Joshua Bodhinetra

Pratishtha Pandya

Editor

Aunshuparna Mustafi

Illustration

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Saraswati Bauri was at a loss.

Ever since her Sabooj Sathi bicycle got stolen,
going to the school has become challenge. Saraswati remembers the day she
received that magnificent machine, as part of a state scheme introduced for Class
9 and 10 students at government schools. Oh! how it gleamed under the
terracotta sun! 

Today she has come to the grampradhan with
hope, and a petition for a new bicycle. &quot;Cycle toh peye jabi re chhuri,
kintu tor iskul-ta ar koddin thakbe seta dyakh agey [You may get your cycle
kiddo, but your school won’t be here for long],&quot; says the sarpanch
with a smirk and a shrug. The land under Saraswati&#39;s feet seems to give way.
What did the grampradhan mean? As it is she pedals 5 kilometres to get
to her school. Now if that becomes 10 or 20 kms or even more, she will be
doomed. A thousand rupees from Kanyashree a year isn’t going help her fight her
father, dead-set on marrying her off.


















Cycle

Baby girl, baby girl, off to your school On a sarkari cycle &#39;cross the mohul... Bold like a steel plough, Babus need the land now, O what&#39;ll happen as the schools close down? Baby girl, baby girl,
why do you frown?

Fulki Tudu’s son is playing on the track marks
left behind by the bulldozer. 

Hope is a luxury she simply can&#39;t afford. Not
after Covid. Not after her little gumti selling chop-ghugni has
been bulldozed by the government. The same one that lauds fast food and pakoras
to be the cornerstone of our industrial might. The same people who had robbed
her of all her savings when she first wanted to set up the stall are now
running an anti-encroachment drive.

To meet the mounting debt her husband has gone
off to Mumbai in search of daily wage construction work. “This party says, ‘we&#39;ll
give you 1200 rupees a month.’ That party says ‘we’ll give you God himself!’ Bloody
Lokkhir Bhandar, bloody mondir-mosjid, why should I care?&quot;
Fulki didi mutters and then vents out angrily, &quot;Hotobhagar dol,
agey amar 50 hajar takar cut-money ferot de [Rascals! First return the 50
thousand rupees I paid as bribe]!&quot;


















Bulldozer 

Debt is our birthright, hope is our hell, Dipped in the batter of the fritters we sell. Lokkhir Bhandar, Down and under, Nations we carry on sweat-stained backs — Didn&#39;t somebody
pledge us fifteen lakhs?

Unlike most, he has scored a 100 out of 100
under MGNREGA; surely it was an occasion to celebrate. Nope! Lalu Bagdi was
caught between a rock and a hard place. With sarkari babus not knowing whether
he had completed his days under the central government’s Swachh Bharat Yojana
or state’s Mission Nirmal Bangla, his payment was hopelessly stuck in a bureaucratic
nightmare. 

&quot;Sob shala makal fol [friggin&#39;
good-for-nothing fellows, all of them],&quot; Lalu Bagdi was cursing left and
right. Sweeping is sweeping, trash is just trash, Isn’t it? What’s there in the
name of a scheme? Centre, state, how does it matter?  Well, it did. For a vainglorious fool of a nation
even garbage is partisan.


















Dumpster

Hi there Nirmal, how do you do? &quot;Unpaid sweepers standing in the
queue.&quot; No corpse in the rivers here... Labour rights? They disappear... Hey ho Swachh bhai, how have you been? &quot;My sweat is
saffron, my blood all green.&quot;

Faruk Mondal can&#39;t catch a break! Rains came after
months of drought, then as he was about to harvest, the flash floods washed his
farmstead away. &quot;Hai Allah, hey maa Gondheshwori, eto nithur kyane
tomra? [Oh Allah, oh goddess Gandheshwari, why are you so cruel?]&quot; he
was left asking.

