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Gaya District, Bihar

Bihar has declared 26 of its 28 districts drought-hit. And Gaya district has received only 350 mm of rainwater so far, against 950 mm last year.

B
usia village has been in darkness for two months now. The two transformers have burnt out and nobody has the money to offer district electricity officials to get them repaired. The wells are running dry and there’s no foodgrain in the PDS outlets—that means farmers have been forced to purchase rice from the open market and there’s no kerosene in the ration shops.

Don’t get deceived by the lush green grass that has sprouted as a result of some drizzles. The lives of those who live in Gaya—barely 120 km from Patna—can be summed up in two short words: rice and salt. An occasional watery dal, a luxury these days, has been the diet of farmers and farm labourers, who are reeling under an unprecedented drought. “Uparwala sun nahin raha,” is the collective refrain of farmers.

Bihar has declared 26 of its 28 districts drought-hit. And Gaya district has received only 350 mm of rainwater so far, against 950 mm last year. As officials expect an over 50 per cent fall in paddy production due to negligible rains—from 77 lakh tonnes produced last year to below 32 lakh tonnes this year—the state administration is gearing up to tackle a scale of disaster that stares at Bihar in the face after some 35 years.

Things are so bad that Kamleshwar Yadav, a farmer, and farm hand Sanjay Kumar have been forced to seek work outside their village to ensure at least a meal a day. “Last year wasn’t this bad,” says 58-year-old Yadav with less than an acre of land. This year has been a long wait for him—one of his buffaloes has already been sold for Rs 6,000. Yadav is keeping the other but does not know how long he’ll be able to provide fodder. Pointing to the dry paddy field, he says the buffalo will finish off the grass in two days flat and after that, there may be little option but to sell this one too. Worse, he has borrowed Rs 10,000 from a private moneylender and has no means to pay back.

Migration is as high as 70 per cent, as men are forced to move out of their village in search of work. Sanjay Kumar is finding little work—most of the small and marginal farmers watch over their lands lying waste. In return for whatever work he sometimes manages to find, Kumar gets 2.5 kg of rice daily, which he shares with his family of four. For the last month or so, they’ve been eating it with a little salt. He has occasionally worked at shops as a labourer, but that’s clearly not enough.

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Though he has an Antyodaya card, entitling him to 25 kg of rice and wheat every month, Kumar has often been denied his rations because the local fair-price shop doesn’t have enough stock. The district administration has been ordered by the state to repair the transformers and ensure that PDS outlets have adequate stocks. The state is banking on dried-out rice saplings from failed crops as a source of fodder. But, as always, such ameliorating measures take time to implement, while people like Yadav and Kumar get desperate with each passing day.

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