[Reader-list] In the line of fury

[Asit Das]

In the line of fury


   - Rohini Mohan the hinduoctober 16th 2016
   <http://www.thehindu.com/profile/author/rohini-mohan/>



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   - [image: By noon, close to 10,000 people from Dalit and workers’
   organisations had gathered.]
   By noon, close to 10,000 people from Dalit and workers’ organisations
   had gathered.
   - [image: Marching to be heard. Photo: Rohini Mohan]
   Marching to be heard. Photo: Rohini Mohan
   - [image: A team of women nagaris came from Mandya to cheer the
   marchers. Photo: Rohini Mohan]
   A team of women nagaris came from Mandya to cheer the marchers. Photo:
   Rohini Mohan
   - [image: According to legend, the Udupi Krishna idol faces the back of
   the temple to look at its low caste devotee Kanakadasa, remembered today in
   a locked statue on Car Street in Udupi. Photo: Rohini Mohan]
   According to legend, the Udupi Krishna idol faces the back of the temple
   to look at its low caste devotee Kanakadasa, remembered today in a locked
   statue on Car Street in Udupi. Photo: Rohini Mohan
   - [image: Voicing out... Photo: Rohini Mohan]
   Voicing out... Photo: Rohini Mohan
   - [image: Jignesh Mewani. Photo: Rohini Mohan]
   Jignesh Mewani. Photo: Rohini Mohan




The echoes of Una were heard in Karnataka last week when thousands of Dalit
activists marched to Udupi.

After a thundering morning shower washed the streets of Karnataka’s Udupi
clean, a group of people began to trickle into the Ajjarkad ground.
Placards and banners were extracted from plastic bags, umbrellas jerked
dry, a drenched small stage with the banner ‘Chalo Udupi’ was wiped clean.
By noon, close to 10,000 people from over 170 Dalit and workers’
organisations from across the State had gathered, lining up slowly till
Court Road was a swathe of blues — the royal blue of B.R. Ambedkar’s suit,
the cobalt blue of his often stout statues (small in size but iconic as
symbol), and, as Gowri, one of the organisers said, the free blue that
“liberates us from political party affiliations”.

An elderly bystander, Laxminarayana G.K., having had his brunch of idlis
and coffee at Diana restaurant, tapped the shoulder of a young man in a
blue kurta. Jabbing his index finger towards the crowd, Laxminarayana
raised his eyebrows in a curious ‘what is this?’.

On July 11, 2016, since self-appointed *gau rakshaks* (cow vigilantes)
publicly flogged seven Dalit men for skinning a dead cow in Una, Gujarat,
several Dalits and Muslims have been beaten and humiliated on suspicion of
storing beef, being seen tending to or transporting cattle. It has
triggered protests across India like never before. In August, a young
lawyer, Jignesh Mewani, led thousands of Dalits in a massive ‘Chalo Una’
march from Ahmedabad to Una village. Unprecedented numbers of people took
oaths not to clean sewage drains and toilets, not to dispose of carcasses,
and to protest till they were treated with dignity.

The growing movement even led Prime Minister Narendra Modi to condemn the
vigilantism. “It makes me angry that people are running shops in the name
of cow protection,” Modi said. “Some people indulge in anti-social
activities at night, and in the day masquerade as cow protectors.”

But as protesters from Una were returning home on Independence Day,
vigilantes beat them up, humiliated them, and forced many to abuse
Ambedkar. A few days later, on August 19, in a small village in Udupi,
29-year-old Praveen Poojary, a BJP worker, was bludgeoned to death by
activists from the Hindu Jagrana Vedike, for transporting three calves in
his tempo. The 18 attackers had bought chicken from Poojary’s shop and
shared meals in his home. Before they thrashed him with sharp iron rods and
grills, Poojary had screamed that he was only using his tempo to transport
calves for a friend. The attackers did not listen.

It was an echo of Una that was heard in Udupi on October 9. Dalit activists
started marching from Bengaluru through Hasan to Belur and finally, to
Udupi, gathering strength on the way through street plays, folk music and
the stunning rhythm of local drums like nagari and thamake. Ending the
march in Udupi was significant. The Krishna temple and its eight
Brahmin-led mutts (ashrams) form the core of the temple town, home to
century-old practices of segregation and untouchability. The district,
along with Mangalore, has also seen mercenary right-wing vigilante groups
attack inter-religious couples and Dalits, churches and mosques.

