The post office (Continued)

[This is the Act Two of Rabindranath Tagore’s immortal play Daakghar. The first was posted on 15 October 2010.]




2

Yogurt vendor: Doi! Doi! Tasty doi!

Amal: Doiwallah! Doiwallah! Oh Doiwallah!

Yogurt vendor: Are you calling me? Do want to buy some curds?

Amal: How can I? I have no money.

Yogurt vendor: What a strange child you are! If you don’t want to buy any yogurt, why stop me? Time is running out!

Amal: If I could go away with you, I would.

Yogurt vendor: With me?

Amal: Yes. You go to so many places, with your street cries – it gives me a strange feeling. 

Yogurt vendor: [Putting down the pots of yogurt] What are you doing here, my child?

Amal: The doctor has told me not to leave the house. So I sit here through the day.

Yogurt vendor: Oh dear! What’s wrong with you?

Amal: I don’t know. I haven’t read anything, so I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. Doiwallah, where are you coming from?

Yogurt vendor: I come from our village.

Amal: Your village? Is it f-a-r away?

Yogurt vendor: It’s is at the foot of the distant Panchmura hills, by the side of the river Shyamali.

Amal: Panchmura hills, Shyamali river – who knows? – perhaps I have seen your village. But I don’t remember when.

Yogurt vendor: You have seen the place? Have you been to our village at the foothills?

Amal: No, I have never been there. But somehow, I feel I have seen the place. Your village is beside a red, gravelled road, beneath shadows of tall, ancient trees. Isn’t it?

Yogurt vendor: Yes, you are absolutely right.

Amal: Where cattle graze on the hillside … 

Yogurt vendor: What a surprise! Cattle graze in our village, of course they do!

Amal:  Girls collect water from the river and carry the pots on their heads – they are in red saris.

Yogurt vendor: Once again, you are right! Wonderful! Girls from our milkmen’s hamlet do collect water from the river. Maybe, every one of them doesn’t wear red – but my child, you must have been to our village sometime?

Amal: Believe me, Doiwallah! I’ve never been there. Can I go with you when the doctor allows me?

Yogurt vendor: Of course, you can, my child! I’ll certainly take you over there.

Amal: Please teach me how to sell curds; just as you … carrying pots strung to a pole that rests on your shoulder … travelling to faraway places, just as you do.

Yogurt vendor: Oh no! Why should you sell curds, my child? You’ll read big books and become a pundit.

Amal: No, no, I don’t want to become a pundit. I’ll start from your milkmen’s village beside the gravelled red road under the old banyan tree … I’ll go around selling yogurt to villages far away. The way you call out – “Doi, doi, mishti doi!” Please teach me the tune, Doiwallah.

Yogurt vendor: Oh dear! Is it a tune to be taught?

Amal: But I love it. My mind flies away when I hear a bird’s trill from the other end of the sky. The same way, when I heard you calling from the crossroads through rows of trees, I felt … I don’t know what I felt.

Yogurt vendor: Please take this pot, my child!

Amal: But I don’t have any money.

Yogurt vendor: No, no, no. Please don’t talk about money. How happy I would be, if you ate a little of my yogurt.

Amal: But I am holding you back.

Yogurt vendor: No baba, not at all! You have not delayed me, I haven’t lost anything. I’ve learnt from you what a wonderful thing selling curds can be.   [The vendor leaves]

Amal:  [Imitating the Yogurt vendor’s tune] Doi! Doi! Mishti doi! Yogurt from homes of milkmen who live beside the Shyamali river … at the foothills of Panchmura. The men milk their cows on the slopes of the hill early in the morning; the women set curds in the evenings. It’s that curd. Doi! Doi! Tasty doi! Over there, the guard is going round. Guard! Guard! Will you please come and talk to me?

The Guard enters

Guard: Why are you calling me? Aren’t you scared of me?

Amal: Why? Why should I be?

Guard: What if I took you away?

Amal: Where would you take me? Far away? Even beyond those hills?

Guard: If I took you all the way to the king?

Amal:  To the king? Please do take me. But the doctor has told me not to leave the house. No one can take me anywhere – I’ll have to be here alone, through days and nights.         

Guard: The doctor has forbidden you? I’m sorry. Well, I understand. Your look so pale! There are dark patches under your eyes. I can see the veins in your arms.

Amal: Won’t you ring the bell, Guard?

