DALIT LITERATURE - TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF PROTEST? OF PROGRESS?

Author(s): Veena Deo and Eleanor Zelliot

Source: Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. 29, No. 2, MISCELLANY (Summer, Fall
1994), pp. 41-67
Published by: Asian Studies Center, Michigan State University
Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25797513
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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

DALIT LITERATURE - TWENTY-FIVE YEARS

OF PROTEST? OF PROGRESS?

Veena Deo and Eleanor Zelliot

Some twenty-five years ago, Dalit sahitya, the "literature of the

oppressed," emerged on the Indian scene to make a profound difference in the
field of Marathi literature, and a few years later, to Kannada and Gujarati, the
neighboring languages, as well. "Dalit" is the name politically conscious ex
Untouchables now use in preference to Untouchable, Harijan, a caste name,
or the governmental term Scheduled Castes, since it is more inclusive and
implies no fault, no "untouchability" on the part of the Dalits. The literary
movement flowered as part of the social and political movement of Dr. B.R.
Ambedkar (1891-1956), particularly after the conversion to Buddhism he
undertook in the year of his death.1

Interest in Dalit literature continues, and recently the first volumes of

translations have come out.2 There are other signs that the Dalit literary
movement attracts an ever widening interest group: The first Dalit play to be
translated into English, appeared in the prestigious new publication Yatrc?. A
long essay, "Dalit Poetry in Marathi" by Vinay Dharwadker appeared in World
Literature Today* The chief and longest lasting Dalit literary journal,
Asmitadarsh (mirror of identity), edited by Gangadhar Pantawane, held its
25th anniversary in Aurangabad in 1992 with great fanfare and many writers
and other notables in attendance.

But in the midst of this new attention, we want to turn to two

neglected areas: the backgrounds of the Dalit writers themselves, where they
come from, what they do; and some of the changes and new trends in Dalit
literature today. There are some overviews of Dalit literature, but they are
rarely in English and not always easily accessible, such as S.P. Punalekar's
"Identities and Consciousness: An Overview of Dalit Literature in
Maharashtra"5 and none quite as conscious of context as our approach, since
we come from the two disciplines of English Literature and History.

Many of the writers who were part of the fiery group of the late '60's
and early 70's, those associated with the Dalit Panther movement or at least
part of that mood of revolt, are now over forty, often the recipients of literary
prizes, many of them teaching in colleges and universities. Of the five
featured in this journal in 19826, only the most rebellious, the maverick

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

Namdeo Dhasal, has published a series of books of poetry. All are active but
do not publish in quantity, or they change to non-fiction, or, in the case of
Daya Pawar, Marathi poetic versions of Pali texts.

There seem to be four or five new trends or emphases in Dalit

literature in the past few years: an ever widening circle of writers in terms
of caste and language; an increasing number of women writers who bring
their own identification as women as well as Dalits to their poetry; a critical
awareness, an expression of alienation from Dalit leadership, even fellow
Dalits, and at the same time an effort to evaluate and celebrate the whole
accomplishment of Dalit literature; an admission of at least partial progress in
a lessoning of prejudice and inequality; a continued, even increasing,
reverence for Dr. B.R. Ambedkar as source of the Dalit movement in all its
phases. In this essay, we will combine some biographical information about
the writers with illustrative poems on these themes.

The Widening Circle

The publication of Dalit literature by others than those in the

movement led by Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, and chiefly those formerly in the
Mahar caste who had converted to Buddhism, began quite early, but in
few numbers. Chief among them was Narayan Surve,7 a caste-less orphan
and a schoolteacher, identified chiefly with the Communist Party, although
he pays tribute to Babasaheb Ambedkar for inspiration, as do all Dalit
poets. The newer trend of autobiographical writing, however, has drawn
writers from a much wider group. Daya Pawar's Balut* was a stunning
new glimpse of Mahar life, and it was followed shortly by Lakshman
Mane's Upra9, his life story as a member of a "Nomadic Tribe," a British
designation for the Kaikadi (stone cutter) caste to which Mane belongs and
other unsettled groups. A year later, in 1981, a Chambhar (the Marathi
name for the leather-working caste called Chamar in Hindi), Madhav
Kondvilkar, published his fictionalized autobiography, and the book carried
his anguished face and a photograph of a Kolhapuri sandal on the cover.10
Uttam Bandu Tupe, a Mang and a peon at the Government Archives in Pune,
has published a series of popular novels, only one of which might be called
"Dalit." The most recent group to write are the adivasi, India's tribals; those
who read Marathi might look for new work soon to come out by Bhujanga
Meshram and a woman of the Banjara tribe or caste, Usha Kiran Atram.
Perhaps most unusual of all, two women of minimal education have published
their autobiographies: Shantabai Krishnaji Kamble of Satara, the mother of the
poet and Panther Arun Kamble, and Bebi (or Baby) Kamble of Phaltan. The

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

women's stories have been excerpted in the recent Women Writing in India
and in Poisoned Bread11

The worlds revealed by these writers from marginalized and despised

groups are often shocking. Zelliot recently heard a reading by a young man
from a "pickpocket" caste which described the inevitable life of crime of that
group in touching and frightening vignettes. Many of the writers have
received criticism from within their castes or tribes for revealing less than
respectable facets of group life. The new writers from these groups tend to
write autobiography rather than poetry, and little has been translated into
English. It is clear, however, that the genre of autobiography reveals political
and social awareness. An individual's story becomes significant in the
exploration of group identity.