Junglemahals – water has always been scarce but
promises, policies, projects abound. Sajal Dhara, Amrut Jal. The name itself is
a source of communal contention, is it jol, or paani? Pipes have
been laid, customary donations have been flowing in, but not a drop of safe
potable water. Frustrated, Faruk and his bibijaan have started digging a
well, red earth giving way to redder bedrock, yet no sign of water. &quot;Hai
Allah, hey maa Gondheshwori, eto pashan kyane tomra? [Oh Allah, oh goddess
Gandheshwari, why are you such stone-hearted?]&quot;


















Parched

Amrut? Amrit? How do you spell? Do we water our mothertongue, Or bid farewell? Saffron...zafran...where does it hurt? Do we vote for a neverland, Or take it apart?

Sonali Mahato and little Ramu stood
shell-shocked near the hospital gate. First it was Baba and now Ma. Two terminal
illnesses in one year.

Armed with a sarkari health insurance
card, they ran from daftar to daftar, begging, pleading,
protesting. The 5 lakhs’ help guaranteed by Sasthya Sathi was hopelessly
inadequate. Landless, soon to be homeless, they tried applying for Ayushman
Bharat. But no one knew if that was possible or if it would help either. Some
said the state had withdrawn from it. Others said it didn’t cover transplant
surgeries. Yet others said the money wouldn’t be enough. In the name of
information, they had chaos. 

&quot;D-d-didi re, tobe je iskule b-b-bole
sorkar amader p-p-pashe achhe [But didi, didn&#39;t we learn at school that the
government is with us]?&quot; Ramu stuttered, quite observant for his age. Sonali
could only stare in abject silence..


















Promises

ASHA didi! ASHA didi, help us
please! Baba needs a new heart, and maa kidneys. Tat sat sasthya, sathi maane friend, Our jism-o-zameen we sold in the end. Ayush, will you man up, ease our plight? Or are you all bark,
and nary a bite?

Glossary:

Chop — a fritter with spicy fillings

Ghugni — a savoury dish made of peas or
chickpeas

Gumti — stall or shack

Gondheshwori — a river and a goddess

Daftar — office

Tat sat — that is truth

Maane — means

Jism-o-zameen — body and land

The poet would like
to heartily thank Smita Khator, her ideas were central to this endeavour.

Sarkari schemes, forsaken hymns

عوام کے خوابوں کو روندتے سرکاری بلڈوزر

సర్కారీ పథకాలు, కవితల బాణాలు

அரசு திட்டங்களும் கைவிடப்பட்ட கீர்த்தனைகளும்

ਕਾਗ਼ਜ਼ੀਂ ਰੁਲ਼ਦੀਆਂ ਯੋਜਨਾਵਾਂ, ਬੁਲਡੋਜ਼ਰ ਨਿਆ ਦਾ ਦੂਜਾ ਨਾਂਅ

ସରକାରୀ ଯୋଜନା, ପରିତ୍ୟକ୍ତ ପ୍ରାର୍ଥନା

सरकारी योजनांच्या भाकडकथा

സർക്കാർ പദ്ധതികൾ, ഉപേക്ഷിക്കപ്പെട്ട കീർത്തനങ്ങൾ

ಸರ್ಕಾರಿ ಯೋಜನೆಗಳ ನಿರ್ಲಕ್ಷಿಸಲ್ಪಟ್ಟ ಭಜನೆಗಳು

सरकारी योजनाओं के बुलडोज़र तले पिसते अवाम के सपने

સરકારી યોજનાઓ, વહેતા મૂકેલા નામજાપ

सरकारी योजना, भूलाय भजन

अवाम के सपना पर सरकारी योजना के बुलडोजर

চৰকাৰী আঁচনি আৰু নিষিদ্ধ কেইটামান স্তৱক

যোজনার গুঁতো আর কবিতার ছুতো

Bishnupur

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Sarkari schemes, forsaken hymns

A poet, connected to the soil and his people, gives voice to the absurdity of lives caught between daily struggles and sarkari schemes in five micro-fiction pieces and poems

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