Guard: It isn’t time yet.

Amal:  One says the time is running out, and the other says, it isn’t time yet. But wouldn’t it be time if you rang the bell?

Guard: How could it be? I can ring the bell only when it is time to ring the bell.

Amal: I love the sound of your gong, I really love it. In the afternoon, when everyone has finished their meals, when uncle has gone away on work, aunt has drifted off to sleep while reading the Ramayana, our tiny puppy is sleeping in the shadows in that corner of the courtyard, burying his head in his tail, your bell rings – ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Why does it ring?

Guard: The gong says: time doesn’t wait … it is flowing away … flowing away.

Amal: Where does time flow away to? To which place?

Guard: No one knows.

Amal:  Has nobody gone there? I would love to go away with time, to the land that no one knows of, that faraway place.

Guard: Everyone will have to go there, son.

Amal:  Me too?

Guard: Yes, of course!

Amal:  But the doctor has asked me not to go anywhere.

Guard: Someday, perhaps the doctor himself will take you there.

Amal:  No, no. You don’t know him, he only keeps people indoors.

Guard: But there is a better doctor, who makes people free.

Amal:  When will the better doctor come and see me? I can’t stay here any longer. 

Guard: You shouldn’t say such things, son.

Amal:  No, I am not running away, I have been asked to stay here and I won’t go away, but I hear your bell: ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong – and it gives me a strange feeling. Guard!

Guard: Yes, son?

Amal:  On the other side of the road, a flag is flying over a large building. So many people are going in and coming out of the building – what’s happening there?

Guard: A new post office is being set up there.

Amal:  A post office? Who is setting up the post office?

Guard: Who can set up a post office? Only the king. This boy is very interesting!

Amal:  Does the king send letters to his post office?

Guard: Of course, he does! Wait and see, someday, you too will get a letter from him.

Amal:  There will be a letter even for me? But I am only a small boy!

Guard: The king writes this small letters to small boys.

Amal:  It would be wonderful. When will I receive a letter? How do you know the king will write even to me?

Guard: Otherwise, would he set up a post office – flying such a huge golden flag – right in front of your open window? I quite enjoy the conversation with this kid!

Amal:  Well, if the raja writes to me, who would bring in his letter?

Guard: He has so many postmen. Haven’t you seen them? They go around wearing golden rosettes on their chest.

Amal:  Where do they go?

Guard: To people’s houses, to different countries. Oh! I cannot help but laughing at these questions!

Amal:  When I grow up, I’ll become one of raja’s postmen.

Guard: Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! A postman? Isn’t it a great honour to be a postman? It’s mighty important to go around houses, to the rich and the poor – rain or shine – delivering letters!

Amal:  Why are you laughing? I think it’s the most wonderful thing one can do. Of course, your work is even better – when everything is silent under the hot afternoon sun, your bell rings – ding-dong, ding-dong. Or in some nights, when I wake up in my bed to find that the oil-lamp has burnt itself out, the sound of your gong floats in through a strange darkness outside – ding-dong … ding-dong …!

Guard: There comes the village headman. If he finds me talking with you, I’ll be in trouble.

Amal:  Where, where is the headman?

Guard: Over there, still quite far away. He is carrying a huge umbrella made of leaves. 

Amal:  Has the raja made him a headman?

Guard: Oh, no, no! He only claims to be a headman. People are scared of him because if they don’t listen to him, he makes life difficult for them. His only occupation is making trouble for others. Let me go now, I’ve things to do. I’ll come again tomorrow in morning and give you all the news about the town. [The guard leaves]

Amal:  It would be nice if the raja writes to me every day. I’ll read the letters sitting beside this window. But I can’t read. Who will read the letters for me? Aunt reads only the Ramayana. Will she able to read the king’s handwriting? If no one can read the letters, I will preserve the whole bunch of them carefully. I’ll read them when I grow up. But what if the postman can’t find me? Headman sir, oh headman sir! Will you please come to me?

The headman enters

Headman: Who dares to call me? Where is this monkey from?

Amal:  Sir, you are the headman, everyone obeys you.

Headman: [pleased] Yes, of course. Most certainly! People do obey me!

Amal: Does the raja’s postman listen to you?

Headman: Would he survive if he didn’t? How dare he disobey me?

Amal: Please tell the postman my name is Amal. I sit by the side of this window.

Headman: But what for?