The early writers lived mostly in Bombay, with the early exception of
Shankarrao Kharat in Pune, and shortly after Dalit writers began to publish in
Aurangabad and Nagpur. Now new writers from smaller towns in Vidharba
and the neglected area of Marathwada seem to emerge every day. There is
increasing entrance into the field of literature by Dalits not only from every
area of Maharashtra and the neighboring states but also, according to
Punalekar, quoting from the October 1987 issue of Maharashtra Sahitya
Patrika, Dalit literature has emerged in Uttar Pradesh, Madhya Pradesh,
Andhra Pradesh and Kerala as well as Gujarat and Karnataka. The January
1994 issue of the Dalit journal Asmitadarsh carried a photograph of the "First
Panjabi Dalit Sahitya" conference on its cover and the Indian Social Institute
in Delhi has begun a journal titled Ham Dalit (we Dalits).

The other new directions of Dalit literature are best illustrated with
poetry and comments on the current activities of the older writers.

The Voices of Women

Hira Bansode has emerged as a major voice for women as well as a
poet, as Christian Novetzke's recent article in The Journal of South Asian
Literature (28:1&2) shows. While there have been women writers in the Dalit
sahitya movement almost from the beginning, their voices now seem stronger
and their numbers greater. Those who read the anthology Poisoned Bread
should note the autobiographical essay by Kusum Pawde on her "Story of My
Sanskrit," her long battle to become a teacher of that sacred language in a
Nagpur College. A short story in Marathi by Urmilla Pawar has been
included as text book reading for S.N.D.T. Women's University in Bombay,
and she is a frequent speaker at conferences on Dalit problems as well as at

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Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

women's gatherings. A new Marathi journal Maitarni (woman friend in

village Marathi) is being edited from Bombay by Meenakshi Moon. In this
essay, however, we will use poems by four of the Dalit women writers to
illustrate what we think are the contributions women have made to the field
of Dalit literature.

First, the identification of Dalit woman with all women, best

exemplified by Hira Bansode's poem "Slave". As Christian Novetzke's article
indicated, there is a divide between caste Hindu women and Dalit women that
cannot be bridged by organizations, but surely Hirabai's poem on women
includes all women in its vision:

Gulam (slave)

Where the doors are decorated with mango leaves,

where the houses are decorated with little flaming oil lamps
in that country a woman is still a slave.

Where Sita entered the fire to prove her fidelity,

where Ahilya was turned to stone because of Indra's lust,
where Draupadi was fractured to serve five husbands,
in that country a woman is still a slave.

Where a woman's identity fades like nature's blossoms,

where delicate jewels of emotion are trampled under a heel,
where the free birds of dreams are scorned,
in that country a woman is still a slave.

Where the sky-flowers of desire must be left to float down

the river,
where the threatening force of woman's mind must be buried
in the earth,
where the silvery moonlight of happiness must be poured into
ajar of darkness,
in that country a woman is still a slave.

Where a woman in her youth is dried up by Tradition

she is confined all her life like a stunted tree,
she remains in the shadow of someone else's light.
In that country a woman is still a slave.

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

In that country where women are still slaves,

the conflagration starts in the house made of flowers.
The festival of lordship is celebrated with joy,
but the stories of all that are recited with pain.

To be born a woman is unjust

To be born a woman is unjust12

Another strain in women's poetry (and to some extent in the newer

poetry of all Dalits) is a criticism of the Dalit group itself. A poem by
Meena Gajbhiye, which like her other poetry is both subtle and eloquent,
illustrates this. According to the chief collection of Vidrohi kavita (poetry
of protest) by Keshav Meshram, "Meena Gajbhiye, born October 19,
1949, received her elementary and secondary school education in Nagpur.
She received her B.Sc. from Sindhu College in Nagpur and her B.Sc.
Occupational Training from the Government Medical College. She was
reared in the revolutionary atmosphere of Nagpur and this has led to her
need to examine critically histories of past generations of her people. Her
poetry reflects a wonderful blend of personal emotional response and
socially aware response to her environment. Her poems focus on women's
issues ? particularly those dealing with women's mental and psychological
harassment, repression of their desires, and so on."13

Our choice of her poetry is not, however, directly on women's

problems but a poem which refers to women's experience in the context
of the Dalit movement. In the story of the birds is embedded the story of
a woman. A woman may not want to choose between factions or parties,
but she feels the pain of division. She is willing to sacrifice for her fellow
sufferers and continues to search for peace for all.

Shanti (peace)

Crows in flocks and flocks

in every corner
caw shrilly
Souls fed on funeral feasts cry
the revolution has come
the revolution has come
There was a cuckoo in the crows' nest
so she started calling too

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Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

and an arrow came straight and hit her

Even the air vibrated
with her song of pain
The revolution went somewhere else
taking the song of my cuckoo

The sparrow is fluttering in a pool of blood

I couldn't watch the crying of the female
The sparrows had built their nest together
the female sparrow said - I'll take your pain
I'll give you my happiness
take my shade
I'll stand your sun
The storm gathered around them
The clouds came
The sparrows were not concerned
The lightning thundered

A gunman came and asked

What party are you from
"Revolution" or "Peace"?
I don't know about that
Then you look like "Peace"
and he pulled the trigger

Now the female sparrow

goes around searching for peace.14

Gajbhiye's "female sparrow" is willing to be the sensitive

caregiver/woman/mother who listens to the pain of the singing cuckoo
whose song is often valued but not her person. This "female sparrow"
tends to the person's body and soul. She is willing to exchange her own
happiness for the pain of the sufferer. She will accept hardship and physical
pain herself to find respite for the one in pain. The human being in his/her
entirety is what she values. The revolution, the "gunman", cast as a masculine
doer and actor in the world of this poem, merely assigns labels to people and
acts expediently. The Dalit woman writer here reminds Dalit revolutionaries
that political expediency and actions may make one stray away from the very
values for which Dalits fight in the first place.

