naked cash interest. Access to productive resources, particularly land, is an obvious requirement for ending bonded labour. But that, though necessary, is not sufficient. The farcical results of the various rehabilitation schemes show that it is not enough to distribute cash, bullocks, and so on. It is also necessary to break the coercive

power of the landlords. So long as that coercive power remains intact, the landlords w i l l be able to subvert any reform, even if well-intentioned. The extra-economic coercion the landlords can bring to bear is itself a combination Of factorsthe private guns at their command, the support of the state machinery and the sanctions of the caste system. A n y movement to end bonded labour must then address itself to the questions of the democratisation of political power, access of the labourers to land and other productive resources, and the ending of the caste system.

Dalits Take Over

Parita Mukta
Every year in December thousands of dalits congregate in Bombay to celebrate Ambedkar jayanthi. Their struggle, which must take place every year, to travel free on the trains to Bombay brings into sharp relief their fight for just shares.
T H E dalits took over the entire Bombay Express train on December 4, determined in their attempt to arrive in Dadar in time for the Ambedkar jayanti celebrations on December 6. Every year, thousands of dalits congregate in Bombay to rally round the symbol of Babasaheb Ambedkar and all that it means: a challenge to upper caste hegemony and the creation of an alternative identity which stands in opposition to this. At the present time, with right wing forces demanding deletions from Ambedkar's writings on the nature of Hinduism, the rally took on an added dimension. What I had not realised till I witnessed it, is the struggle which must take place every year, by the dalits on their way to the rally, who consider it their right to travel, freely, to pay their respect to Babasaheb. I was travelling by this train from Howrah to Bombay, and saw this takeover, the whole incident throwing into sharp relief the nature of a struggle for just shares. The train, for a day and a half, became a microcosm of the underlying tensions of the entire society, the battle crystallising very basic questions of what the fight is about. Long before the train reached Nagpur (a strong dalit base), a couple of policemen had come into the second class reserved compartment, and had driven out those who did not have reserved seats. No-one had protested at this police action. It is an action taken everyday by the police, in the interests of the monied passengers who want to travel in some comfort. The two exit doors were then locked from the inside, and the metal window shutters were drawn. The siege was Economic and Political Weekly set, and it was not till much later that 1 realised that the shouts of fury outside was not the ordinary everyday anger of those trying to gain entry into a crowded train. The passengers were colluding with the railway authorities and the police to stop the dalits from exercising their customary right, and making their way in large numbers to Bombay. In the enclosed compartment, the talk all around was of the 'SCs' fouling the street of Bombay, and creating more and more slums. The Shiv Sena ideology is now no longer a fringe one. A Maharashtrian businessman w i t h a brief case was most vociferous in this. A younger Marwari businessman concurred. A l l this time, at each stop, the stone throwing continued. We were nearing Bhusawal, where the train is electrified. Those travelling on the top of the train, outside, would no longer be able to do so. Window shutters began to crash down. As more and more of them fell, fear gripped the compartment. The TT took o f f his identifying jacket and put on a grey cardigan. A young married man told his wife to climb into the corner of the top berthand followed her there. There was tangible fear that the 'SCs' would break i n t o the c o m p a r t m e n t and wreak vengeance. They did break in. Not a 'mob' but four middle-aged women and two old men, their belongings tied up in cloth bundle. They squatted on the floor. The fear and amazement which greeted their appearance lasted a split second. Then the fingers which were tensely gripping briefcases ans suitcases relaxed. Breaths were exhaled. The 'reserved' passengers realised

that these were people they had daily contact with, and daily brow beat. They were a known and recognisable entity. More people came i n , all of them f r o m the same social background. They looked what they weresmall landholders, agricultural labourers. A l l of them sat on the floor. Not one tried to dispossess the 'reserved' passengers of their seats. None asked how come the 'reserved' passengers had enough money to afford reservations, while every year, hundreds of people travelling on the top of trains, get killed. At midnight, a young man, a dalit, entered the compartment and demanded that the berths be shared among a l l He said that they had, throughout the year, accepted their lack of access to these amenities. " Aaj nahin manenge". He added that the first class compartments had similarly been enteredand that unless people shared their berths, there would be trouble. In the exchange of words, and it being late, after a long tense day, it became obvious that it was time to accommodateand sleep. People settled down for the night. It was the next morning that the real battle became manifest. The battle not over seats, but over the right to exist and live in this society visibly, with claim to it. This was brought out most clearly in the exchanges that took place between the Maharashtrian businessman and an older dalit woman, who spoke straight and with force. D i d she think the train belonged to tnem? Did she think Bombay belonged to them? Yes, she affirmed, Babasaheb had taught them that the world was theirs. And twice a year, every year, they travelled, free , on the train, once to Bombay for the jayanti, and once to Nagpur to commemorate Ambedkar's conversion to Buddhism. They had a right to do this. Has your Babasaheb taught you to throw stones, she was asked. She shook her head. No, she said, we did not want to. But we did want to get to Bombay the day before the jayanti. A n d the doors on the train were l o c k e d . . . I have to return to Nagpur soon, he fumed. I ' l l make sure all your programmes are over w i t h before I embark on the return journey. She showed her unconcern on her face. The train was approaching Dadar station. The compartment emptied, leaving only a few passengers to make the journey to VT, leaving the Ambedkar memorial behind them. Different spheres of life, and different priorities. Such are the daily divisions, hardly noticed, ever perpetuated. One day, we w i l l all have to give up our scats, give up the fear of letting go of privileges, the fear of retaliation from those daily brutalised. The brutalised, though, have their own symbols, values and traditions which enable them their dignity, Babasaheb Ambedkar not the least of these. To imperil this is to imperil human dignity itself. 2199

December 19, 1987