Amal: If there is a letter for me …

Headman: Letter for you? Who’ll write to you?

Amal: If the raja does?

Headman: Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! This boy is not a simple child. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! The raja will write to you! Of course, he will. Aren’t you his best friend? I hear he has fallen ill because he didn’t see you for a few days! It won’t take much longer, the letter should reach you any moment.

Amal: Morol moshai! Why are you talking like that? Are you angry with me?

Headman: Oh dear! Do I have the nerve to be angry with you? You exchange letters with the king! I can see: Madhav Datta has got too big for his boots. Maybe, he has made a little money, and his family members talk about nothing but the king and the queen. Wait and see, I’ll teach him a lesson. Listen to me, you young brat! I’ll see to it that the king’s letter reaches your house.

Amal:  No, no, Sir, please don’t do anything.

Headman: Why not? I’ll inform the Maharaj about you; then he won’t be able to wait, he’ll send soldiers straight away to enquire about you. No! Look at Madhav Datta’s audacity! He’d pay the price if the king came to know …. [The headman leaves.]

Amal:  Who are you – your anklets ringing so sweetly! – will you please stop for a while?

A little girl enters

Girl: How can I? Time is running out!

Amal:  You don’t want to stop? And I too don’t want to stay here any longer.

Girl: You remind me of the morning star – what’s wrong with you?

Amal:  I don’t know … the doctor’s asked me not to leave the house.

Girl: Oh! Please don’t go out then. You must listen to the doctor and be a good boy. Let no one say you are naughty. You feel restless because you have been looking out, perhaps I should shut this half open door.

Amal:  No, no, please don’t. Everything is closed around me except this door. But I didn’t see you earlier! Please tell me who you are.

Girl: I am Sudha.

Amal:  Sudha?

Sudha: Don’t you know me? My mother is a gardener here.

Amal: What do you do?

Sudha: I gather flowers in my basket and make garlands with them. I’m going to pick flowers now.

Amal: Going to pick flowers? That’s why your feet are dancing so merrily; as you go along, your anklets are singing. If I could go with you, I would pluck flowers for you from the high branches – so high, that you can’t even see them.

Sudha: How can you? Do you know more about flowers than I?

Amal:  I know, yes, I do. I know about the seven Champa brothers. I think, if they let me go, I’ll walk into a dense forest, where no one can find their way.  I’ll become a blooming champa flower on one of the thin branches on which little manua birds swing. Will you be my sister, flower Parul?

Sudha:  You must be crazy! How can I be your sister Parul? I am Sudha, daughter of the gardener Sashi. Every day, I have to thread so many garlands. I would have been delighted to sit here, like you.

Amal: Then what would you do through the days?

Sudha: I have a doll, she is a shopkeeper’s wife. I’d get her married. I have a kitten called Meni; with her …. Oh! I must go now, the time is running out. If I am late there’ll be no flowers.

Amal: Please be with me for some more time, I love to be with you.

Sudha: All right. Be a nice boy and sit here quietly, don’t be naughty, I’ll be with you for a while when I get back after gathering flowers.

Amal:  Will you give me a flower?

Sudha: How can I give you a flower just like that? You have to pay for it.

Amal: I’ll pay when I grow up. I will go beyond that waterfall in search of work; I will pay you before I leave.

Sudha: That should be fine.

Amal: So you will come back after gathering flowers?

Sudha: Yes, I will.

Amal: You will surely come?

Sudha: Yes, I will.

Amal: You won’t forget me, will you? My name is Amal. Will you remember my name?

Sudha: No, I won’t forget. You’ll see, I will remember you. [Sudha leaves]

  

A group of boys enter

Amal:  Where are you going, friends? Why don’t you come here for a few moments?

Boys: We are going to play.

Amal:  What games are you going to play, friends?

Boys: We’ll play tilling-the-land.

First boy: [Showing a stick] This will be our plough.

Second boy: We two will be the oxen.

Amal:  Will you play throughout the day?

Boys: Yes, the w-h-o-l-e day.

Amal:  And then you’ll come home walking along the river?

Boys: Yes, we’ll return in the evening.

Amal:  Please do return by this road by my house.

Boys: Why don’t you come out and play with us?

Amal:  The doctor has told me not to leave the house.

Boys: The doctor! And you follow his instructions? We must go now, it’s getting late.

Amal:  Please don’t go away. Please play on the road in front of my window for some time. Let me watch you play.

