When a Village Comes Together to Read Its Own Story

The following is an excerpt from Githa Hariharans’ This Too Is India: Conversations on Diversity and Dissent published by Context, Westland.

Githa Hariharan (GH): Bama, when we first met all those years back, we spoke of your autobiography, Karukku. Let’s revisit that conversation.

Bama: Yes, the autobiography was published in 1992. You know that I had entered the convent to become a nun in 1985. I stayed there for seven years, but I couldn’t continue there because of the caste discrimination in the convent.

GH: You’d actually joined the convent hoping to serve the Dalit community.

Bama: I was a teacher for seven years. Then I resigned and went into the convent. My motive was to teach and to create an awareness in Dalit girls. I chose that life because I knew that it carries power, and a lot of privileges also—I thought I would be able to meet and talk to girls, Dalit girls. I entered the convent with that hope. But that hope was not realised. All I was supposed to do was teach English and mathematics. Since my dream of doing more than that could not be realised, I decided to leave. I left the convent in 1992. That was the time I suffered most in my life—I had no job, no place to go to, no money, no food. I used to worry about the next meal, where I would get it from …

GH: Bama, we have spoken earlier of the harsh reaction to your first book when it was published. The literary establishment criticised the language as not beautiful. And the paraiyar community in your village felt that you had exposed them in some way. Would you like to tell us about that? And how did the young people in the village manage to convince the others?

Bama: That was really unexpected actually, the reaction of my own people. I thought they would appreciate me, but they were upset. They told me I had shown them up to the outside world. That I had exposed the ugliness of their lives for all to see and hear. They felt betrayed. Of course, I had intended no such thing. But I was in the dock and I had to answer their question, ‘Why did you do that?’ It was not just a question—they wanted to beat me up, actually. 

But there were also youngsters in the village, educated youngsters. They read the book and they went and fought with my parents. And my father was very angry with me and told me not to come to the house. So I was roaming around here and there. 

One of the boys from the village had written a very good critique of the book. He also wrote to me, ‘Don’t come now, wait for some time. We will read aloud from the book and tell the people what it is about.’ 

And that is what they did. The youngsters collected the village people at night, after their working day was done, under the streetlights. They told the people they had misunderstood and misinterpreted the book. They read it out and explained to the people why and how I had written the book. The villagers came to know that their stories were being read by many people. They were happy about the fact that their history was becoming known to many people outside the village. Then this same boy asked me to come to the village and they organised a very big function. They celebrated me like I was a princess.

GH: So it was actually a process of their becoming confident enough to say, ‘This is how our lives really are. And this is how the women’s lives are.’ That leads me to ask if part of the problem was not just that you were talking about Dalit life, but also about Dalit women’s lives? Because, of course, women are doubly exploited or discriminated against, as Dalits and as women. Was that part of the problem, do you think?

Bama: Not just doubly, but women are thrice exploited, actually: caste, class and gender. Religion also. So those in the community realised that there are these triple monsters in their lives. But my writing also helped them experience their strength. In my second book, Sangati, I have recorded acts of bravery of women, how they resisted this oppressive system, which again reinforced the idea. They knew that they could protest against the system and live.

And basically that is what Dalit culture is: it’s loving to live. We want to live, but the system doesn’t allow us to live. So the culture is very vibrant and the women too realised this. I mean, in spite of all the struggles and hardships and violence we face, we know that we are capable women. We have the strength to break through the systems that are breaking us down, and that gives us hope. So they began to celebrate their womanhood and their militancy and their life, and there was a tremendous change after that.

Githa Hariharan is an award-winning novelist. The piece has been lightly edited for style.