KESARBAI'S PIONEERING EFFORTS

It was not easy getting to the villages of Chindwada district (in central Madhya Pradesh, India), famously known as ‘Kamalnath’s constituency’. (Kamalnath is a senior Congress leader who is now Union Minister in the Congress-led central government). As we wound our way through the rough tracks, we rocked in the jeep. But Yaseen’s expert driving assured us a safe passage. The landscape was dotted with teak trees growing on forest lands. The streams were running, thanks to the good rains. The fields seemed to be buzzing with activity. The seeds had already germinated and the fresh growth provided these fields with a velvety green cover. A variety of crops were being grown – maize, sorghum, pearl millets, paddy, groundnut and even cotton and sugarcane. There were small beds of vegetable crops too. There was an upbeat mood all around and why not? The rain gods had been generous, ponds and small dams were full of water, people had enough work on their farms and were looking forward to a good harvest.

I was traveling to Chindwada in 1995. One of Actionaid’s partner NGOs, Prayas, worked in a few villages of this district, in the Amarwara and Harrai blocks. As we passed through the villages, girls and boys, women and men waved and shouted out aloud to Sadiq and Seema, who waved back cheerily. “Aren’t you going to stop here”? they asked as the jeep slowed down to acknowledge their greetings. “Why aren’t you coming to our village”? they queried. Sadiq and Seema were a familiar sight in these villages. Both were post graduates in social work and had been working with the local community, predominantly adivasis (tribals), since the late eighties. “No”, they replied. “This time, we are going to Jhirna. It’s a long time since we went there, and, as you know, Kesarbai will be very upset if we put off our visit to her village once again”. “Yes of course”, they nodded knowingly. They knew Kesarbai too, very well indeed. After all, she was one of them.

The people of Jhirna saw the familiar side of the Mahindra Commander jeep from a distance and as we approached the village, we were surrounded in no time. “ Namaste”, they shouted aloud, “welcome, welcome, we were wondering what took you so long to come”, they chorused. As we unwound and tumbled out of the jeep wondering if our backs were alright after the rough drive, we saw a frail looking lady in a bright orange coloured saree with colourful flowers printed all over, coming towards us making her way through the crowd. She had a neat line of vermillion in her parting. Her hair was tied neatly in a knot. In spite of her frame, she seemed to exercise some authority as she surged ahead of the crowd. “This is Kesarbai”, Seema introduced proudly. Seema had been instrumental in working with the women, organizing them into groups and guiding them in managing village level initiatives such as forming grain banks, seed banks and cash savings so that they were not dependent on the local moneylenders who were highly exploitative. She had also trained them in legal awareness and with the help of her lawyer sister Sunita and husband Sadiq, had represented many a case of harassment of the local people by the local authorities.

Kesarbai grinned. She was quite happy to see us. Each time Seema and Sadiq came to her village, there was something to discuss, there was some new information to be gained, there was some more impetus to the village works. This time too, she had something important to discuss, and something else to share.

As Kesarbai called out to the people around her, they started assembling in the courtyard of one of the houses nearby. The women huddled together in one corner of the open space, while the men seated themselves at the other end. Bidis (tobacco rolled in the locally available tendu leaves, for smoking) came out and the air was thick with its smell. There was an excited chatter. It was about 7 in the evening then and the women had ensured that they had cooked their evening meal before coming for this meeting. They wanted to discuss the plans for a new programme in the village that would improve their lands and help them conserve water. The men had some good ideas, but they wanted the women to put these forth, as the women apparently enjoyed better ‘credibility’, largely because of the way their ‘sangathan’ (association) had been functioning ! Also, they had such an impressive record of managing the grain bank, the seed bank and their savings, which the men just could not match up to.

There was nothing special about Kesarbai, in a sense. Like the other 40 odd families living in the village, hers was also a simple adivasi family. She had been married for about 30 years now. Life had been full of struggles. She used to spend long hours in the farm, alongside her husband. She would tend the cows, in addition to attending all the domestic chores. Like the other women in her village, she took pride in keeping her house clean, applying fresh coats of cow dung in the ‘angan’, (courtyard) making small paintings in bright colours on the walls of the verandah. Her kitchen was bare and simple, but spotlessly clean. Her grains had been stored away with great care to last the whole year.

The monsoon months were very busy with work on the farm. Her husband would often sleep in the farm during the nights when the crop was ready, like the other men in the village. Kesarbai grew vegetables in a small plot of land just behind her house. But once the crops were harvested and stored, there was not much to do. Well, she could still grow some vegetables in her ‘baadi’ (kitchen garden), but that did not need much time. And like other women and men, she too would look for opportunities for employment – on road sites, dam sites, making small bridges and causeways, well, just about any public work that came her way. After all, it meant an additional Rs. 20 per day for each day of work. Even if it was backbreaking, and even if it meant so much of additional work, it was important to keep the family together, ensuring that there was enough for the whole family to eat and making ends meet. She could also not rely entirely on her husband. Lazy as he was, he was not keen to find work for himself. He often found it too much to do. Moreover, even if he did manage to find work and earn something, most of it was spent on buying the local country liquor, like most other men. Most of them would then create a scene in the village, by picking up fights with their neighbours, beating their wives, shouting at their children, cursing the landlord, well, just about anything that they felt like doing that day, promptly to be forgotten at the break of dawn the next day !

