‘Of our home we see only the unseen: our mystery.’
—Mahmoud Darwish
‘How long will we drag on like this – tell me how long – within these crumbling walls and on this blasted cow-dung floor? It’s been months since you spoke to Fulabha … I’m sick and tired of your hollow promises. You’ve just been delaying so long.’ Pani took off as soon as Kalu broached the subject of building a pucca house. It never stopped nagging at her that the village had deliberately kept the matter pending for these many years. Today she couldn’t contain her rage. There are limits to human patience and self-deception after all, she fumed.
‘Listen now. Do you think, I don’t feel bad about it? It bugs me no end too. But what can we do? We are dhedhs and the village resents the idea of us having a pucca house, with brick walls and all. Why blame them when our own destiny is rotten?’ Trying to keep his cool, Kalu began to reason with his wife. But the cold fatalism in his tone incensed Pani even more. She curled up her lip, snorted in disdain and looked away, her nostrils flaring and eyes blazing.
‘Why the hell do you pull a face like that? Why, you build it if you’ve the guts? Even your father cannot build a brick-and-mortar house without the consent of the village, okay? You just go on and on with your crazy rubbish! Show me a single dhedh in the entire region who owns a pucca house.’ His pent-up rage and smothered emotions burst out.
Pani fell silent not because Kalu had flown into a rage but because his words had a ring of truth. After a while, when her anger cooled down, she slowly turned her gaze towards Kalu and asked gently, ‘Didn’t that Hartanji promise to put a word to Pathubha? What came out of that? It is better to have support; approaching people on your own will not serve any purpose.’
‘I know all that, damn it. That Hartanji has guzzled three bottles of booze on me, so far. But when I ask him to come with me and speak to the village head, he vanishes into thin air.’ A lump of self-disgust and bitterness formed within Kalu. He stopped for a moment as if waiting for it to dissolve. More than anyone else, he was furious with himself. ‘You can’t imagine how I pleaded with him. Almost grovelled, one could say. But these bastards can’t stomach even a slight easing up of an outcaste’s life.’
‘Think of a way out of this, please God’s been kind to us and he’ll provide. But if you snatch the goat out of the lion’s mouth, the whole region will swear by Kalu’s courage.’ Pani tickled Kalu’s masculine ego to egg him on. But Kalu closed his eyes, heaved a sigh and mumbled, ‘Even I want to find a way around this, but Pathubha won’t budge. That bloody son of a koli was heard saying, ‘Now these dhedhs too aspire for a pucca house. They want to throw dust over time-tested tradition and spit in the face of entire village. Where would we be without decency and decorum dictated by convention?’’
Seeing that the talk about erecting a pucca house had left her husband dispirited, Pani felt sad and stood up to leave. Kalu held her hand and asked her to sit down, his eyes moist with honey-sweet affection. ‘In the evening, there’ll be an opium party at the village office. All the bigwigs including the village head will be there.’ Kalu looked around cautiously, lowered his voice and continued, ‘I’ve greased Hartanji’s palm, understood? Two rupees, not a paisa less, so that he can put up our proposal before the village. Wait and see, soon there’ll be a call for me from the office.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Good God, today is an auspicious day and if things fall into place, I’ll offer a plateful of ghee-dripping halwa to Mother Kali.’ Pani folded her hands and closed her eyes in a quick prayer. Then, she touched the floor, freshly daubed with cow-dung, and caressed her head with the same hand as a way of securing Mother Earth’s blessings.
‘There’ll be time for your rites and rituals. Go and call that Chhagan from across the lane first. Going to the village office all alone isn’t a good idea. Having someone seasoned by one’s side gives strength to the heart. Should something stupid trip out of my mouth, he’ll be there to help manage.’ The hope and verve in Pani’s demeanour lightened the atmosphere miraculously. She jumped up to her feet and almost ran out into the street. There was a visible spring in her step. Reaching the squat hut of Chhagan, she called out impatiently, ‘Chhaganbhai, O Chhaganbhai, are you there?’
