One reason Naidu may lose: dead farmer Nagi Reddy

At home, when it came to the crunch, he told his wife to cut down on meals rather than stop his three children from going to school. He lifted earth from 6 am to 10 pm to make sure his son got a chance to join the Army and his daughter could become a teacher.

On February 19, Rs 2.2 lakh in debt, Nagi Reddy killed himself by drinking pesticide.

The entire village and people from neighbouring villages came to mourn. Before the villages surrounding his became known as the ‘‘suicide vilages,’’ he was the first farmer in Kurugunta to take his life. Here’s why:

Five years ago, he took a loan from the bank and planted his four acres with groundnut. No rains, and the crop failed.

Next year, a loan from the village moneylender Rajshekhar Reddy. No rains, crop failed. Another year of loans, no rains.

Next year (2002), same story.

No canals, even the water in the wells had dried. No loan-waivers, no special drives to reach out to the farmer.

In India’s new millennium, the Naidu vision has not touched Kurugunta; he let the village continue with its age-old gamble with nature. And the farmers have lost.

None of his showpiece schemes, Janmabhoomi (development with community participation), Food for Work scheme (for drought-hit agricultural labour), Women’s self-help groups (micro-credit for women), are visible here. Nothing to lift these people from their fifth season of despair.

Scroll down Naidu’s Vision 2020, showpieced on his website, and it treats agricuture as low priority. The drip irrigation system on his laptop needs years to show any results. The only way Naidu has reached these farmers is through the mandal’s office.

The government clerks have efficiently fed the statistic of Reddy’s suicide into their data bank. They update forms on every household every month. ‘‘There was no money in the house for our children’s school fees,’’ says his composed and dignified widow, Laxmi Devi, 45. ‘‘He would not compromise on their studies; he told me to cook only one meal a day (chilli chutney and rice) but make sure the children go and study.’’

In this chilli-growing region, the food is hot. Chillis fill an empty stomach fast.

Their son, Jagamohan, 20, is a serious young man blessed with a great build. In 2003, apart from the failed crop, the father also took loans to send him to the Army Selection Board and trials in Bangalore, Guntur, Ooty and Hyderabad. Each trip cost at least Rs 1,000. No luck.

And then, Jagamohan’s appendix burst. The poison in his body and a botched operation put the family another Rs 20,000 in debt.

After the polls, there’s no money for him to go for a police physical test to Hyderabad.

The father’s second dream was to see his daughter G Dhanalaxmi (19) do a Master’s in Telugu Literature and become a teacher. ‘‘There is no money to pay my college fees of Rs 2,000,’’ she says. It’s a combined college fees that she has to pay next year.

She is still in her teens and very, very bitter. ‘‘The government has done nothing. I want to ask Naidu, people are dying, what are you doing?’’

The moneylenders had been bothering Reddy for a week. He had sold his cattle and tried to sell his land—thrice. Who will buy into the land of dry? He had started doing coolie work at Anantapur. ‘‘He was in a bad mood. He kept on saying, how do I live, I have so many loans?’’ recalls his brother Sanjiv Reddy, 46.

He died in town on Shivratri. His brother’s suicide has entered the village’s psyche. After the strongest among them caved in, they talk of suicide as if it’s like getting up and walking out of the room. And the cause could be a fight with a wife, or an ache in the stomach that does not go away. Everybody is sapped.

The only emotion they readily feel is rage.

Near the dry well, a crowd gathers. ‘‘Vote for Naidu? If we do, one by one, he will make this entire village drink pesticide.’’