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

Jyoti Lanjewar, born November 25, 1950, combines poetry with

activism, and participated in the "Long March" to try to force the renaming
of Marathwada University in honor of Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, whose work in the
1950's had brought higher education to the Marathwada area. According to
Meshram, "she received her schooling, graduate and post-graduate education
in Nagpur. Her mother's involvement with social movements helped her
understand social injustices from a very young age. Her poetry reflects her
social awareness. Disha (direction) is her first published collection of poems.
Jhep (leap forward), her second, is forthcoming. A thrust toward socialism
is seen in her poetry. Her focus is on ideas of egalitarian principles for which
she sees revolution as a necessity. She is working towards her Ph.D. now and
is currently a Professor of Marathi at Shri Binzani Nagar College in Nagpur.
A volume of her essays and literary criticism is also forthcoming."15

One of Jyoti Lanjewar's social and revolutionary poems, "Mother",

and one critical of Dalit leaders, "The Nameless Ones," appear in An
Anthology of Dalit Literature16 However, Lanjewar can also be very
subtle, and sometimes pessimistic as these translations by Gauri Deshpande
illustrate.17

Disha (direction)

What use are bellying sails

with a hole in the bottom?
Why blame the waves
when the sea turns traitor?
The frail sailboat is bound to drown
but should her sailors entice doom?
Lone rudder bears the burden
of a safe return
but who will search out a shore
in the storm?
No lighthouses.
In this drifting voyage
should the heart be doused now?

Kashala janmala alas? (why were you born?)

And why were you born

in this ghetto

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Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

of rotten lampposts
dust-choked streets
and stumps of trees
with elephantiases
why were you born?

No shelter here
not even a hoarding
or a cement column
and behind barbed wires
flowers bloom
for maggots and worms;
why were you born?

Shoemakers are barefoot

and barbers hirsute,
toothless dentists tout
used false teeth;
even thorns make a point
so why were you born?

Here horses are redundant

and elephants retired;
recruitment has begun
to enlist men into stables
for dragging humanity along.
Why were you born?

Samidha (firewood)

His Heavenly Hands

should have shaken
before giving birth
to the tatters of my futile life.
He should have had second thoughts
before tying up
its endlessly knotted bundle
of nightly farewells.

With millions of bodies

at His disposal

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

why to me all the pain

and conflagration?
I would like an
explanation
of this tangle of pain
reaching out
from birth to birth,
of coffined dreams
sacrificed to unknown gods.
Was I the only firewood?

Heawaj (sounds)
What sounds are these?
Do fish in water weep
or waves sob?
We lost the way
but kept on, hoping
the way would end
but it's we who will end...
Look, the trees on the shore
lip to lip whisper
about us, but the birds
have closed their eyes
with the sun.

The sky garbed

in dark
searching stars.
Heart swayed
by swaying waves
now aflame.
Let's plunge in
and drown then.

Lanjewar's voice throughout all the four poems above, in contrast

to much of her other poetry and her own activity, is punctuated by
hopelessness, with an edge of anger, frustration, and a desire to act?even
in self-destruction. In "let us plunge in/And drown then," the appeal of
her voice is for those who feel they are being held at bay in this society
and will find meaning and value in life only in action.

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Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

Our fourth woman poet did not appear in the first edition of the
Vidrohi Kavita collection, but in the second edition Meshram has this to say
about her life: "Surekha Ratan Bhagat was born December 26, 1949,
in Takalgaon in Yeotmal Zillah. Her father was a high school teacher and
she was brought up in an educated and cultured environment. She was an
avid reader since childhood. In addition her talents include proficiency in
painting, vocal music and sports. She has been writing since her college
days. Her husband's death in 1979, twelve years after their marriage, left
her to raise their three sons alone. She has accomplished that with
considerable determination. She is employed in the Buldhana T.B.
Sanitarium, where she has worked to create an entertaining environment
for the patients there. Social awareness is the very heart of her poetry .
. . she argues for continuous resistance and confrontation as a way towards
freedom. Since 1970 her poems have appeared in several magazines and
journals. Besides her work at the T.B. Sanitarium, she is an office bearer
in a social organization for women's issues called Ambedkar Prabodhini
MahilaMandal."18

The following poem bears the Hindi word Sabak (lesson) as its
title, and refers in a new and fresh way to a Mahabharata story much used
in Dalit poetry. Eklavya, a low caste challenger to Arjuna, cut off his
thumb at the behest of his chosen guru, Drona, lest he best Arjuna in
archery. "Sabak" speaks of the twentieth century Eklavya's mature
understanding of how power only hurts an individual. The modern Eklavya
or Dalit youth needs to be self-reliant and invent his own knowledge through
careful observation and creativity. He should never be a student beholden to
any Guru Dronacharya who will, when he can, manipulate and subordinate his
student for his own benefit. If the Guru is not above human folly, the student
need not deify a Guru. This poem is not about the pathos of Eklavya's
situation, but about Eklavya defining the terms of his own education and even
his Guru. Ideas of equality permeate this rewriting of a past narrative which
operated within the dominant discourse of the Guru-Shishya tradition. There
is even a suggestion that Dalit revolt can affect all society.