‘Ya, I’m right here. What has come over that you are shouting like this from outside? Come inside….’
‘Your bhai is calling you. Both of you are to go to the village office right now.’ There was no summons from the office so far but Pani was in high spirits and she saw no harm in going slightly overboard.
‘Is everything alright? Have they sent for us? What wrong did we do?’ A streak of deep fear cracked Chhagan’s voice.
‘Nothing like that. You’ve to just accompany your bhai, so get ready, quickly.’ Pani sped back to her hut without waiting for Chhagan’s reaction. As soon as she stepped in, she began to complain in mock anger, ‘Now see, this sahib is taking his ease. Get ready fast. People in the office will not wait for you once the summons is issued, understood?’
Kalu quickly put on a collarless, sleeveless short shirt and tied a milky white kerchief on head. He fastened his dhoti once again, adjusted its accordion pleats, came out in the courtyard and sat waiting for Chhagan on a small, square string-cot. Chhagan showed up after a while and asked straight away, too anxious to exchange pleasantries, ‘What’s the matter? What did you do to offend the village?’
‘The thing is, I want to erect a pucca house. The big shots of the village are meeting for an opium party at the village office. They’ll consider the matter. If they approve, touch wood, I’ll start the construction work. The material I’d bought for the purpose has been lying unused for so long, I’m afraid it’ll go waste. You know my nature, I am quite capable of botching things up. So, I thought, it would be good if someone calm, like you, accompanied me.’ Kalu shared all the details of the issue at hand, except for his secret deal with Hartanji.
‘Will those bastards agree to it?’ Chhagan asked as the sheer audaciity of the proposal knit his eyebrows and scrunched up his features in a heavy frown.
‘All will be fine. You just come along. I’ve arranged everything.’ Finding himself in a tight corner, Kalu gently pricked the secrecy bubble to dispel Chhagan’s suspicion.
‘Hope, your arrangements are foolproof. You know, people’s stomach churn, if we so much as raise our eyes. Have you taken your customers into your confidence?’
‘Yes, they’ve taken it upon themselves this time. That’s how the phoenix of this idea has risen once again. Otherwise, I’ve been after it for three years now, but you know how nobody gave a damn.’
‘Kalu, I’ll give you a piece of advice if you care to listen. You drop this idea if you know what is good for you. You’re playing with fire. Even my elders toyed with it once, hope you remember that. That poor Ramo the potter had agreed to provide the bricks and how dearly he paid for it. The same night his house was burgled and what a thorough job they did, not a single paisa left behind. And that reminds me, who will supply wooden poles and planks, let alone the bricks?’
‘God is great. He’ll provide.’
‘Don’t bring your god into this. I’m sure, you still remember how Megho the carpenter's shop suddenly caught fire when he was readying shutters for your door and how you had to pay for all the damages.’ Chhagan was bringing up old memories in order to dissuade Kalu of his dangerous obsession. But Kalu’s resolve was firm and strong as reinforced cement concrete.
‘I am not one to give up, Chhagan. Didn’t they burgle my house twice? Raked through every nook and cranny for hard cash, you see, but to no avail. They may dig up my hut but they can’t lay their hands on my secret vault. But I am done playing hide and seek with them. Before anything goes wrong, I want to use the money up for a pucca house. No more cash, no more worries.’
‘Why don’t you deposit it with the village baniya, if you’re worried about its safety? You’ll earn some money on the side by way of interest,’ advised Chhagan.
‘Are you talking about that bloody Tilakchand? You probably don’t know it but the bugger polished off fifteen-hundred of my father and didn’t even burp. Even today, he doesn’t admit it, says, it was due on account. I can’t understand his account books and the black and red ants within. These people are like the proverbial curved tail of a pi-dog. You bury it underground to straighten it, but when you dig it out, it’ll curl up once again.’ Kalu burst into a quick snicker, but it fizzled out just as quickly when Chhagan kept staring at him with a deadpan face.
‘I still can’t believe, they’ve agreed to consider the proposal.’ he persisted.