As the rally snaked through K.M. Road and upper-caste neighbourhoods,
Raghavendra, 29, an accountant who works in a refinery, joined in. “The old
caste system humiliated our community, reduced us to insects. That
Brahminism is here,” he said. “And the new violence in the name of
aggressive Hindu nationalism and corporate land acquisition, which
threatens our very existence, that is also here.”

A week earlier, a known upper-caste rabble rouser had posted on Facebook
that if Dalits were going to march through Udupi, others would have to
‘clean Udupi’. “We knew it was a caste slur, that we would pollute the
town,” said Venkatesh, a poet and farmer from Karkala. “But we decided to
take it literally.” As a group of boys distributed water, another group
followed with cartons, picking up the discarded plastic.

Gowri, one of the organisers, said the movement was led by educated and
aware Dalit youth. “In the earlier phase of Dalit assertion, a few voices
emerged against feudalism and Brahminism,” she said. But the leaders broke
away, people supported different political parties. In the last decade,
with the deepening of right-wing politics, Dalits have become more
vulnerable. “This is a new reaction. It has a new clarity, no political
affiliation, and it is gender conscious.”

As I ran up to a balcony to photograph the march, a young man looked up.
His placard said, “It’s high time the oppressed ruled the world.” Behind
him, a group of 20-year-old women formed a circle. It was a scorching 1.30
pm, and rally-goers were fading. The women wore blue *kurtas*, white
*duppattas* crossed from the shoulder to a knot at the hip, a heavy nagari
drum hanging at their legs. One of them spun her stick in the air and
brought it down with great flourish in a loud thud.

Ten women nagaris from Mandya followed in an energetic, thrilling crescendo
that in a few minutes had invigorated protesters. Jai Bhim slogans were
raised, more songs sung. “We are the heartbeat,” said Kamala, 26, a school
teacher and lead drummer. “When our people get tired by the long fight, our
job is to lift their spirits.” She laughed and added, “To be able to
perform well, I ate five big idlis today!”

As the protesters walked into the Beedingudde ground, they spontaneously
stuck their blue flags and placards into the rain-soaked ground. Around it,
the Revolutionary Cultural Forum from Raichur danced to a folk song about
the struggle of a village against a land-grabbing owner. “We are telling
the downtrodden to laugh at the source of fear so that we can break its
hold on us,” the Forum’s state convenor Gangadhara said.

As tired protesters found chairs under the shamianas to sit, some of them
spotted Jignesh Mewani in the front row. For at least an hour, a smiling
Mewani had to oblige a string of selfies. Bhaskar Prasad, who
conceptualised the ‘Chalo Udupi’ march, said it had been inspired by
Mewani’s in Una. The motto ‘Food is our choice, land is our right’ was “Not
just because we want to be able to eat beef. It is to show how hegemonic
groups use their culture to attack those of others.”

Mewani’s Hindi speech detailed how Dalits and OBCs were the largest group
to be jailed for the 2002 riots. “The Gujarat model is moving to Karnataka,
too, and I hope our Dalit youth will not let themselves be used by the
right-wing groups,” he said. It was clear the movement had not limited
itself to justice for anti-Dalit atrocities, but was consciously evoking
complex ideas of dignity, systemic discrimination and denial of land
rights. Mewani promised to return to Udupi for a three-point agenda: to ban
all *gau rakshak *groups, to urge the Karnataka government to reveal the
percentage of revenue land they have given to Dalits and tribes according
to the state land grant rules of 1969, and to enter the mutts in Udupi that
segregate Dalits.

Five minutes from the congregation, the Pejewara Mutt’s 86-year-old seer,
Vishweshwa Theertha, who was part of the Ram Janmabhoomi movement, wanted
to know if the Dalit meeting had criticised him. “They always do that,” he
said, insisting that neither he nor his temple segregated against Dalits
during temple meals. “Some Brahmins may want to sit by themselves, but we
don’t ask them to.” He “condemned violence against humans in response to
violence against cows,” but called cow protection “important”.

That discomfiting grasping for an illusory balance was rife on the
sidelines of the march too. “We are all human,” said Diwakar Prabhu, a
restaurant owner, to Manjunath, a rally participant in a striped T-shirt.
“There should be no caste, correct. But a cow is…”

Manjunath handed him a brochure and walked away. “It’s not our job any more
to explain to the privileged about how any of this is wrong,” he told me.
“Our focus now is to mobilise ourselves. Those confused must reflect on
what they are allowing in the name of their religion.”

*Rohini Mohan is a **Bengaluru-based writer.*