Sabak (lesson)

He fondled the chisel,

Each chisel stroke
Shapes a song into being.
He'd found that out all right!
So that he could lay his hands on the chisel

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

He managed to learn everything -

No Dronacharya for him!
Unlike Eklavya
This Eklavya was his own guru.
That was when they stopped
Exacting the fee from the disciple.
The way Dronacharya did.19

A New Critical Awareness

While the autobiographies contained much about the various castes

and tribes to which the writers belonged that was critical, the specific
criticism of leadership which seemed to emerge with the women poets now
has found other voices. One of the most interesting of these new voices
is that of Loknath Yashwant of Chandrapur in the Western part of
Maharashtra, who represents the many facets of critical awareness. Born
in 1956 and educated up to university level, he published his first poetry
book, Ata houn javu dya (let the confrontation begin), in 1989 with a
second edition in 1994. The book won five awards. Two of his poems
are included in School and University Curricula. Known as Loknath, the
poet says he does not compose the poems, "they just get invented." A
second book of poetry, Ani shevti kay jhalel (And what happened in the
end?) will be published soon.

The first three poems should be taken as a unit, a poem in three voices.
"Babasaheb" is an affectionate name for Dr. B.R. Ambedkar; "Republican" is
the name of Dr. Ambedkar's third political party, still current but not
important nationally. The translator is Veena Deo:

Teen kavita (three poems)20

Republican

Babasaheb turned to us and said,

To fight the enemies outside
I gave you weapons, strong ones

About those traitors inside

How have you managed those?

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Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

At this, we activists just keep standing like question

marks.

Adhyaksha (leader)

After a crowd pleasing

Forever popular and inspiring speech
A beaten-down brother raises a question
Like a cobra head
Why are we still oppressed?
Why is the struggle in disarray?

At this I draw a pistol from my pant pocket

Pull a trigger
The mirror in front crashes to the ground

Swagat (soliloquy)

You . . . ! Damn it, yes you!

What a clod you are!

Hear a surname and search for its caste!

Shame on you!
*

Only the lowest beings look for the marks of a caste.

Really, you should be beaten with boots!

Crucial to Loknath's poetry seems to be his use of

conversation within the individual. The emphasis here
searching for a clear direction. The influence of polit
now share and the Dalit participation in the institutio
society at different levels clouds one's discerning
Babasaheb Ambedkar, self-reflection, self-criticism, an
ground seem to be embedded in the self-imposed penalt
be beaten with boots." Historical memory and self

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

creativity can propel one to a new vision. Activists should not be sheep who
take no chances and have no answers, nor should they merely stand around
"like question marks."

The following three poems from Loknath's book21 suggest similar

thoughts of losing direction, being confused, feeling impotent. Yet the
emergent "I" in "Jagruti" and "Arambh" is very aware that Dalit youth today
has (not unlike Babasaheb in his day, and despite some progress) only his own
resources to depend on. He needs to take stock and become a decisive actor.

Leader (title in English)

A protest march
We were the leaders, we led it.
We were in front, the crowd behind.

Suddenly the march line wavered.

In front, police with weapons
We were careful: marchers in front, us behind.

Then, right then, we ran from the march

and
on the road a faggot called us assholes.

Jagruti (awakening)

After dark, our gang plastered the city with handbills.

We didn't go to sleep 'til we'd hung them all.

Tomorrow, something is going to happen.

New life in our sleepy bodies.

When morning comes, the walls will talk, the streets too.

But the city, quiet as usual.

Our fire fades.
People go about their business.

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Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

Yesterday, after a walk around the slow city

I knew one thing
When these people talk to you, they only look at your eyes,
nothing else.

Arambh (beginning)

From time immemorial there is one established stick

ready for attack on our backs.

All of us like animals

run without direction, holding our heads low.

Our hind legs get entangled with each other.

I am going to turn back and march on the stick

with vengeance.

You decide what you'll do.

The Presence of Ambedkar

Even though he died in 1956, Dr. B.R. Ambedkar, Babasaheb

Ambedkar, is a constant presence in the minds of Dalits. He represents
all that they could become-writer, statesman, intellect, decision maker,
religious leader-spokesman par excellence for Dalits. He is credited with
their progress, their spirit, their achievements, their opportunities with
government reservations in administrative and educational institutions. A
large book could be put together just with poems on Dr. B.R. (Babasaheb)
Ambedkar. Here we will use only two, one from a new poet, Amar Ramteke,
one from a founding father of Dalit literature, Namdeo Dhasal.

Ambedkarvad (Ambedkarism)

Those who capture Ambedkar in posters

And shape Ambedkarism into slogans,
To all those my not-so-well-wishing friends,
Give us Ambedkar back!
Ghettoes are still around.

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

Humans still need to transform.

Revolution isn't a handful changing their clothes.
Revolution is transformation of every pore of one's being.
That still needs to happen.
Ghettoes are still around.
Humans still need to transform.22

Not unlike Loknath's voice, Ramteke's poem also seeks new vision.
Memory of Ambedkar is a constant reminder of a need for a new strategist,
thinker, visionary, who can help "transform" the social world. But, also like
Loknath, the final emphasis is on the individual, "every pore of one's being."

