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Journalism of Courage
This is Kusheshwar Asthan, where three rivers Kosi, Kamla Balan and Kareh meet. Every monsoon they flood the banks but this time it’s been the worst in over a decade. When I reach there this week, the downpour has stopped more than two weeks but the water’s still there, over a month. Two hundred and three have died in this Darbhanga district so far; across the state, the figure is 710. That’s just a little less than the size of Parliament.
From Darbhanga town, this tragedy tri-junction is a 35-km, 5-hour journey with eleven people and in one boat that leaks. Mohammed Islam is my captain, his deckmate is Bhaluka who scoops the water out. Kusheshwar Asthan is half a km off the road and a bizarre structure sticks out in the sea of green water—an observation tower, partially constructed.
‘‘Yeh tourist logon ke liye hai,’’ Islam explains cheerfully, for bird-watchers.
Marsh-like conditions in winter attract rare migratory birds. Islam and his partner, noting the profit in it, bought the boat and the engine with a Rs 30,000-loan last year. During floods, they make money ferrying people. In the dry spell, they lease out the boat’s diesel engine for farm work.
From Kusheshwar Asthan, I hire a second boat and reach Mokhanji Tola, a village with 126 houses, in the heart of the flooded zone.
Sriram Paswan invites us into what is left of his home crammed with 12 of the family. His aunt Kanya Devi holds my hand and starts crying. ‘‘We have lost everything, everything,’’ she says. Her sister-in-law reaches out and puts a hand on her mouth.
Today Sriram has not gone out looking for work. That would mean Rs 5 for the boat fare from the village to the road. Going to the bathroom means climbing the tree in the backyard for men, women and children.
As the light fails, Ram Kumari Devi, one of the bahus, holding her baby in her lap, prepares dinner, the second meal of the day — makai roti and green chillies. For a family of 12, this is the spread—five rotis, chillies and a pinch of salt. Sriram admits that some days they beg vendors for a few potatoes.
Within minutes, a crowd has gathered, the rotis are hidden. Word has spread that there are ‘‘outsiders’’ (my photographer Sanjay Sharma and I) and they hope it’s some ‘‘neta’’ or ‘‘officer.’’
Ram Chander Paswan, Union Minister Ram Vilas Paswan’s brother, distributed 2 kilos of chura a week ago.
‘‘Hamara nam likhiye,’’ (Write down my name), my house has been washed away,’’ says Ajay Paswan. They haven’t seen their Gram Pradhan, their MLA, their MP or even officers from the local administration. ‘‘Likhiye Jagdish Paswan, Ajay Paswan, Sunil Kumar Paswan, Rupinder Paswan, Umesh Paswan…Please tell the government this is how we live. 80 houses have fallen and we have neither food nor plastic sheets.’’
It’s now pitch dark and a light drizzle has started. A lantern, the proud symbol of Laloo Yadav’s ruling party, is lit. But this isn’t a hardship—Sriram and his family don’t know what electricity is.
The next morning, we go deeper into the floodzone to Nathni Sada’s house in Mushahar Tola. This Dalit village of 25 houses, almost 7 km from the road, has no Indira Awas Yojana pucca structures—Laloo’s great social justice promise—all houses are made of sand and are crumbling. Attracting sandflies, the carriers of kala azar.
While Nathni holds her one-year-old malnourished baby, rocking her to sleep, her other four children have gone out to fish for food. They return with a haul of prawns and snails. For breakfast which is lunch, prawn is cooked with a pinch of turmeric. Snails for dinner.
Nathni’s husband has gone to Punjab for work but she says he’s ill and so unable to send any money. ‘‘I leave the children to God,’’ she says. ‘‘I swim out of the village to go to work. I don’t have money to spend on the boat fare so I swim.’’
There are sores on her lips and face, scabs on her children from spending time in the water. Kala azar is a killer in this community. In the neighbouring village, five of a family died from kala azar last month. In Nathni’s village four have already died.
But neither relief nor health care has reached yet. An NGO distributed food that lasted four days. Asked about the airdrops, she says, ‘‘I have seen the flying machine pass by but nothing yet.’’
I leave, with an empty promise of giving their names to the netas and the officers. This is what I get in return:
• Says Darbhanga DM Pradeep Kumar: ‘‘Water comes in that area every year. People have now learnt to live with the water. Kala azar I admit is a problem. We will build and give high-rise chapa kal (handpumps) and tubewells. We will give more boats. We will bring more of the Indira Awas Yojna. The Centre has sanctioned Rs 50 lakh and has sent Rs 18 lakh. Once the floods recede we will build houses.’’
• Kusheshwar Asthan MLA Ashok Kumar is also Bihar Minister for Institutional Finance, Housing and Programme Implementation: ‘‘I spent a week in the area. The amount of relief that should have gone hasn’t gone. The road is cut off so trucks can’t reach. The whole area is like an ocean. I went there by helicopter and it didn’t feel like it was my constituency.’’