Boys:   Here? What shall we play with?

Amal:  Here are my toys, take them all. I don’t enjoy playing in the house …  all alone. My toys lie scattered on the floor; they’re of no use to me.

Boys: Wow! Such wonderful toys … this is a ship … this is a witch … and look at this, such a smart soldier. Are you really giving us all these? Won’t you feel bad?

Amal:  No, I won’t, I am giving you all my toys.

Boys: But we won’t give them back.

Amal:  No, you don’t have to.

Boys:   No one will scold us?

Amal:  No, no one will. But every morning, please come here and play for sometime in front of my door with these toys. And when they become old, I’ll get new ones for you.

Boys: Wonderful! We’ll come here every morning and play …. Please arrange the soldiers … we’ll play out a battle …. But where do we find the guns? Over there, a stick is lying on the ground. Let’s break it into pieces; they will be our guns …. But friend, you are drifting into sleep!

Amal:  Yes, I feel sleepy. I don’t know why I feel sleepy so often. I have been sitting here for a long time, I can sit no more; my back is aching.

Boys: The morning isn’t over yet, and you already feel sleepy? Listen, there, the bell rings.

Amal:  Yes, I can hear the bell – ding-dong, ding-dong! It’s telling me to go to bed.

Boys: If you are going to bed, we’ll go. We will come again tomorrow in the morning.

Amal:  Before you go away, I want to ask you something. You go to so many places: have you met the postmen of the king’s post office?

Boys: Yes, of course, we have. We know them very well.

Amal:  Who are they? What are their names?

Boys: One of them is the Postman Rain. Another is called Autumn. There are so many of them!

Amal:  Suppose there is a letter for me. Will they be able to find me?

Boys: Yes of course! If the letter is addressed to you, they’ll surely trace you out.

Amal:  When you’re here tomorrow, please call one of them and show me.

Boys: Yes, we will.

The post office

Rabindranath Tagore

One

Madhav Datta:  Oh! What a problem! When he was not here, we had no worries. He’s come from nowhere and filled my house. If he is no more, this house perhaps won’t be a home any more! Doctor, do you think he would …

Doctor:             If he is destined to live, he would … live long. But if one goes by the medical texts, then …

Madhav Datta:  What do you mean, doctor?

Doctor:            According to our shastra, Paittikan sannipatajan kafbatsamudbhavan …

Madhav Datta:  Please, please don’t recite those lines, they’re so unnerving. Tell me what’s to be done.

Doctor:             [After inhaling snuff] He has to be treated with extreme caution.

Madhav Datta:  Of course, he has to be …, but what exactly should we do?

Doctor:             I have already told you, you shouldn’t let him to go out at all.

Madhav Datta:  He is only a child, keeping him indoors would be too difficult.

Doctor:            What can be done about it? In autumn, both the sun and the wind are poison for him, because, the shastra says, Apasmare jware kaashe kamalayan haleemake …

Madhav Datta:  Please, let’s not get into that again; so he has to be kept in the house, there is no way out?

Doctor:            No way, as Pavane tapane chaiwa …

Madhav Datta:  Sir, what shall I do with your chaiwa? Please leave it, and tell me what is to be done. But your prescriptions are tough on the child. The poor boy suffers in silence, but I find it heartbreaking to watch his suffering as he takes your medicines.

Doctor:             And the more he suffers, the better it is for him. That is why the Maharshi Chavan has said, Bhesajan hitabakyancha tiktan ashufalapradan. Allow me to leave, Datta moshai. [The doctor leaves.]

[Grandfather enters]

Madhav Datta:  Oh no! There comes the grandfather. What a disaster!

Grandfather:      Why? What’s so scary about me?

Madhav Datta:  You are the one who teaches the boys to be reckless.

Grandfather:      You are not a child, and you don’t have a child either – and you’re too old to behave recklessly – why do you worry?

Madhav Datta:  I have brought home a child.

Grandfather:      Really?

Madhav Datta:  My wife was desperate to adopt a son.

Grandfather:      I have been hearing it for some time, but weren’t you against it?

Madhav Datta:  You know, I have worked hard and saved some money. Even the thought that someone else’s child would spend it, just like that, used to upset me. But this boy has changed it all …

Grandfather:      And now, the more you spend on him, the more you think: Oh! Spending like this! How fortunate my money is!