Namdeo Dhasal's poem on Ambedkar is from one of his earliest

collections, Golpitha, published in 1974. In his 1981 collection, Tuhi iyatta
kanci tuhi iyatta, Dhasal published four poems on Ambedkar, titled
"Ambedkar 1978, "Ambedkar 1979", "Ambedkar 1980," and "Ambedkar
1981", and a poem on Ramabai Ambedkar, his first wife, as well.23 "Now,
now" is an unusual poem in that Dhasal, always somewhat outrageous, makes
Ambedkar into a sunflower-bearing fakir, a term usually used for a Muslim
holy man. The poem is so effective, however, that it was used as a preface to
Gail Omvedt's pioneering sociological study of the Dalit movement, Dalits
and the Democratic Revolution1*

Atta (now, now)

Turning their backs to the sun, they journeyed

through centuries.
Now, now, we must refuse to be pilgrims of darkness.
That one, our father, carrying, carrying the darkness,
is now bent;
Now, now, we must lift that burden from his back.
Our blood was spilled for this glorious city
And what we got was the right to eat stones.
Now, now, we must explode that building which kisses
the sky!
After a thousand years we were blessed with a sunflower giving fakir;
Now, now, we must, like sunflowers, turn our faces
to the sun.

Loknath and Ramteke voice a need for a new vision and a direction,
but Dhasal's "Atta" suggests an urgency of action and an energy ready to

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Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

explode in the presence of "a sunflower/Giving fakir" that the younger poets
do not. This sense of a leading vision in the image of the sun towards which
all should turn unifies Dalits to a single purpose which the younger poets
clearly do not see.

The Poets of the First Generation

Using a poem by Dhasal brings up the matter of the older poets, those
who began the Dalit literary movement. Namdeo Dhasal is still publishing a
great deal of poetry, and is one of the few still producing innovative poetry.
Tryambak Sapkale, who appeared in the Dalit section of this journal in 1982,
is said to be publishing his first work since his initial book in 1975. Most of
the poets of the first generation, including Dhasal, have published essays on
Dalit literature, on Ambedkar or on the Ambedkar movement, exhibiting a
great consciousness of history and their place in it. In fact, the number of
books on Dalit literature in Marathi, both by caste Hindus and by Dalit writers
themselves is quite astonishing. (And the number on Dr. Ambedkar himself
is almost beyond belief.) Gangadhar Pantawane, editor of Asmitadarsh and
professor of Marathi at Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar Marathwada University, has
over a dozen volumes of essays, literary history, anthologies, and other
material.

Arun Kamble is a professor of Marathi and has produced a very

critical study of the Ramayana, Rama, the slayer of the Shudra Shambuk, is
no hero to the Dalits. Arjun Dangle has edited the invaluable Poisoned
Bread which contains work by forty-seven Dalit poets and his own fine
introduction. Waman Nimbalkar has republished his Gaokusabaheril kavita
(poetry from beyond the village boundary) together with the critical comments
which appeared on that collection and is active in social work in Nagpur.
Yeshwant Manohar has held important offices in state literary associations and
is a Professor of Marathi at Nagpur University. Keshav Meshram, a professor
of Marathi in Bombay, has published over 15 books of essays, stories and
continues to publish poetry in Asmitadarsh, whose annual conference he has
chaired. J.V. Pawar has published a novel and a collection of his own poems
as well as edited a collection of Dalit poems in Marathi entitled "The Age of
Ambedkar." The work of all of these first generation Dalit poets may be
found in Poisoned Bread, An Anthology of Dalit Literature, and a discussion
in Zelliot's collected essays on the Ambedkar movement, From Untouchable
to Dalit (New Delhi, Manohar, 1992, second edition 1996.) The recent
poems of two of the older generation, Chendvankar and Kardak, will appear
in our final section.

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

Perhaps one more biographical vignette, based on Keshav Meshram's

literary appendix, will sum up the general sense of personal success of most
of these writers. Daya Pawar, born September 15, 1935 as Dagadu Maruti
Pawar in the Ahmednagar district, "once worked as a clerical assistant in
Parel's Veterinarian Laboratory. Then he became an auditor for Western
Railways. After considerable hardship, he completed his education through
High School. His writing began from his experience with human nature which
seemed to be both humane and animalistic. Kondvada (cattle pen) is a much
acclaimed collection of poems for which he received the 1974-75 Maharashtra
State Award for a first publication. Balut is his well received autobiography.
[A film by Bhaskar and Meena Chandavarkar, Atyachar (atrocity), based on
his book, was made with a grant from the Government but never released.]
Vital (pollution), a short story collection, and Chaudi (a meeting place in the
Maharwada of a village), a collection of conversational vignettes, have also
been published. His writing reflects a critical understanding of the socio
cultural ideas that choke Indian society at large.25 Of late, Daya Pawar has
become a sort of senior spokesman for Dalits, advising on films and other
Dalit related matters. Recent publications include a Marathi poetic version of
the Pali Buddhist text, The Dhammapada, and a collection of all the critical
essays that appeared after the publication of his autobiography, Balut: ek
vadal {Balut. a storm). Daya Pawar's classic introduction to Kondwada,
translated by Pushpa Sundar as "The Cattle Pound" appeared in The Bombay
Literary Review 1990, Number 2. He died suddenly in 1996.

The poem which follows, which Daya Pawar wrote out for us in
Marathi in 1992, reflects the weight of religious tradition that can be found in
many Dalit poems as well as the ability of that first generation still to say
something in a startlingly new way. Cokhamela or Cokha is a 14th century
Mahar saint-poet who was not allowed to enter the temple of the God he
worshipped at Pandharpur (Pandhari in the poem). Vithoba of Pandharpur is
always shown standing with his hands on his hips. The reference to Indrayani
tells a story all Marathi speakers know: the saint-poet Tukaram was forced to
throw his poetry in the Indrayani River by orthodox Brahmans. The river as
a goddess returned his manuscript because of the purity of his devotion. In
Daya Pawar's poem, there is no help for the Untouchable from either the God
in his temple or the river of piety and devotion. Notice that God Himself is
to blame!

