My childhood was nurtured in the verdure farms with my parents. Bunyan tree in the uncultivated land, a pond, constructed well, a peepal tree on its edge, farms of green soaf and juvar, water of the well making rippling sounds on the sides of the farms and dancing peacock- I have enjoyed the nature with all my heart in the verdure farms.
At the age of five, I lost my father. Bullocks with bells and bullock-cart vanished from our courtyard. Life was difficult. We suffered from both hunger and sorrow. My widow mother was struggling to bring up her family we were all with her. My mother woke me up quite early in the morning. I would join her to help her in the churning vessel. At dawn I brought grass from the farms for our buffaloes, also served this grass to buffaloes, also served water to these buffaloes which I brought from the well. Then I go the school. During holidays I worked as a daily laborer in the farms for removing weed from the farm, to harvest the crop, to dig up the earth and to collect wood and dung-cakes. In the night I read under the light of flickering lamp. Then also I was not lagging in the studies. In the time of financial crisis whole family toiled very hard without losing courage, I stood first in my studies though I went hungry sometimes. Thus , my school life was full of problems. On holidays , I would go to graze the buffaloes if I had no homework.
In the college days, I dreamt. I was young, was studying in college and studied literature. I was absorbed in poetry of colors, flowers and love. In vacations, I had to take care of our mango farm. My parents had nurtured this mango farm. It was very far away from my home. i had to stay in this farm from spring to summer. I enjoyed the sweet fragrance of mass of flowers of the mango tree with full of my heart.But the heat of the hot winds of chaitra and vaisakha, dust-storm of the summer, sun-shined hillock and the flag of naga bava on the makrod tree on the edge of the narrow passage .. to kill the roz (a kind of wild animal akin to horse )persons who moves on the camel…merchants carrying goods to different places on bullocks (Vanjaras), kutchhi shepherds with their sheep and goats..Tents of all these people were laid down in the outskirts of the village and I was watching their life with their animals.
In the hot afternoon, the snake charmers played flute, to kill the fox pomlas ( a wandering tribe)rush to the jungle, sometimes merchants carrying goods celebrate their marriage ceremony, gum and dung-cake gatherers coming and going- all these matters became part of my life. Sometimes when I was hungry, I ate ear of corn of dodi, pods of khijda, flowers of mahua and of course, mangoes were definitely there. Sometimes if I could not control my desires, I tasted the honey of the flowers of the cactus tree with my tongue. I enjoyed humming of koel and pigeon though there was harassment of monkey and parrot, with these sounds there was also warbling of peacocks- These are the very happy memories of my life. Burning sun of the mid-day qwas giving shine and heat, roaring sound of the hot wind , the sea of the mirage was rippling, frightened by the hunger and thirst then I see my mother carrying rice and small bucket of buttermilk very far in the uncultivated land with a thick and short stick in her hand from the roof of hut. Then in the grove of mangoes and vicinity of my mother I was eating with ease; bajra bread;, onion, dish of foenugreck, jaggery and buttermilk. and whatever was left was for my mother. This was a heaven for me.
I was basically hurt the most by the exploitation, injustice, hatred and outrage of the dalits by the upper caste people. My uncle and brother were the front leaders to oppose the terrible situation of the dalits. They spoke against the injustice in the language of agitation. The orthodox upper caste people could not tolerate this. This gave birth to the agitation. As a child I witnessed and suffered violent casteist mob attack on the dalit locality , my uncle was the main target. We filed a case against the mob but ultimately we compromised. But that did not lessen the animosity. I was studying in college. In the newly opened school in my village there was an untouchability and outrage in the air, created by caste Hindu teachers against the dalit students. I opposed this injustice then I and other dalits of the locality were beaten up by the caste Hindus. Furious village boycotted us for some b months. When we accepted the challenge then we were collectively outrage by the upper caste people. This time I was the target. Luckily nothing adverse happened to me but the pain that I suffered still pierces me. Hence I left the village and started higher studies as well as a job which was a necessity. I lost my ailing mother. Education with marital life, job, social service and financial problems of my family - I was struggling for life dharma, family dharma and social dharma. But I had courage, youth and dreams also having high ideals and longing to serve the society. To convert my dreams into reality was a tough challenge. Because of this, the horizons of life widened. Then also my young heart tender feelings flew like a stream. Whatever I wrote during this time was published as ‘Yaad’( A collection of poetry) in 1993.
On the other side, the agony of life was not lessening. Not only me, whole dalit community suffered in the ninth decade of the twentieth century, that too, in the Gandhi’s Gujarat. Anti-reservation agitation turned into Caste based violence against the dalits. The. caste Hindus attacked the dalit localities and terrorized the dalit community. Huts and houses of dalits were set to fire. Many dalit youth lost their lives.Our parliament too expressed concern and condemned the violent attacks on dalits. I , too, have seen, known and experienced all these things. In my native village also a mob of caste Hindus entered the dalit locality to attack, but they could not succeed. Thus the agonies of the dalit life spread in all directions. The whole dalit community was living in the curse of never ending injustice, outrage and scarcity. The dalits suffered social, educational, economic and religious inequality. I was experiencing the unutterable agony. How long should I scratch the blood oozing wounds of heart? I was born, I have lived, I am living and will continue to live in this invaded painful land of dalit life. Up to when? Why? I have enjoyed, known, experienced the moments of pain and consciousness.
Whatever I witnessed, came to know and endured, found expression in words. Thus my own experience and feelings took form of words: anger against the injustice, rejection of the tradition, rebellion against the establishment, struggle against atrocities and revolutionary ideas against inequality. It embodied new meanings, new meanings and new references, and revolutionary consciousness. I was deeply influenced by the ideology of Dr.Babasaheb Ambedkar that pervaded my environment. My poetry of this period has built an ‘overbridge’(2001). Prof.Jayant R.Joshi welcomed the collection, ‘overbridge’ as ‘ new blooming after the violence based on scriptures.’
The situation slowly changed. My commitment with the Dalits and exploited populace remains but the spirit of revenge is waning. I welcome all those feelings for dalits and others which were naturally born as goodwill for all as a creative writer. Literature is nothing but self-experienced expression of a writer’s inner consciousness. My poetry collection, Anubandh (2004) is a complete and perfect knowledge of society and all the creations are full of feelings of vitality and life. The writer’s real abode lies in such a world where the society becomes beautiful, prosperous and complete. In the end , creation is nothing but an ascent of his inner consciousness. Conflict is born from the social opposition in the same way a poem is born from the inner conflict of the poet. But the humane goodwill, equanimity and equality lead the creator towards silence. Yet the sufferings of heart gives birth to the silence of the creative writer. Silence is nothing but an unhurt pain. Thus I have arrived on the fourth halting place of my journey of poetry namely “Maun na mukam par” in 2009. From 1960 to 2009 it is nothing but a half century long accomplishment of words. Thus sensible expression of silence is a poem and for me a poem is nothing but to oppose the established mythological and sociological continuations as a bridge created out of new meanings, new references and new human values. The poetry of “overbridge” is nothing but a bridge from one human being to another.
Dr.G.K.Vankar has selected and translated these poems from two of my collections, ‘overbridge’ and ‘anubandh’. I am indebted to him for these translations which are the result of our many discussions. No words of gratitude are enough to his enthusiasm, patience and passion for translation, I salute him.
B.N.Vankar
Tr.Mahesh Dafda
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