In March, Kesarbai, like the other women, would wake up early in the morning, before daybreak, to join a group of women who would go to the forests nearby to collect ‘mahua’ ( found in the spring season) flowers. This would then be bought by local traders and among other things, mahua flowers would be used for making the local brew. There was a good demand for this. They would collect the flowers that were shed, from the ground under the trees. The more enterprising ones would even climb the trees to pluck the flowers. Kesarbai could do that, and she quite enjoyed it also. But it had its own hazards. Many a time, women had fallen from these trees, causing bruises and injuries. The fact that they were climbing the trees wearing sarees did not really help. But then, in the company of the women at dawn, partially assisted by the dark and with no one else watching, they would lift their sarees knee length, take a strand of it between their legs and tuck it at the waist behind, to make it look almost like a dhoti that the men wore, which was more conducive for climbing. But what they feared was the leopards (tendua, as they called them) and the occasional bears that they would encounter. Which is why, they would always go in a group.

The mahua season would last for about 2 weeks. They wished they could store the mahua flowers so that it could fetch up to Rs. 15 per kilo. But then, the need for hard cash during a season when work on the agricultural fields was low, meant that they would sell it to the local traders, who would anyway have done their rounds well before the mahua season had set in and pay them an advance to ensure that the women sell the mahua to them. It was in a way, trying to capture the source. Well, why then would they accept this advance and be bound to sell to the trader, one could ask. The answer was simple – the need for liquid cash ! Most of the families grew crops during the monsoon season and harvest it at the onset of winter. Most of it was kept for their home consumption though. Anyway, it wouldn’t last the whole year. Most would have to buy grains and other food items on credit, paying huge interest, though. There was hardly any marketable surplus. Thus, to them, the local traders came across as being benevolent, for they were advancing money against the crop (mahua flowers) which had not yet been collected. But what they did not realize was that their collection was bought at rock bottom rates, sometimes as low as Rs. 2, when could then be sold for prices that would be 7-10 times more !

Kesarbai had often wondered if there was a way out. Somehow, it was to do with non-availability of liquid cash, she knew. But she was not clear how this could be tackled. And it was also to do with poor yields from their farms. But then, what could be done about that? The mahua season was a given too. No one could extend that!

That was when she came to Amarwara to meet Seema at her office. Seema and Sadiq had, in the mid-eighties, set up an organization, Prayas, to work with the tribal communities in Chindwada district, setting up a small office in Amarwara, about 40 kms from Chindwada. Kesarbai was accompanied by three other women from her village.

“We heard that you are working with women like us and forming ‘sangathans’ (associations) in the village. We want to do something similar so that we can tide over our problems”, she said, very simply. She had certainly come with lot of expectations, but with little hope. Hadn’t she done the rounds at the various government offices – the Block Development Office, the Education office, the Health centre, the Water department’s office, for various purposes? And what the response? Almost always, it was of no use! Which made even the men of her village jeer at her. “We told you nothing will happen in this village. You are being unrealistic by visiting these babus (officials). You need to pay them money, you foolish woman! Only then will they respond to our problems”. “But at least, I try”, she would retort back, “unlike you who are content at accepting things lying down, blowing away our earnings with your bidis and drinking away your earnings with the country liquor” ! Heart of hearts, she knew that somewhere, sometime, her perseverance would pay.

But Seema’s response took her by complete surprise – a very pleasant surprise. “We are willing to help those who help themselves”, Seema told her- which was something that rather baffled Kesarbai. Seema continued, “We don’t want people to depend on us. We believe that you all have the power within to change your lives. Why don’t you organize the women in your village and start a group activity, like initiating savings. You could save in whatever form and in whichever way you want. You can save through cash, food grains, seeds, and even mahua flowers. One of you should take the responsibility to keep track of who has saved and how much has been saved. We will help you with that”, she said. Kesarbai shook her head vigourously in agreement. This was certainly making a lot of sense to her. But she looked at her friends who had accompanied her, seeking their endorsement. “If you have understood what madam said and if it is ok with you, it is ok with us too”, they had said. They had faith and confidence in Kesarbai. Many a time, Kesarbai had come up with simple solutions to complex problems. They were sure that this time too, Kesarbai would come up with something useful.

Kesarbai did not lose much time in organizing a women’s meeting. Not that it was easy. She still staved off delirious comments from the men, including her husband. Some of the other women were admonished by their husbands when they said they were going for a meeting. Some were horrified that their women also seemed to go the Kesarbai way ! But then, the women were undaunted. The first meeting had over 20 women, just a little over half the number of women. But it was a good start, they thought.