Payri (The step)

O Lord of Pandhari, why is Cokha outside your temple?

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Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

You are really the false one, you're the one who
showed him his place.

Your devotees came to the door of the temple,

But you created a wall, you with your hands on your hips,
And now you are afraid, you hide in the inner sanctum.

When Cokha came forward, they threw stones at him,

they smashed his bones.
This Indrayani is a river of blood.

That step he stepped on moans in heat and rain.

You are inside, dressed in brocade, underneath the
decorated parasol.
Your silver eyes have become blind white stones.

Yes. Progress, but Not All the Way

Pralhad Chendvankar expresses best the idea that enormous progress

has been made, but "the twist is still there," the high caste can never be totally
free from prejudice. Born on July 15, 1937, Pralhad Namdeo Sonde Sultan
took the name Chendvankar in memory of his best friend, according to
Meshram's notes. "He has a 1968 B. Com. from Bombay University and has
published several stories, poems and critical articles as well as a poetry
collection with the English title Audit. This collection received the S.H.
Gokhale award for the best book of 1975-76 from the Pune Marathi Sahitya
Parishad. His writing captures the poignant experiences of his life as a Dalit.
His voice is urgent, angry and very confident."26 All this shows in a 1988
poem titled simply

Majha gaowala (My fellow villagers)

Once that boy from my hometown

threw the bread I had touched
on the ground
and ran home crying.
My touch polluted his bread.

Nowadays that same fellow

doesn't leave a crumb in my lunch box.

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

Once the tea shop owner made me stand outside,

gave me tea in the cup he kept outside,
made me drink the tea outside ~
and I had paid good money.

Nowadays the same tea shop owner

calls again and again
"Come on in, sir, come in."

Once the police patil

always spoke to my father, servant of the village,
with a dirty curse.

Now he never sees me

without snapping to attention with a salaam.

So, my friends! I agree

my home town folks are changing
but
I also know that
even if the rope is burned
the twist is still there
because
like a fly snared in snot
when the time comes to marry daughters
he is stuck in horoscope, caste,
family line, kin.
He never can get free.27

Reference to social change with regard to marriages is crucial in this

piece. The caste system which sustains itself on the purity of birth and lineage
was precisely the issue Dr. Ambedkar had brought up in his famous speech in
Mahad in 1927. He suggested that intermarriage would be perhaps the only
solution for a casteless society.28

While it is clear that progress has been made, the story behind the
simple word "Marathwada," the southeastern area of Maharashtra, indicates
the depth of feeling still in the hearts of caste and Dalit alike.

Learning has been the hallmark of Ambedkar's movement since its

inception. Hostels, colleges, a whole system run by Ambedkar's Peoples

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Education Society are of vital importance to the movement, and have been
important to the state. Recognizing not only Ambedkar's importance to
Dalits but also to the education of all brought about a campaign to rename
Marathwada University in honor of Dr. Ambedkar. To give Ambedkar's
educational work recognition and his own contribution to India a permanent
name in the same way that Nehru, Gandhi, Patel and many others had been
honored, a campaign was begun in the late 1970s to re-name Marathwada
University in Aurangabad in honor of the man who had brought higher
education to that neglected area in the 1950s with Milind College. The rioting
which took place when the decision was announced in the Maharashtra
assembly that the University would take on Ambedkar's name, and when
Dalits tried to enforce that decision, shocked the state; Dalits were killed,
homes were burned, many of those in the villages who had begun education
were attacked. These poems reflect that violence, the worst that Maharashtra
had seen up to that point.

Jyoti Lanjewar's "Mother," a hard-working, poverty stricken Dalit

woman, in one stanza of the poem describing her life, joins the public
demonstration:

I have seen you

at the front of the Long March
the end of your sari tucked tightly at the waist
shouting "Change the name,"
taking the blow of the police stick on your
upraised hands
going to jail with head held high . . 29

Meena Gajbhiye's optimism over progress gives way to despair after

the Marathwada violence:

Shatakacya vahatya jakhamewar

(the weeping wound of centuries)

I had sutured with difficulty

the weeping wound of centuries.
Those stitches are all ripped out, ripped out by
Marathwada.
Even our old bonds of give and take are snapped.
From now on I won't scream, "I want to live."
From now on I'll live to die.

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

Let the village become a burning ground

along with me
I will not live like a dog, nowhere.30

Waman Kardak is not a middle class Dalit poet; he does not appear
in Vidrohi Kavita, although a book of his poetry (or songs) has been
published. Bom around 1924 in the Nasik area, he is a folk singer, part of the
musical tradition of the Mahar caste. A frequent participant in the
Asmitadarsh conferences and a performer on his own, he continues to
write song-poems, this one in the voice of a high caste Hindu, which have the
pungency of folk songs.

Salaam (a salute)

Give a salaam and no harm will come to you

and stop that talk of rebellion, or else you'll pay
with your life.
A little servility will save you.
Your father and his father and his -
they were not like this;
they knew where they stood.
But you, you pull up a chair and sit right next to us.
You want a house in town, a farm in the field.
You want a pen in your hand and a city job,
a desk job, a Brahmin job.
You don't want day-old bread.
Bring on your rallies; we'll bash 'em.
We'll crunch 'em, smash 'em, we'll rout your rallies.
We'll grind this Ambedkari seed to dust
and then bury it.
Remember Marathwada.
Shut up and be slaves.
Give a salaam and be safe.
Salaam! Salaam! Salaam!
Salaam to slavery, salaam to salaaming,
salaam to servility, salaam to the township,
Salaam to veskar-work, salaam to Mahar work,
Salaam to priestly eulogizing, euphemizing,
salaam to kissing ass.
Salaam, salaam.
Salaam to your station in life.