Madhav Datta:  Earlier, earning money was more of an addiction for me – I couldn’t live without it. But now, it is such a pleasure. I am happy that whatever I earn will go to him.

Grandfather:      Good, that is very good. But where did you find the child?

Madhav Datta:  He is from my wife’s village. He was an infant when he lost his mother. And recently, his father too died.

Grandfather:      Oh! Then he needs me.

Madhav Datta:  The doctor says his slender body is so full of diseases that he has little chance of survival. The only way to save him is to keep him confined within the four walls of the house, protected from the sun and the autumn breeze. And in this old age, your passion is to take children out of their homes. I have good reasons to be scared of you.

Grandfather:      You aren’t far from the truth. I have become as awful as the autumn sun and breeze. But I do know a few tricks to keep children home too. I have some work. After I have finished with them, I’ll come back and make friends with this boy. [Grandfather exits]

[Amal Gupta enters]

Amal:                Pishemoshai!

Madhav Datta:  Yes, Amal.

Amal:                 Can’t I go even to that square and play there?

Madhav Datta:  No, baba.

Amal:                    Only to that corner, where pishima grinds daal in her grinding stone. See! A squirrel is nibbling at the broken seeds of daal, standing on its tail. Can’t I go there?

Madhav Datta:  No, baba.

Amal:                    I wish I were a squirrel. But pishemoshai, why don’t you let me go out?

Madhav Datta:  The doctor says you’ll fall ill if you go out, doesn’t he?

Amal:                    Yes, but how does he know what is good for me?

Madhav Datta:  How could you say that, Amal? If he doesn’t know, who does? After all, he has read so many books.

Amal:                    Does one come to know everything by reading books?

Madhav Datta:  Don’t you know even that?

Amal:                    [Sighs] How would I know? I haven’t read even one book.

Madhav Datta:  Listen! Wise men are like you. They too don’t leave their houses.

Amal:                    Don’t they?

Madhav Datta:  No, how can they? They go on reading books, they don’t care for anything else. Amal babu, you too will become a wise man when you grow up: you’ll sit at home and read really big tomes – everyone will be amazed.

Amal:                    No, no, pishemoshai, please: I don’t want to be a pundit, I’ll never be one.

Madhav Datta:  That is funny! I would give everything to become a scholar.

Amal:                    I will only look around and see everything. Everything …

Madhav Datta:  Strange! What do you want to see? And are there so many things to see?

Amal:                    From our window, I can see a hill far away. I wish I could go to the other side of the hill.

Madhav Datta:  What a crazy idea! Go to the other side of the hill just like that, for no reason? There is no sense in what you say. The hill stands so tall, like a gigantic wall. Shouldn’t we realise that we must not cross it over? Otherwise, there was no point in collecting so many huge rocks at one place and making such a grand show.

Amal:                    Pishemoshai, do you really think it’s telling us not to go beyond? I am sure as the earth cannot talk, she is raising her arm at the blue sky and calling us. Even faraway people can hear the call in lonely afternoons, sitting besides their windows. Don’t wise men hear it?

Madhav Datta:  They are not crazy like you. Neither do they want to hear any such thing.

Amal:                    Yesterday, I met someone who too was crazy, like me.

Madhav Datta:  Really? What was he like?

Amal:                    He was holding a stick across his shoulder. At the end of the stick was tied a small bundle. He had a water pot in his left hand. Wearing an pair of torn naagra shoes, he was going towards the hill, across that field. I called him and asked, ‘Where are you going?’ He said, ‘I don’t know, I’ll reach somewhere.’ I asked, ‘Why are you going?’ He replied, ‘In search of work.’ Tell me, pishemoshai, does one have to search for work?

Madhav Datta:  Of course, one has to. So many people go around in search of work.

Amal:                    That’s nice. I too will go around, looking for work.

Madhav Datta:  What if you didn’t find any?

Amal:                    If I didn’t find any work, I would search again … then, the man in naagras went away, and I went on looking at him, standing at the door. There, can you see the stream of water flowing below the fig tree? He put his stick down and slowly washed his feet in the flowing water. Then he untied his bundle and took out some powdered gram. He mixed the gram with water from the stream and started eating. After finishing his meal, he tied up the bundle again and put it back on his shoulder. Then he pulled up his dhoti, waded through the water and went over to the other side of the stream. I have told pishima, ‘One day, I will go to the stream and eat powdered gram.’