‘If it’s destined to happen, nobody can stop it. And if the idea is doomed, nobody can salvage it. I surrender to His will.’
‘Both He and you are doomed, mark my words. You won’t realise it now, but you’ll remember me when they break your bones.’
‘Let’s see. His will be done.’ Kalu pointed his index finger towards the sky just when the booming voice of Babu, the barber echoed in the street. ‘Pathubha has summoned Kalu dhedh. Present yourself at the village office immediately.’
Kalu leapt up from his string-cot to answer the call saying loudly, ‘Okay. You go ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.’ Once Babu left, Kalu turned to Chhagan, elation all over his face, ‘Didn’t I tell you, there’ll be summons for me. Let’s go now. You’re ready, aren’t you?’
And both of them set out for the village administrative office, lathi in hand and anxiety writ large on their dark faces that glistened with sweat. Above them, bats and parrots, flying in the gathering dusk to their roosts in the sprawling neem trees, created a huge commotion. Guessing about the questions they would ask and the precise replies he would give turned Kalu’s mind into a madhouse.
‘There you go, Pathubha. Bloody dhedhs are here,’ somebody from the group of feudal lords attending the village head’s party pointed out with an easy sneer. Kalu and Chhagan closed in softly, wary of their steps lest they kicked up too much dust or din. Stopping at a safe distance from where the group was sitting, they greeted everybody with folded hands.
‘These scums are dreaming of living in a pucca house. What cheek!’
‘Just look at their fancy clothes. As if they are out for a wedding procession.’
‘Tell me one thing, if they start living in brick houses, where will we live? In a house made of gold?’
‘You’d better ask them to push off or I’ll break their bones.’
‘For that, you’ll have to touch them and get polluted. Why not try these shoes instead? A smarter idea, isn’t it?’
They burst into roaring laughter. Kalu couldn’t make out the exchange from a distance, but he knew what the loud guffaw meant. His face fell and his legs began to shake. He was in for a heavy fine or, even worse, a summary banishment from the village. But there was no going back.
‘Now listen, you all,’ the sozzled voice of Pathubha rang out and the scattered murmuring died down.
‘This dhedh is from our village, isn’t it? What’s your name, hey you?’ he looked pointedly at Kalu feigning forgetfulness and cocked his centipede-thick eyebrows.
‘I am Kalu, bha!’ Kalu mewled, his folded hands and dropping shoulders feigning absolute humility.
‘Yes Kalu. So, this Kalu wants to build a new house. The matter was referred to me by none other than Hartanji. So, I’ve summoned him here.’ He stopped as if to breathe and began to look around with authority. ‘Where are you, Hartanji? What do you say?’ His voice was melting in the haze of opium. Others around him were busy taking turns, formally offering and receiving opium-rich water with their cupped hands.
‘What can an underling like me say in these matters? You are the head, whatever you decide will be acceptable to us.’ Hartanji massaged the inflated ego of Pathubha while slyly rolling the ball of the decision into his court.
‘In that case, listen everybody. Just because it’s a recommendation from Hartanji and all of you have authorised me to take a suitable decision, I herewith pass the order. There should be no dissent or questions about it later.’ His head kept lolling from side to side as he drawled on under the haze of opium. His cohorts cheered him on from the depths of their intoxicated stupor. He cleared his throat and fondled his handlebar moustaches. Then closing his eyes philosophically, he decreed, ‘This Kalu will have a pucca house of his own in this village.’
A funereal silence fell on the party. All but Hartanji felt that the village head had bungled up; Hartanji smiled shrewdly. Someone from the back protested, ‘Bha, this is not fair. What about conventions, what about village decorum?’
‘And what about my word? You didn’t so much as fart when I asked.’ Such explicit objection drove the mukhi up the wall. Throwing a fake tantrum, he roared at his sidekick, ‘Where the hell is my staff?’ and began to look around frantically.
