I am Arjun Paswan, from Jamuana village in Jehanabad district of Bihar. We did not own any land. Being Dalit, we survived on the mercy of landlords. We received millet to eat in exchange for working on their land. If we encountered landlords on the road, we would hold our shoes in our hands. Not only this, they kept an eye on our women. We even had separate wells.
When famine struck the village, troubled by hunger, I came to Patna. When I opposed the smuggling of kerosene oil here, I was shot five times. I was in a coma for two months. My body could not move, but my mind was alert. I could hear everything—my wife’s sobs, the whispers of doctors and police officers—but could do nothing. Hearing the same kind of things repeatedly made me feel irritable inside.
Actually, my story begins in the village, where I endured poverty, starvation, famine, the feudal system, and the caste system. We were a family of seven. I was the eldest among three brothers and two sisters. Therefore, I had the responsibility of running the entire family. I was married at the age of 13.
Poverty was so severe that getting enough to eat was all that mattered. For that, I would go with my mother to dig soil from the canal so that water could easily reach the fields of landlords and upper castes. In return, we would get millet to eat. We had to grind the millet after bringing it home. For vegetables, we grew eggplants at home.
Not just food, life itself was not easy there. If we encountered landlords while walking on the road, we would take off our shoes and hold them in our hands because wearing shoes was against their honour. Moreover, we had separate wells in the village. Bhumihar, Musahar, Kurmi, Rajput, and Dalits—all had separate wells.
Additionally, if powerful landlords liked any woman from our house, they would abduct her. They would rape her. Even if we wanted to protest, we could not. Nobody would listen to us. In the name of justice, we would be given only a handful of grains.
Life went on like this. Then in Bihar, there was continuous famine for three years in 1966, 1967, and 1968. The famine was so severe that people were on the verge of dying from hunger. Poor people and animals in our village began to die. To get news about the famine, we would go and listen to the radio at nearby wealthy landlords’ houses. Their rule was that they would sit on chairs in their courtyard while we sat on the ground.
One day, the government announced on the radio that people from famine-affected villages should go to Punpun railway station from Jehanabad and bring fodder for their animals from there. Then four more bogies were added to the train for the 50-kilometre journey from Jehanabad to Punpun station. In the morning we would go to Punpun railway station and return by evening with grass for the animals. The entire day would be spent doing this.
By then, there was nothing left to eat at home. During that time, for almost a year, our family survived by chewing sugarcane—the same sugarcane that had been brought as animal fodder during the famine. For breakfast, we would soak corn at night and eat it boiled in the morning.
During the famine, a landlord falsely accused my father of theft. He was sent to jail. Then we faced new trouble. In a way, our problems were only increasing. At that time, my mother-in-law lived in Patna. She asked me to come to Patna with the family. After father went to jail, it was difficult to run the house. I felt it was better to go to Patna than to die of hunger there. We sold two cows and, with the money from that, I came to Patna with the family.
After arriving in Patna, I started living with my mother-in-law in the Pirbamaria area. This is a Dalit settlement. Here, my mother-in-law got me work on the water ships running in the Ganges. These ships used to come from Kolkata to Patna. They carried oil, Dalda canisters, and sacks of sugar. Spices and makhana from Bihar’s Marufganj Mandi would go to Kolkata on these ships. I started working loading and unloading goods on them.
Now, upon coming to Patna, there was just this much comfort: we did not have to sleep hungry. After a year, my father was released from jail and returned home. When he started managing the house by doing labour work, I felt that I should study; otherwise, I would have to load and unload goods all my life.
I took admission in a school and started studying. I would stay in school from 10 AM to 4 PM, and after that would go to work on the water ship. There, I would work until 10 PM. This way, in 1971, I completed my education up to the 10th standard. After that, I did my intermediate from Bihar National College.
During this time, I came under the influence of the leftist movement. Actually, when I was in my village, people in nearby Sikri village were also connected to leftism, whom I had seen in childhood. Here in Patna, the entire area where I lived was under leftist influence. Leftist leader Ram Avatar Shastri had been elected MP three times from here. He kept raising his voice against poverty, starvation, the feudal system, and the caste system, so I also joined them.
After joining the movement, I started speaking out against the black marketing of kerosene in my area. The powerful people would loot the kerosene arriving at the depot and sell it at high prices. No one dared protest. My family members tried to stop me from opposing it, but I persisted. During this time, I began receiving threats.
One day, when I left home in the morning for some work and had only gone a short distance, two people who were lying in wait began firing bullets at me rapidly. They fired five bullets. Three went through my body—one hit my forehead, one my leg, and one my chest.
That day, covered in blood, I ran towards the police station and collapsed there. The police took me to Nalanda Medical College in their Gypsy. By then, I had lost a lot of blood. The doctors said to wait for 24 hours—if I survived, fine; otherwise, survival would be difficult.
During this time, I was given four bottles of blood. Although I survived, I fell into a coma. I lay in bed in a coma for two months. There was no life in my body, but my mind was completely alert. People would come, talk, and leave. I could hear everything but could do nothing.
Whenever doctors came to see me, they would say, ‘There is not much hope of survival now.’ During this time, I was given police protection to prevent another attack. Two policemen were always nearby. When they spoke among themselves, I heard everything. They would say, ‘Look at what a good man he is, he fought for the poor, but look what has been done to him.’ For two months, I kept hearing all this, but could not speak.
During this time, my wife would say to the police, ‘What was the need to do all this? Why did you clash with the goons?’ I tried to signal to her mentally that what’s done is done; if I hadn’t opposed black marketing, who would have? After all, I’m not like a dog or cat. But in that condition, I couldn’t even make signals! When relatives came to visit, they said the same things. Hearing all this made me irritable inside. I would think to myself, if only I could speak.
After being bedridden for two months, I gradually started getting better. Suddenly, my hands and feet began moving. Slowly, I began to walk again. It felt as if I had been given a new life. When I recovered, my faith in God increased. I thought that nothing bad could happen unless He willed it. I was 46 years old at that time. Newspapers had published this news.
Later, I found out that the people who attacked me had been killed in an encounter in another case. At that time, I thought that they were killed, yet I had survived their attacks. There must be some power that does not want me to die before my time.
Arjun Paswan4
Courtesy : Bhaskar English
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