Madhav Datta:  And what did your pishima say?

Amal:                    She said, ‘First you get well. Then, one day, I’ll take you to the stream and we’ll eat powdered gram sitting beside it.’ When will I get well, pishemoshai?

Madhav Datta:  It won’t take much longer, baba.

Amal:                    Not much longer? I’ll go as soon as I am all right.

Madhav Datta:  Where will you go?

Amal:                    I will walk in knee-deep waters across many streams. When people take their afternoon siesta behind closed doors, I will only wander about in far away places, looking for work.

Madhav Datta:  That will be fine. First get well and then …

Amal:                    And then, please don’t ask me to become a wise man, pishemoshai!

Madhav Datta:  Tell me what you want to be.

Amal:                    Now I don’t remember anything. I will think about it and tell you later.

Madhav Datta:  But you should not call strangers from unknown places and talk to them.

Amal:                    I love talking to people from other places.

Madhav Datta:  What if he took you away?

Amal:                    It would be great fun. But no one takes me away, everyone asks me to sit at home.

Madhav Datta:  I have some work, I’ll go now. But, baba, please don’t go out of the house.

Amal:                    I won’t. But pishemoshai, I will be in this room by the side of the road.

Niyamgiri in West Bengal?

The dispute between dismally poor Adivasis of the Niyamgiri hills in Orissa and the powerful multinational Vedanta Resources is a hugely asymmetric conflict, particularly in view of the central and state governments’ eagerness to bend over backwards to help industrialists. Scrapping of the Vedanta aluminium mine has been a rare victory for the marginalised poor. Another David has tamed for now, though certainly not killed, a Goliath.

The reasons given by the Ministry of Environment and Forests in support of their decision to scrap the project has put an official stamp of approval on the concerns of the people who oppose such projects, namely, destruction of forest dwellers and irretrievable damage to ecology. The ministry and its head, Mr. Jairam Ramesh, and a section of the Congress party including Mr. Rahul Gandhi deserve to be congratulated for this.

But the question that comes to the mind is: does this one swallow make a spring? Does this mean some day in the future, our policy makers will believe development means water, food and shelter for all, instead of more highways, glitzier malls and bigger airports in a country where half the children go to bed hungry? Does this mean industries that pollute and slow-poison people will be scrapped in other parts of the country too? Let’s discuss another case.

In West Midnapore, Burdwan, and Bankura districts of West Bengal, many sponge iron factories that have sprung up during the Left rule have been causing massive damage to the environment.

My senior friend and a retired teacher of economics of Calcutta University, Subhendu Dasgupta has given some startling information in an article published in a Bangla newspaper today: production of 100 tonnes of sponge iron requires 1.6 lakh tonnes of water, (an equivalent amount is consumed by 80 thousand humans per day). 100 tonnes of sponge iron also produces 180 to 200 tonnes of carbon-di-oxide, 26 to 30 tonnes of waste, and 100 tonnes of dust. The fields and grazing tracts around the sponge iron plants have turned black and water in tanks has been contaminated. Agricultural productivity has reduced: from 36 to 45 sackfuls of paddy per acre to 21 to 24 sackfuls. There is also black stain on the rice and the rice mill owners refuse to buy such paddy; Mangoes fall off before ripening, saal leaves are turning black, and even fish have developed black stains, and cannot be sold. Domestic animals too are harmed; cows give birth to stillborn calves. [Ekdin, 3 September, 2010, article by Shubhendu Dasgupta on edit page]

I checked with another friend, a chemical engineer by training, who currently works on industrial pollution. My friend confirms this is actually happening and one can see buildings and roads covered with black soot in wide areas around Durgapur and Asansol where there are about forty sponge iron factories.

The government of West Bengal has reacted to the crisis by arresting the people who have been protesting against this wanton destruction of Nature and her children. Members of Jhargram Block Environmental Pollution Resistance Committee, Hemanta Mahato and Upangshu Mahato were arrested and charged with waging war against the state. Naba Datta, of Citizens’ Forum, who has been studying the effects of industrial pollution by sponge iron factories, too was arrested. Twenty cases, including waging war against the state, have been slapped against him. [Ibid.] Perhaps even the worst criminal in the state would not have received such attention and honour from the government.

Will anything be done to protect the poor villagers affected by sponge iron plants in West Bengal and elsewhere?