Everybody was filled with fear at the mention of the staff. Realising that his ploy had worked, Pathubha instantly feigned the cooling of his temper and declaimed, ‘Go and start building your brick house. The House has granted you approval. But see to it that it’s no bigger than what the House mandates. No floors above the ground floor, okay? Hope, you’ve enough land for the purpose.’
‘Yes bha, all your grace.’ Kalu heaved a muted sigh of relief, but Chhagan’s heart was still beating in his mouth.
‘How high are you going to keep the ceiling? First clarify that.’ A middle-aged man known as Mohan, the old fart, rose unsteadily on his feet and demanded, scorn dripping from his words.
‘As high as you permit, bha. Not an inch higher…’ Kalu’s voice shook.
On seeing Mohan speak, others too gained confidence. ‘You fix the height of the ceiling, Mohan bha, you know best. If this rogue breaches it, he’ll have it,’ a faceless voice echoed from the pitch dark. Kalu knew Mohan inside out; just a couple of days ago, he had downed a full bottle of booze at his expense.
‘Then listen, you all.’ Mohan launched into a authoratative mode, a sense of self-importance washing all over him. ‘Disobeying Pathubha’s order is out of question. The house should span not more than thirty feet to the east and twenty to the north. No windows in the front, understood? No niche in any walls for cupboards or a show-case. The pair of shutters in the doorframe should be plain. No carvings or designs therein, got it? And yes, they should be fixed only with the prior approval of the House.’
‘Ask him about the height of the ceiling. That’s most important.’ An impatient, guttural voice tooted from the back rows. That had everybody laughing uproariously.
‘Oh yes, the ceiling should be as high as….’ Mohan fumbled, for words or maybe for an idea, nobody knew. ‘If the mukhi raises his hand, it should touch the ceiling, okay?’
‘There you are, Mohan bha. Salute to your sense of justice.’ The impromptu expression of praise sparked off a collective rooting for Mohan’s astute judgement.
Kalu acquiesced to each condition with obsequious nods of the head. But those restrictions didn’t make him as uneasy as the question squirming in his head. He kept gazing anxiously at Pathubha for permission to speak, who obliged at last with a grunt.
‘Bha, I’ll hire your cart to carry the bricks, but I don’t know which route to take for transport. If you could fix the route as well….’
‘Who’s going to supply bricks?’
‘Bha, Ramji, the potter has agreed, the one whose kiln is on the lake.’
‘Oh, in that case, the cart will move right through the village which is not proper. Take a bypass through the acacia woods instead. Of course, that would be a longer route. But decorum has to be maintained. My name would be dragged through dirt in the entire region if I allowed a dhedh to transport bricks through the village?’
‘Okay bha, as you wish.’ Kalu readily agreed.
‘And listen, everything has to be done in consultation with Hartanji. Alright?’
Without waiting for Kalu’s response, the village head dismissed the duo with a sharp wave of his hand. Kalu heard the last remark but he didn’t wish to bother about it now. He and Chhagan rushed back at the speed of a piglet escaping the jaws of hungry dogs. The desire to share the news with people in their street had charged them with a ghostlike vigor.
A couple of days later, Hartanji showed up at the gate of untouchable street and called out for Kalu.
‘Kalu, where the hell are you? Are you at home?’
‘Oho, Hartanji! Welcome, welcome. Is everything alright?’ Kalu ran up to the gate of the street to greet him and stood at a traditionally-sanctioned distance with folded hands.
‘Come closer, this is confidential.’ Kalu walked up to him very alert lest his touch should defile Hartanji. ‘Hope you remember the Pathubha’s last instruction?’
‘Yes, yes. I remember it. Tell me, what do you want me to do?’
‘I hear, you’ve got a goat and a kid. Come in the evening to my farm with the kid and five rupees for five bottles of booze. That’ll take care of the hard time I had convincing the village head.’ Hartanji kept a keen eye on Kalu’s changing expressions as he whispered almost in his ear.
Dusk gathered on Kalu’s face. He looked down at the toe of his right foot that was digging into the sand nervously and muttered, ‘I’ll manage five rupees anyhow, no worries even if I have to borrow them, but I’ve pledged this kid to Mother Goddess. Don’t know if I can give it away. Mother will be angry with me.’