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Salaam to your step on the ladder.31

The "namanter" (renaming) campaign finally was resolved by giving

in to the demand and Marathwada University in Aurangabad was renamed Dr.
Babasaheb Ambedkar Marathwada University. Aurangabad was quiet this
time, but in far-off Chandrapur the Library of Dr. Ambedkar College was
burned on January 15,1994, the day after the legislature's resolution of fifteen
years ago took effect. At the time, the annual literary conference of
Asmitadarsh was in session in Chandrapur and at two in the morning while
the attenders were watching a Marathi version of the American play "Slave"
by Amiri Baraka (LeRoi Jones), a fire was set across town in the Library of
the College which bore the name of Ambedkar. The Library, one of the best
collections of Ambedkar material in western Maharashtra, was completely
destroyed.

Literature and life are very much tied together in the Dalit world
in Maharashtra.

Knowledge is Potent

A poem by a "new" poet, Ravindra Pandhare, who may or may not

be Dalit but who is published in the Dalit journal, Asmitadarsh, reflects the
view that the path to enlightenment and knowledge is also the path to
attaining power:

Prakashachya watewar (on the road to enlightenment)

The dark has only just turned

The road seems clearer
I agree of course
Religion, customs, traditions
Still cloud and
Obscure the view.

But to travel this road

One must get used to
holding poison in -
Let the throat turn blue!
We too will then
Know how to open the third eye!32

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

In its choice of details that are juxtaposed from the different stories of
the most narrativized God of the Hindu Trinity, Lord Shiva, this poem plays
with the implications of the power of one who is the preserver of this universe
and the destroyer of all evil. The story of Shiva's swallowing of the poison to
avoid the Demon/Asuras from controlling the world is not related to the
legend of his third eye, which he is said to open only in rare fury. This fury
is directed with the precision of a laser beam to burn the evil object to ashes.
The poem, however, puts the two together with some design. Knowledge and
power can be gained by Dalit youth, the poem implies; and although there is
bitter poison that one must learn to swallow as a Dalit, one must learn from
the very proto-Brahmin (Lord Shiva) how to hold bitterness in and, rather
than allow self-destruction, turn it outward to those who perpetuate evil.
Learning from the master the knowledge to help save oneself from the power
of the master seems to be implied in this provocative poem.

There is much more to be said and written, but we will end here, with
the suggestion that Dalit literature has the dynamic to evolve new forms, new
concepts, new ideas.

NOTES

1. The fullest biography of Dr. Ambedkar is still Dr. Ambedkar: Life and
Mission, by Dhananjay Keer (Bombay: Popular Prakashan, 1954 and
many newer editions). Many facets of the movement are described in
Zelliot's collection of essays, From Untouchable to Dalit (New Delhi:
Manohar, 1992, 1996).

2. Arjun Dangle has edited Poisoned Bread: Translations from Modern

Marathi Dalit Literature (Bombay: Orient Longman, 1992) in
hardback with three paperback editions of some of the material in the
hardback: No Entry for the New Sun (Poetry); Homeless in My
Land (Short Stories); A Corpse in the Well (Autobiographies). A
fourth section, Essays and Speeches, which for Zelliot is one of the
most interesting, does not appear in a separate paperback edition.
Before she knew of this publication, she sent Mulk Raj Anand all the
Dalit poetry she had collected, and it was published (in an odd format
with hundreds of typographical errors) by Gyan in New Delhi as An
Anthology of Dalit Literature (Poetry) (1992).

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3. Datta Bhagat, "Routes and Escape Routes" translated by Maya

Pandit, in Yatra III, an issue on Marathi theater edited by Satish
Alekar (New Delhi: Indus, an imprint of HarperCollins, 1994). The
play in its Marathi version, Wata patwata, was presented on Bombay
TV. There are well over a dozen Dalit playwrites, but little translation
into English.

4. Vinay Dharwadker, "Dalit Poetry in Marathi" in World Literature

Today 68 (Spring 1994):319-24.

5. Man and Development X:4 (December 1988) pp. 111-40. In his

analytical article, Punalekar suggests that the five "unfolding facets of
Dalit life" are (1) writing by those who are part of the "real, dynamic,
living social processes" (2) a literature rich in empirical content (3) an
effort to explore inner tensions and contradictions of the Dalit
community (4) a reflection of the changing social milieu (5) a virile
quality of introspection and self-criticism, (pp. 132-4)

6. The Marathi Sampler issue of the JSAL (Vol XVII: 1), edited by Philip
Engblom and Eleanor Zelliot, contained work by Baburao Bagul,
Shankarrao Kharat, Namdeo Dhasal, Daya Pawar and Tryambak
Sapkale.

7. Surve won the 1992 Yashwantrao Chavan Marathi Sahitya-Sanskriti

Paritoshak (award) "for his contribution to the enrichment of Marathi
literature."

8. Balut refers to the system in the village in which the Mahar was given
grain and other "rights" for performing his obligatory village duties of
messenger of death notices, dragger-out of dead cattle, servant of the
headman and any visiting official, etc. Daya Pawar's autobiography
was published in 1978 by Granthali in Bombay, a publishing house of
idealistic high caste intellectuals.

