Pratishtha Pandya

Labani Jangi

Illustration

large_01-No._1_Locust_plague-PP-The_sultan_and_the_locust_plague.jpg

medium_01-No._1_Locust_plague-PP-The_sultan_and_the_locust_plague.jpg

small_01-No._1_Locust_plague-PP-The_sultan_and_the_locust_plague.jpg

thumbnail_01-No._1_Locust_plague-PP-The_sultan_and_the_locust_plague.jpg

01-No._1_Locust_plague-PP-The_sultan_and_the_locust_plague.jpg

The royal flag over the palace was flapping as vigorously as the heart of the new sultan lying wide awake that afternoon on his palatial bed. He had dealt with one rebellious uprising after another since he came to power, putting an end to the despotic rule of a dynasty. He was confident of his prowess, had been to battlefields without armour, flaunting his bare chest, had massacred entire armies of predatory animals single-handed, almost. These were mere insects he had thought, but the pests had turned out to be more untameable than he had assumed. He indeed had a very vivid imagination. It had helped him crush their menace each time. But the December winds were cruel. What was needed this time was a massive stock of metarhizium anisopliae. That parasitic fungus which grows naturally in soils across the world and destroys insects. A committee of top experts had declared it would be cheaper, more effective and longer lasting to have them killed by that parasitic fungi, a force eating them up from inside. The storage was already arranged by the rich allies. The challenge was to find bands of young ones and hit them hard with biopesticides.  It was already evening, and he was tired. He wished his mind would just rest, stop racing about. It was not just the incessant noise of protesting locusts that had come to occupy the air and make things so unbearable. There was something else tormenting him, from within. Was this his ego? Was he really afraid? Or was he anxious about what might descend in the night? Had he just begun to sense the waning of his powers? This self-interrogation was painful. He let his mind escape through the window with a casual glance outside. The setting sun on the dark horizon looked ominous.

Locust swarmWhat locusts are these? What swelling swarms colouring the skies wheat-gold, over the sultanate, marching the long roads to hope! They fly through snares of stifling barbed wires Their short-horned hopes break the barricades escape the trenches meant to trap and bury.Their fragile chests face the torrential rain gushing from water cannons They wait in the biting cold air on foggy winter evenings That smell of dewdrops gone sour They wait for the morning upsurge of light revolutionary embers glowing in their eyes. Neither the drumbeats nor firecrackers nor burning of leaves of neem can scare or distract this swelling swarms of locusts. In the long night rising songs of protest under their wings agitate the air make tiny holes in tarpaulin sheets that cover the streets and rooftops of palaces before the locust plague hits the sultanate.Audio: Sudhanva Deshpande is an actor and director with Jana Natya Manch, and an editor with LeftWord Books.

The sultan and the locust plague

சுல்தானும் வெட்டுக்கிளி கொள்ளைநோயும்

ସୁଲତାନ ଓ ପଙ୍ଗପାଳଙ୍କ ଆକ୍ରମଣ

সুলতান ও পঙ্গপাল

सुलतान आणि टोळधाड

सुल्तान और टिड्डियों का हमला

سلطان اور ٹڈیوں کا حملہ

Ahmedabad

At present, we can only accept donations in Indian rupees by Indian citizens. All donations made to the CounterMedia Trust are eligible for exemption under Section 80G of the Income Tax Act, 1961. Here is a copy of our exemption certificate.


India is bigger than New Delhi. And people need to know more about the rest of this vast nation.


Younger, media-saturated generations are growing up knowing little about their country, but a lot about the elites of a few metros and towns. For a narrowly-owned, commercially-driven media, the dumbing down of a nation is part of standard operating procedure. The last available data of the Centre for Media Studies (CMS, Delhi) show us that reports from New Delhi account for 66 per cent of news on the front pages of major dailies. The CMS data also found that just about 0.24 per cent of front page news came out of rural India. The TV channels are not much better.PARI exists to change that.We are a non-profit organisation. We publish under creative commons, and do not charge readers a subscription fee or put-up advertisements. Nothing is behind a paywall and we are completely free-to-access by anyone. We guard our independence and receive no direct grants from governments and corporations, nor any funding that could dictate our content. So, we are dependent on volunteer labour, donations from individuals, foundations and institutions that see value in independent and free media.PARI is changing the way Indian journalism reports and documents the rural.India is more than the elite of a few metros and towns. We report on rural lives and livelihoods, languages, communities, migrants and more. We need your help to pull off this most ambitious of Indian journalistic endeavours. The scale of this effort costs money. Donate generously - and spread the word about PARI.&nbsp;

Donate FAQs


हमारी दुनिया की झलक

पारी पर आपका स्वागत है

पाठकों के लिए हमारा सभी कॉन्टेंट मुफ़्त उपलब्ध है. अगर आपको हमारा काम पसंद है, तो आप हमारे लिए वालंटियर कर सकते हैं या हमारी आर्थिक मदद कर सकते हैं, ताकि हम अपना काम जारी रख सकें.

Want to republish this article? Please write to <a href="mailto:zahra@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">zahra@ruralindiaonline.org</a> with a cc to <a href="mailto:namita@ruralindiaonline.org" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">namita@ruralindiaonline.org</a>

The sultan and the locust plague

It’s nearly 60 days since tens of thousands of farmers protesting against three laws affecting them swarmed to the gates of Delhi. This is a poem inspired by the official response to their protest

Related stories

A rain-scented walk in Sivagangai

Living on ravaged land

Biswas and the bamboos on his bike

Recycling energy, Godda style

Bhadels of Goa

Pookadai: still throbbing with morning life

Koli Kadlas

Malnourishment high among children of migrants: study

Wheels of the rural Indian West

Living Under a Red Cloud in Bellary

Vedla – earrings of the Maher community

Dreaming of water, drowning in debt

Kali: the dancer and his dreams

Farmer's diet worse than a convict's

In Yavatmal, life goes on

Suicides are about the living, not the dead

Death of a carpenter

Hoisa Shigmo!

Women farmers: weaving a life in Anantapur

Defiant in Dhinkia

Spice and all that's nice

Kerala's Green Army

The ‘jugaad’ not-a-mobile

Health as someone else's wealth

Calibrating in a Kudumbashree assembly unit