‘Then leave it, you rogue. I deigned to intervene because you were after me for so long. Now that the approval has been granted, you think up excuses,’ Hartanji snapped back as a familiar, intensifying harshness laced his voice. ‘Do you want to erect a pucca house or not?’
The question was sharp and pointed like an arrow and it did the trick in one single prick, leaving Kalu flaccid like a deflated balloon. He limped back to his hut, brought five coins and dropped them in the Hartanji’s palm from above. The clank of the coins jarred on his nerves. Overwrought, he promised to hand over the kid in the evening and hurried back. He didn’t have the nerve to speak to Pani about it until the evening.
*
As dusk fell, Kalu untethered the kid, removed the chain around its neck and slipped the noose of cotton rope in its place. A bolt of suspicion struck Pani’s heart.
‘What are you doing? Why did you unleash the kid at this hour?’ Acute anxiety rasped her voice.
‘Now, don’t start blabbering about things you don’t understand,’ Kalu whined, cutting her short.
‘Then why don’t you make me ‘understand’? Come clean. What are you doing?’ Pani sounded curt and cold. Helpless, Kalu narrated the whole story in lurid detail, his eyes dripping profusely. The tears rolling down her husband’s cheeks moistened Pani’s heart.
‘I’ve reared this kid as my own son. Buy that bastard a new kid later,’ she whimpered, inconsolable.
‘Where will I get a new one from at this hour? They’re having a party tonight at Hartanji’s. They won’t let us lay the foundations of our house, if I say no.’
Pani wanted to say a big ‘no’ to her son’s slaughter, to this daylight robbery, to the oppressed life the village imposed on them, to their servile existence. She kept looking at the mother goat as bitterness surged within her. The mother goat kept gaping with stony eyes at her kid being taken away. She shook her head once or twice, tried to pull at the peg, then quietened down. Pani went inside the dark hut but didn’t light the lamp. Didn’t light the fire. The night inside the house felt darker than the night outside when Kalu returned. Nobody uttered a word. Pani had gone to bed without eating anything. Kalu too lay down in his string-cot in the courtyard but couldn’t sleep a wink. He kept tossing and turning until dawn. In the morning, he saw that the clump of lush green grass placed before mother goat in the trough had remained as it was, untouched.
*
That morning Moti Maharaj visited Kalu’s hut upon invitation. Kalu touched his feet and made him sit on his string-cot. A group of curious middle-aged men from the street had already squatted on the ground around the cot.
‘Maharaj, please identify the most auspicious time for laying the foundation stone.’ Kalu requested.
‘Don’t worry brother. I’ll fix the best time for you so that your progeny up to seven generations will live in this house in peace,’ Moti Maharaj mumbled from his toothless mouth as he rummaged in his cotton sling bag for his almanac. When he located it, he untied the grimy string fastening the roll of yellowish paper and began to peer into it. The foundation stone was laid the next day. The hustle and bustle in the untouchable street due to the construction activity, the shouting of masons and labourers, the thwack and clank of carpenters and plumbers continued for around a month. It was nothing short of a festival for all the residents of the street, a new beginning, a new day. Plain wooden shutters and bright, russet roof tiles gave Kalu’s brick house a fabulous look; though it was squat and small, it stood out in the entire street due to its onion-cell brick design and fresh rooftop. Pani and Kalu were overjoyed. But they had another reason to celebrate as well; Pani was expecting. After years of waiting, they had a double joy at their doorstep. For Pani it was as if she was bearing twins with a new home and perhaps a handsome son. Kalu felt that in one brilliant, blessed stroke, providence had redeemed his lifetime of hardship and suffering.
One afternoon, Kalu and Pani were seated in the courtyard, discussing the inaugural ceremony of their new house. ‘On the day we formally step into the house, we will have Moti Maharaj perform a puja, followed, of course, by a feast for the entire street.’