“If we consume all that we have, all that we produce, we won’t have anything when there is a crisis. So let us kept aside a little of what we have, each day, day after day. One of us will take the responsibility of calling meetings of our group, someone will take the responsibility of maintaining accounts”, Kesarbai explained. There was quite a bit of animated discussion around the group. “Kesarbai, what are you talking about? Don’t you know about us already? We barely have enough to eat and feed the family. How do you expect us to save from this”? It was indeed a sobering thought. “We have to save”, Kesarbai said slowly, with determination. ”Sisters, there is not way out. We need to sacrifice. I know it’s difficult. But we won’t die if we eat a little less, each day. After all, it is for a better future. Each day, when you sit down to cook your meal, keep a ‘muthi’ (fistful) of grain aside in a ‘kothi’ (an earthen storage bin). Let me tell you, it won’t hurt…at all ! Slowly, start talking to your husbands. They also need to know, to understand, and to co-operate. And every week, let us deposit the grain thus saved into a common kothi. I will ask one of the men to spare their kothi. Ramlal has some spare kothis. I will talk to him”, she said. “What will we do with the stored grain?”, one of the women asked. “When our own kothis are empty, we will take some grain from the kothi and put it back with some extra quantity when we can repay. If we borrow 1 kilo, we will repay a kilo and 200 grams. That way, our stock will increase. And then, no one will go hungry in our village”.

The women brightened up. It certainly sounded very interesting. “Why don’t we also save some cash”? one of the women suggested. There were soft giggles of disbelief around. “Hey you, do you have that much of extra cash for you to save” ? The women laughed ! But not Kesarbai. She said, “Jamna is not wrong. Can we not think of saving a couple of rupees a week ? If 20 of us save Rs. 2 per week, we will have Rs. 40 each week in a common fund. And that will become Rs. 160 per month. Now, isn’t that a decent amount? If someone falls ill and wants some money urgently, or wants to buy food urgently, can we not lend at an interest rate which is lower that the local sahukars’(traders) ”? she asked. The women were quiet. This too made sense. “Okay sisters, it is getting quite late and before our husbands start shouting and abusing us for what they would call gossiping, let us get back to our homes. I am sure we all have work to do. But think about what we have discussed carefully and let us meet again next week, may be the day after the weekly haat (market)”, she said. The women dispersed. But there was a strange sense of excitement. As they wound through the dark lanes in twos and threes, they could not conceal the excitement. They felt that they were embarking upon something that would change their lives. Even the thought of an angry husband or hungry, squealing children waiting to be attended to did not seem to dampen their enthusiasm!

This meeting had indeed changed the perspective of these women, most of whom had always believed that nothing much could change in their lives. Slowly, but with determination and amidst a great deal of cynicism especially from their men folk, the women started meeting regularly, saving fistfuls of grain and a little amount of cash. Seema and Sadiq were impressed. In a short span of 6 months, the women had not just shown their desire to take control of their lives, but had been very systematic about it. They would travel to Tinsai, a village a little away from theirs, where the women had initiated something similar a couple of years earlier. They wanted to learn. They wanted to know more. Keeping accounts was their biggest problem. They got the primary school teacher to help them and hoped that over a period of time, one of their school going girls will be capable enough to take on this task. They had also managed to impress upon their men to think of other ways to develop themselves.

The men, not to be left behind, started discussing about the prospects of improving their lands and constructing small earthen structures to conserve rainwater, which could be used when their wells had gone dry or the monsoon had receded. Seema and Sadiq had agreed to send their engineer over to their village to firm up their plans.

As the mahua season approached, Kesarbai and the rest of the members asked Seema if her organization could lend them money equal to what they would otherwise have earned if they had sold the mahua produce to the local traders. It did not amount to much, but it was a critical need. Seema agreed. The women got some liquid cash, which enabled them to store the mahua flowers. They could now wait for another 3-4 months for the prices to rise and then sell it at a profit. Which they did, and in style! Each time one of them went to the market, they would check out the mahua prices. As the mahua season receded, the price started going up. Then, in the month of June, they decided to sell the mahua flowers. The prices had gone up considerably by then. Moreover, they had the additional problem of storing the flowers through the monsoon, which was difficult. On one of the market days, the women took their produce to the market in bullock carts and weren’t they proud to be a seller in the off-season rather than a buyer, something which they had never dreamt of? And they had reasons to be happy, because their men folk had also been equally enthusiastic and supportive, casting away their skepticism as they had now begun to see a reason behind what they were doing !

They came back from the market, with Kesarbai securely tying up the cash with a knot at the edge of her saree which she then tucked it safely round her waist. It was not just her money – it belonged to many of them and she had to be doubly careful! Before doing so, she had made sure that the women who accompanied her had counted the money and knew how much they had made. Next day, in the afternoon, they sat with the school teacher to work out the economics of this ‘enterprise’. They calculated the costs of the gunny bags which were bought to take the flowers, the amount they paid for the bullock cart, and even the couple of teas and snacks they had while trying to sell their produce. The result – a net profit of a little over 100%, something that the best businesses would envy them for! It was time for celebration. That evening, they had a feast. It was a community event. Some made maize rotis, some cooked the rice. There were brinjals, potatoes, onions and green chillis for the vegetables and the curries. And there was chicken … hot, spicy chicken! The local brew made from mahua was quite prominent too! Men and women alike indulged in celebrating this important event. For once, no one was complaining about drinking!