It is against this backdrop that contemporary Dalit writing emerged. The early Dalit writers of modern times were distinctly leftwing in their approach, with a strong belief in an equal social order. And with this began the emergence of Dalit consciousness. The first poet to voice these concerns was Gurdas Ram Alam (1912-1989). Born in a poor Dalit family in Bundala village in Jalandhar District, Alam sang about the deprived and oppressed-caste communities with a hopeful and celebratory note for the future:
Oh! The untouchable, open your eyes and see
I have a prescription for thee
Strength, unity and education will set you free.
Direct descendants of Alam’s creed were Sant Ram Udasi (1939-1986) and Lal Singh Dil (1943-2007), revolutionary poets whose work served as inspiration for the Naxalite uprisings of the 1960s. If Udasi calls out, “Smile Forever O’ Sun on the Hutments of the Workers”, Dil sees joy in the dance of the little children as their mother cooks the evening meal:
When the labourer woman
Roasts her heart on the tawa
The moon laughs from behind the tree
The father amuses the younger one
Making music with bowl and plate
The older one tinkles the bells
Tied to his waist and he dances
These songs do not die
nor either the dance in the heart
Celebration and pride are a part of the Dalit writing of Punjab, even as irony, loss and deprivation are never absent.
In this context, the past decade has also seen the emergence of the autobiography, including those of Dil, Madhopuri, Prem Gorkhi and Attarjit. The latter two are accomplished short-fiction writers, and have explored the Dalit consciousness through their reality. These stories bring to the fore many truths we wish to ignore. In addition, Gorkhi and Attarjit, Des Raj Kali, Bhagwant Rasoolpuri, Mohal Lal Phillauria and Nachhatar are among other contemporary fiction writers exploring the Dalit consciousness. For instance, Attarjit, in his celebrated story ‘Thuan’ (Scorpion), studies the caste divide from a different angle. The low-caste worker, who once worked as a daily-wage earner in Jat fields, is now an educated, prosperous lawyer who lives in the city, and has taken on an urban, upper-caste second name. In the wake of an agricultural crisis, a son of the Jats is forced to do construction labour at the former’s house. The caste prejudice now flares up in reverse, shattering two worlds.
At present, Dalit and women’s writing are occupying centre stage in the world of Punjabi letters, motivated as they are by the struggle against oppression. This is because what is counted as ‘mainstream’ literature is related neither to struggle nor social justice. Bhagwant Rasoolpuri, in his brilliant story ‘Kasoorwa’ (Sinful), raises the issue of the Dalit woman. This is the rambling memoirs of an old woman, one who knows that keeping body and soul together is not for the wretched, and that a woman is damned not only by the other but also by her kin.
‘No caste’ in Pakistan
Across the border, meanwhile, in the context of Pakistani Punjab, there is ample evidence of Dalit identity submerging itself in the Muslim one. Sadly, however, the Hindu malaise of the caste system was transferred even to Islam, and caste stratification can today be found in Pakistan. Indeed, the titles used in the two Punjabs for Dalits who were taken into the folds of Sikhism and Islam – mazhabi (one who has a religion) is used for the Dalit who embraced Sikhism, while and musalli (one who offers prayers) for those who have embraced Islam – are technically positive, but are generally used offensively. This implies that a change of name need not necessarily be accompanied with a change of attitude.
In contrast to the situation in Indian Punjab, Pakistan does not have Dalit writing as such, unlike the voluminous writing on the Dalits in India, especially from the left. In East Punjab, in his classic novel Marhi da Diva, Gurdial Singh immortalised Jagsir – the landless protagonist who toils and dies unsung but for the wife of the upper-caste Jat, who goes and lights a lamp on his humble tomb, as they shared unexpressed love for each other; and in West Punjab, meanwhile, Major Ishaq Mohammad, founding president of the Mazdoor Kissan Party (MKP) and a revolutionary thinker, poet, playwright, told the unhappy tale in his very popular play called Musalli. Ishaq Mohammad, the son of a peasant, had a great aptitude for learning, and secured scholarships all the way through his enrolment at MAO College in Amritsar, where Faiz Ahmed Faiz was among his teachers. His studies were interrupted only by the onset of World War II and, like Faiz, Ishaq decided to join the British Indian Army to oppose the Nazi invasion of the Soviet Union. Later, both Faiz and Ishaq were implicated in the attempted coup of 1951, better known as the Rawalpindi Conspiracy, and imprisoned. It was in jail that Ishaq wrote Musalli, which chronicled the deeply rooted apartheid in Punjabi society – a fact that many Pakistanis are loath to admit, because they believe that Muslims cannot practice caste-like discrimination.
Yet writers in Pakistan admit that caste prejudice is alive and kicking, living on in rules regarding kitchen utensils and those preventing inter-marriages. The word chura (sweeper), for instance, ranks among one of the most common abuses. Even Mohammad Iqbal, the great reformist poet, lamented in one of his couplets:
Yun tau syed bhi ho, mirza bhi ho, afghan bhi ho
Tum sabhi kuch ho, batao tau mussalman bhi ho
You are syeds, mirzas and Afghans
You are everything but Muslims.
~This article was first published in April 2010 and is a part of our Dalit History Month series where we will be posting past articles on the question of Dalit identity, politics and history throughout the month.
~ Nirupama Dutt is a Punjabi-language poet and journalist.