‘We’ll also invite all our relatives from far and wide.’
‘Make sure that no one is left out, otherwise it’ll be their pet peeve for the rest of our lives.’
‘Okay, okay, as you wish. But now rest a little. You’ve been slogging like a ghost all these days. Must be tired, eh?’
‘And what about you? You’ve been running from pillar to post, day and night.’
‘Tomorrow, I’ll pay my respects to Moti Maharaj and ask him to come over to fix the date and time for inauguration.’
‘You stole the words from me. This is great. Enough sleeping in the open.’
*
That evening a hoarse call for Kalu rose once again from the gate and hung ominously over the street. Kalu, who was working in the courtyard, immediately sneaked into the house and asked Pani to say, ‘He’s not home.’
‘Ask him to present himself at the office once he’s back. The House is in session.’ Once the booming voice died down, Kalu came out of his hut, took Chhagan along and headed for the village office. Upon reaching, they greeted everybody with folded hands and stood on one side, their heads throbbing and their hearts beating hard. The village head ran a searching glance over them from head to foot and asked, ‘Isn’t your new house ready yet? When’re you planning to shift in?’
‘Bha, the house is ready, but I haven’t shifted in yet. I am waiting for Moti Maharaj to fix the date and time for the inaugural ceremony. Then I’ll be able to shift, probably. The rest is in the hands of Almighty,’ Kalu said with a fatalistic note, knowing full well that it always found favour with village authorities.
‘You’re right, nothing happens against His will. I thought, let me take a stock of the progress. Hence, the summons. You can leave now.’
They sped back home taking long, hurried strides. But the thought that the group had asked nothing else and packed him off threw Kalu into maddening panic. He was a like soul in torment on the way home. Seeing them return so soon, Pani was relieved. While parting, Kalu couldn’t help pouring his heart out to Chhagan.
‘Brother, I don’t know what’s going on. Sure, something is amiss. Will you do me a favour? Please go to Maharaj’s village tomorrow on my behalf. I don’t want to leave Pani and the house alone.’
Before entering, Kalu cast an affectionate look at his new house and turned to Pani. ‘I don’t know why they called me? They only asked whether the house is ready and suggest that I should shift soon. Bastards are playing games with a poor man. As if I don’t know what pricks their backsides….’
‘Let them be. Come, wash your hands and feet. I will serve you dinner.’
They sat down on dusty floor near the door and had rotla and curry. Spreading out their quilts in the courtyard, they lay down under the twinkling sky. Gazing at the beauty of the night, they dozed off. The sound of the crickets and cicadas lulled the street into slumber. A cool breeze caressed their tired bodies with motherly affection. Suddenly, Kalu woke up with a start. His house was being bulldozed, he felt. He rose, looked around, went up to the backyard and returned on agitated steps; people in his street were fast asleep in their courtyards. There was no movement anywhere. He returned to his bed and stared at the pregnant belly of his wife. Then he lay down, appreciating the beauty of his pucaa, brick-and-mortar house. The house looked like the pregnant belly of Mother Earth. He curled up in his bed. For a flitting moment he felt as if he were a baby about to be born from the womb of the starlit night. His eyelids turned heavy but still he couldn’t sleep. The plot of land on which he had constructed his house used to be the site of annual bhavai performance. Throngs of people from the villages around, including those of his caste used to come over to watch the performance. The village head and other upper-caste people would sit on cots laid out in the front rows but the residents of the untouchable street had to watch it from a distance, standing behind the back rows. He particularly liked the the duel between Lord Krishna and his maternal uncle Kamsa, greatly fond as he was of the guttural voice of Kamsa and his walrus moustaches. Once he tried, just as in the enactment, to pull the moustaches of Magan who played Kamsa, just for the feel of it. The delightful memory of the event perked up his heart. He opened his eyes and looked at Pani. A strong urge to caress the swell on Pani’s belly made his hand quiver involuntarily, but he checked himself. Let her sleep peacefully, he smiled.