9. Upra (the unsettled outsider) was also published by Granthali, in

1980. Excerpts in English from both autobiographies were submitted
to the Ford Foundation which then awarded prizes to the writers.

10. Madhav Kondvilkar, Ajun ujadayace ahe (there is time for daybreak)
was published by a major publishing firm, the Majestic Book Stall in

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 Journal of South Asian Literature, Vol. XXIX, No. 2

Bombay, in 1981. Kondvilkar is a primary school teacher from the

Konkan. Vinay Hardikar wrote in 1985 ("Profiles in Social
Transformation: Five Dalit Autobiographies", New Quest 49:53), "A
Get-together of Marathi writers is rarely held without a session on
Dalit literature. And no discussion of Dalit literature is complete
unless these books are discussed." He considers the autobiographies
of Lakshman Mane, Madhav Kondvilkar, Daya Pawar, Shankarrao
Kharat and P.E. Sonkamble, the latter three all important in the
Ambedkar movement. Excerpts from Kharat, Pawar and Sonkamble
appear in Arun Kamble's Poisoned Bread, q.v.

11. Baby Kamble, introduction by Vidyut Bhagwat, excerpt from Jina

amucha (Our [Wretched] Lives) translated by Maya Pandit in Women
Writing in India, Volume II: The Twentieth Century, edited by Susie
Tharu and K. Lalita (New York: The Feminist Press at the City
University of New York, 1993). The Marathi book was published by
Racna in Pune, 1985. An excerpt from Shantabai Kamble's Majya
Jalmachi Chittarkatha, (originally published by Purva Prakashan in
Bombay in 1986) translated by Shanta Gokhale, may be found in
Poisoned Bread, edited by Arun Kamble.

12. Hira Bansode, Phiryad (petition or complaint) (Pune: Samaj

Prabodhan Sanstha Prakashan, 1984). Translated by S.K. Thorat and
Eleanor Zelliot.

13. Vidrohi kavita, edited by Keshav Meshram (Pune: Continental

Prakashan, 1978): 179. Translated by Veena Deo.

14. Asmitadarsh Divali issue 1979. Translated by Jayant Karve and

Eleanor Zelliot.

15. Vidrohi kavita p. 184. Translated by Veena Deo.

16. Anthology of Dalit Literature (Poetry) edited by Mulk Raj Anand and
Eleanor Zelliot. New Delhi: Gyan 1992. See footnote 3 for the
printing quality of this book.

17. All four of the following poems are from Disha (direction) published
in Nagpur by Nikhil Prakashan in 1982.

18. Vidrohi kavita p. 185. Translated by Veena Deo.

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19. Maitarni 1:1 (1992). The translation is by Ashok Kelkar, who found
this one of the most universally meaningful of the recent Dalit
poems.

20. Asmitadarsh Diwali issue 1992:145.

21. Ata houn javu dya (Chandrapur: Muktchand Prakashan, 1989), with
an introduction by Gangadhar Pantawane. These poems were
translated by Veena Deo, Jayant Karve and Eleanor Zelliot.

22. Asmitadarsh JanFebMar 1990:28. Translated by Veena Deo.

23. The poem "Atta" is from Golpitha (the prostitutes1 area of Bombay)
(Pune: Nilkant Prakashan, 2nd edition, 1975) and was translated by
Jayant Karve and Eleanor Zelliot. Tuhi iyatta kanci tuhi iyatta (what
grade are you in, what grade) was published by Ambedkar Prabodhini
in Bombay in 1989. Three of the Ambedkar poems, translated by
Laurie Hovell and Asha Mundlay with the assistance of Jayant Karve,
appear in Laurie Hovell's "Namdeo Dhasal: Poet and Panther," in the
Bulletin of Concerned Asian Scholars 23:2 (1991):77-83 and a
somewhat different version of the article is in this journal for Summer,
Fall, 1989: 65-82. Dhasal appears in most collections of Indian
poetry, including Pratish Nandy, Modern Indian Poetry (New Delhi:
Arnold Heineman, 1974); The Bombay Literary Review 2 (1989);
Modern Indian Literature: An Anthology edited by K.M. George,
Vol. One (New Delhi: Sahitya Akademi, 1992); and Vinay
Dharwadker and A.K. Ramanujan's Oxford Anthology of Modern
Indian Poetry (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1994). V.S. Naipaul
includes a description of his visit to Dhasal in India: A Million
Mutinies Now (New York: Viking, 1990):95-119.

24. Dalits and the Democratic Revolution: Dr. Ambedkar and the Dalit
Movement in Colonial India (New Delhi: Sage Publications, 1994).

25. Vidrohi kavita pp. 170-1. Translated by Veena Deo.

26. Vidrohi kavita p. 171. Translated by Veena Deo.

27. Asmitadarsh Diwali issue 1988:123. Translated by Jayant Karve,

Veena Deo, Eleanor Zelliot. The couplet about the rope is a well
known proverb. The last part of the poem is in village Marathi. The
poet's father had the traditional Mahar position of village servant.

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28. Poisoned Bread, edited by Arjun Dangle, pp. 223-33.

29. The entire poem appears in An Anthology of Dalit Literature (Poetry),

pp. 99-103.

30. Asmitadarsh Diwali issue 1980. Translated by Jayant Karve and

Eleanor Zelliot.

31. Asmitadarsh JanFebMar 1989. Translated by Jayant Karve. Kardak's

collection of songs, Watcal (on the road), was published in 1972 by
Prabodhan Prakashan in Aurangabad.

32. Asmitadarah JanFebMar 1988:9. Translated by Veena Deo.

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