Where BPL mobile means poor migrant

Determining who is below or above the poverty line has done little to help the villagers of Gandharla, says noted journalist P. SAINATH. Fuelled by distress, the scene in this habitation, as is the case in the Orissa and Chattisgarh regions, is one of chaos - a collapse of rural credit, plummeting investment in agriculture, growing unemployment and desperate migration.

BOLANGIR, NUAPADA (ORISSA) and SARAIPALLI (CHATTISGARH):

CHELGOUD KARUAN could well be the poorest man in Gandharla village. But he went for ages without the Below Poverty Line (BPL) card that allows him to buy rice at a cheaper rate. He mortgaged the card in desperation to Surendra Satpathy, part-time poojari and small time operator, for just Rs. 500. For two years, Satpathy drew the full quota of rice on that card. The loan was to be adjusted by deducting Rs. 20 from it for each month that the card remained with Satpathy.

Chelgoud, a dalit, says: "I had no choice. My wife was about to have a baby and I needed some money for that." Chelgoud is physically too frail for any kind of labour. Satpathy knew that he could keep the card for a long time; possibly forever.

Thabira Karuan, Chelgoud's neighbour, mortgaged his BPL card to another moneylender for just Rs. 100. In the same basti, Naikeshi Lohar has never had a card at all. It did not matter that she is as badly off as Thabira. Those doing the survey of BPL households recommended her inclusion. But she did not make it. The Government has rigid quotas on how many people may be declared BPL in a given place. The BPL population is determined not by poverty but by government fiat. So even if you are very eligible, you may not make it. It is impossible for anyone to tell the difference between BPL and Above Poverty Line (APL) families in this basti.

The result in this period of high distress is chaotic. Several among the poorest are selling or mortgaging their BPL cards.

Surendra Satpathy, who belongs to the sole brahmin family in the village, has held at least five or six cards from this basti. From these, he has drawn around 90 or 100 kg of rice a month at BPL rates. He is able to sell this rice at a profit - just below the APL rates. There are many hungry people who do not hold BPL cards but who are not far from destitution.

He admits to taking only a couple of cards, but agrees he has drawn huge quantities of rice (which would require at least five cards) at BPL rates. "I need 90 kg of rice at home each month," he says. Which is odd. Apart from himself, there is only his frail wife and two small daughters to feed.

Satpathy himself is far from rich. He is just relatively better off than the dalits whose cards he holds. But he is slightly more educated and cannier than his dalit neighbours. He points out that he has returned the cards, which is true. He panicked when award-winning young journalist Jagadish Suna broke the story on the distress mortgaging of BPL cards amongst the poor of Bolangir. Suna's reports literally brought back Chelgoud's card to its real owner.

That is a scene from a single village. One that is repeated across many here in Bolangir and in Nuapada district next door. Several people have mortgaged or sold their BPL cards, driven by acute distress. In Kharlakot village in Boden block of Nuapada, we found five such cases in less than half an hour. In a couple of cases, the younger family members had sold the card and migrated, abandoning their parents. Purnachandra Chinda had sold the card for Rs. 50 and left months ago. His ageing mother has not heard from him since.

In the same village is Ranjit Jagat whose wife died of hunger five months ago. "I cannot afford to even perform her tenth day ritual," he says. He has lost his BPL card, too. "I mortgaged it for Rs. 20 to get her an injection," he says. Jagat's daughter-in-law mortgaged her wedding saree for Rs. 80. That enabled her husband to go to Raipur to look for work. She has gone too and the old man is now alone.

There is no work available here for the few younger ones who have stayed. Nor are they finding any nearby.

The agricultural crisis is biting deep in the Kalahandi-Bolangir region.

That crisis also shows up in the new twists to migrations out of here. This is a high migration region even in "normal" years. This year, many newcomers joined the thousands going to the brick kilns of Vizianagaram and Hyderabad in Andhra Pradesh. That is apart from the tens of thousands going to other destinations. Quite a few of these were first-time migrants from groups normally outside this cycle.

"The census in 2001 was meaningless for this region," says ex-MLA Kapil Narain Tiwari in Khariar, Nuapada. "The crisis in agriculture has greatly deepened poverty and spurred new migrations. So a huge chunk of the population was out when the enumeration took place. That is going to reduce the census numbers to a farce."

Many are also back much sooner than anticipated - but after the census. The numbers going out to the usual destinations were too large. The flood of hungry workers brought about a steep fall in labour wages in Vizianagaram and Hyderabad. The slow down of construction in many other cities made things worse. The migrants are returning with not much to do here either.

In both Nuapada and neighbouring Chattisgarh, there are efforts on to generate employment through food for work programmes. Some officers have done the best they could in this situation. For instance, Nuapada Collector Bishnupad Sethi is respected in his district. But the problem is so huge that the expenditures are marginal to it. Besides, there is the usual slew of contractor- led rip-offs eating into the efforts. At several worksites, people were being paid far less than the stated minimum of Rs. 40. And besides, as Tiwari points out, "Many of the Kalahandi region's problems begin in Bhubaneswar and beyond."

In the Sunabeda plateau of Nuapada, many cannot buy their rations. The Orissa Forest Corporation which is the sole collection authority for the (Tendu) Kendu leaf, has not paid them their dues for months. Meanwhile, the forest department has banned kendu leaf collection in much of the area. The place's status as sanctuary is in dispute. Yet, even the collector's pleas on behalf of the adivasis who live here have been ignored.

In Chattisgarh, no visitor can escape the irony. The drive in from the airport to Raipur takes you past gigantic stocks of foodgrain in open yards of the Food Corporation of India (FCI). Quite a bit of this is exposed to the elements in just sacks. The black polythene meant to protect them cannot cover the huge stockpiles here. And there have been thunderstorms damaging the exposed grain. A visit to villages not far away shows rising hunger.

In Saraipalli in Chattisgarh, Sub-Divisional Magistrate Amrit Xalxo is overseeing the repair of tanks. He is also trying to construct troughs in each village for livestock.

Water for cattle is going to be a big problem right through this summer. Though confident things are coming under control, the SDM says: "Migrations must have doubled this year. Many of the migrants are now coming back."

Distress sales of produce are on in a big way, too. Here and in western Orissa. "At the time of harvest," says Jamodei Jagat in Boden, "we sold paddy at Rs. 6 to Rs. 7 per maan (roughly 2.5 kg). Now we buy the rice at Rs. 12 or Rs. 13 per maan."

At the Sindhekela market in Bolangir, tarbooj is being sold at rates as low as 50 paise per melon. Alongside, are women also willing to sell rice at far less than what it coscost them to produce it. The mali community that grows vegetables has taken a beating with power "reforms". Earlier, they paid Rs. 60 to Rs. 70 per acre for electricity for irrigation. Now they have to fork out Rs. 860. There is enough water nearby for the malis of Birunpadar in Nuapada to pump up. But vegetable prices have crashed and power rates have shot up.

Most of the factors on display in Rajasthan or Andhra Pradesh are also in place here. The collapse of rural credit. Devastating rate hikes in power. Crashing investment in agriculture. Rocketing input costs. The misery caused by APL-BPL hair splitting. Falling employment and desperate migrations.

The Kalahandi region alone has two perennial rivers. It has four other significant rivers. And several other, smaller ones. It has an abundance of resources. Also, highly skilled farmers. Its labourers are valued across the country for their capacity for back breaking work. Yet, it is once more in crisis. And once more, "drought" is what the media are focussed on. Sure, the drought is an aggravating factor. But it is not where the problem began.

The whole region is getting the stick from a drought of policy and a policy-driven drought.

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