A female screech-owl let out a piercing, shrill cry in distance. Kalu grumbled, ‘Why the hell do you have to cry at this unearthly hour, damn it?’ He looked up, an empire of stars reigned all around. Watching their glittering beauty, he didn’t realise when he dozed off.
Slipping into gentle slumber, he began to dream about him being reborn as Krishna, a dusky youth standing amidst cows with a golden flute. Just then, uncle Kamsa heaves into sight, running madly towards him, brandishing his sword murderously. He wants to flee and hide somewhere but his feet have struck root. He can’t budge, as Kamsa, a threat to his life, moves in on him. As he closes in, his true face is revealed; it iss a familiar face, a wicked face, a devilish face. He lets out a horrified cry, ‘He is Pathubha, not Kamsa.’ Kamsa laughs a roaring, demonic laugh and holds his sharpened, poisoned sword onto his neck. A cry goes out in all directions, rending the air. He begins to spew out hot, leaping flames from his mouth; his mouth enlarges and turns into a bottomless pit. Gigantic jets of scalding lava erupt from his volcanic mouth. People cry out in the streets,
‘Wake up, Kalu, wake up. Fire, fire. Your house went up in flames, Kalu.’
Kalu jumped up. Pani woke up too. The rear of his house had caught fire like a clump of dry grass. The cobra of fire was gradually swallowing the entire house. People in the street were trying desperately to douse the fire with whatever little water they had stocked. But the fire was spreading rapidly, engulfing every single inch of Kalu’s dream house. Pani got up and melted into the bedlam, wailing and weeping hysterically. Kalu remained where he was, in his bed, dumbfounded and deranged. Twisting, billowing flames kept dancing in his glassy eyes.
*
Dalpat Chauhan, who is closely involved in the struggle of Dalit emancipation in Gujarat has worked with the Dalit Panthers in Gujarat. He ran radical little magazines such as Kalo Suraj (The Black Sun) and Akrosh (Outrage). He set up the Dalit Sangharsh Sangh (DSS) in Gujarat in 1982, and brought out an anthology of Dalit Poetry and booklets resisting and condemning and questioning the Government reports on atrocities that took place between 1982 and 1985 when Gujarat burned due to anti-reservation riots.
He has worked in almost all genres available to a writer and published a number of books which cover poetry, fiction, non-fiction, plays, lexicography, anthropology, historiography and criticism. Notable among them are his novels Malak (Homeland) and Gidh (Vulture), both published in 1991 and Bhalbhankhalun (Dawn) that came out 2004. His collections of short stories like Munjharo (Buffaloed) 2002 and Dar (Fear) 2009 have been critically acclaimed. He has also scripted plays such as Patanne Gondre, 1987-1988; Anaryavarta, 2000; Antim Dhyey, 2000 and Harifai, 2003. He has been given more than 15 literary awards, including those from the Gujarati Sahitya Parishad, Gujarati Sahitya Academi and the prestigious Narsinh Mehta Award. His works have been translated into English, Hindi, Marathi, Bengali, French and German.
*
Hemang Desai is a bi-lingual poet, short story writer and a translator negotiating his mother-tongue Gujarati and English. He has published three books of translations, Anuvidhan (Post-statement) (2010) which anthologised select Marathi poetry in Gujarati translation; Thirsty Fish and other Stories (2013) which carries English translations of eminent Gujarati poet Sundaram’s short stories and Poetic Refractions (2012), a collection of contemporary Gujarati poetry in English translation. His poems and transcreations have appeared in World Literature Today, Etad, Vahi, Cerebration, Maple Tree Literary Supplement, Indian Literature, Sandhi, New Quest, Tathapi, Four Quarters Magazine, Danse Macabre, Museindia etc. He has recently finished the translation of Arun Kolatkar’s poetry collection Kala Ghoda Poems into Gujarati. He is presently translating fiction of eminent Gujarati Dalit writer Dalpat Chauhan into English and finalising a monograph on Indian perspectives on translation theory. He works at Central University of Gujarat, Gandhinagar and can be reached at hemangde@gmail.com.