National

A Place Without A Place

Thanks to Radcliffe, schizophrenic enclaves lie on either side of the India-Bangladesh border

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A Place Without A Place
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For Jiten Adhikary (65) and 350 fellow inhabitants of village Chit Kuchlibari, close to the Indo-Bangla border, nights are spent in sleepless terror. Physically part of Jalpaiguri district in north Bengal, this little enclave-a narrow sliver of land measuring around 250 bighas-is actually Bangladesh territory. In 1947, there was naturally no power supply. But even 53 years later and well into the new millennium, the area slips back into the middle ages after the sun sets. Then it's time for local and Bangladeshi criminals to begin ruling the lives of the hapless inhabitants.

And it's not just electricity. Considering that the enclave does not have drinking water facilities, power would be a luxury. In fact, it's a classic medieval setting, what with the village having no school, college, post office, dispensary, police station or market. The reason is not difficult to fathom: neither Indian nor Bangladeshi authorities, for obvious reasons, have taken much interest in these enclaves. For the record, there are 120 Indian enclaves in Bangladesh territory, covering an area of 31 square miles and 98 Bangladeshi enclaves in India, in an area of 10 square miles.

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"We have never seen Bangladesh, surrounded as we are on all sides by India, without any official egress.... Indian authorities can't enter here for political reasons, but no one from Bangladesh visits us either. Technically we are Bangladeshis, but we have been forgotten by both countries," says Adhikary. He is perched on a bamboo platform in front of a thatched cottage that is his home. There is no pucca building and the dirt-tracks have become slushy after a heavy downpour. But all this has not deterred the enterprise of the inhabitants. Their lush green garden plots, with boundaries of metal sheets, are eloquent testimonies to that. Somehow this riot of green and other colours of life conceal the ugly truth that is Chit Kuchlibari-it is a typical rural ghetto that seems to have stepped out of prehistory's twilight zone.

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The mood at another Bangladeshi enclave, Sanyasir Hat, about 48 km to the south in Coochbehar district, is more symbolic of the epic tragedy that these geo-political freaks stand for. Says Kumud Rai, an outspoken villager: "We lead the cursed life of a disinherited people. None of us can get work of any kind in India. Even our voting rights (in India) were taken away some years ago. There is no law, because there is no police. Except for the (Indian) ration cards we have no identity papers. Our movements to and from the nearby Indian markets-some 6-8 km away-are not restricted. But being stateless, we can be arrested any moment without notice."

Rai has a point. People of both enclaves may possess ration cards, but that doesn't help. Census officials have even denied them a statistical identity.

There are, however, fleeting moments in the lives of these enclaves when illusory hope gets the better of harsh reality. The arrival of a jeep at Sanyasir Hat, for instance, is greeted by eager children, who surround the vehicle. Officials are there and it seems a new tubewell is to be drilled. For a moment, a whoop of a joy goes up, but it dies just as quickly. Embarrassed officials explain that it is not for Sanyasir Hat, but for a neighbouring village in Indian territory. The elders smile ruefully, they have seen it all before. Disappointed, the children troop away.

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Except the Angrapota (Bangladeshi) enclave in Coochbehar which is linked to the Bangladesh mainland by the Tinbigha corridor, no other enclave, whether Indian or otherwise, enjoys this facility. Incidentally, marooned Bangladeshis who once struggled energetically for the Tinbigha corridor are already regretting some of its economic after-effects (see inset box on page 16).

In a way, their statelessness has strengthened the basically resilient character of the inhabitants of Sanyasir Hat or Kuchlibari. Cut off from all the amenities of modern life in their rural slums, these people are still comfortable, lying cheek-by-jowl with their more fortunate neighbours in the nearby villages and markets. People of both enclaves are of the Rajbangshi stock and their main occupation is either agriculture or fishing. Left to fend for themselves, these forgotten people of the subcontinent have not done too badly for themselves.Without any help or attention from NGOs or officialdom, they grow paddy, jute, tobacco and a host of cash crops, including mangoes, pineapples, jackfruit and vegetables. There is even friendly competition between the two enclaves.

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Boasts a youth: "We at Sanyasir Hat produce around 600 maunds of rice every season. If only we had a little more land..." Not to be outdone, Adhikary of Kuchlibari says: "True, their soil is better, but what about tobacco? We produce finer tobacco here." Without any irrigation water or shallow tubewells, both the enclaves raise more than three crops a year by harvesting rainwater and by relying on primitive wells. They sell their produce at the nearest Indian markets at local prices.

They are totally dependent on the nearby Indian markets for all the necessities of life. Avers Adhikary: "Newspapers we get every afternoon from the markets, also soap, oil, butter, food, kerosene.... Our young boys and girls go to the local schools nearby and at Sanyasir Hat there are two graduates. Besides, in Kuchlibari, there are many who have studied up to the secondary level at local schools." But more than education, it's the problem of educated unemployed that plagues these enclaves. According to Adhikary, this happens when the educated youths from these villages begin looking for jobs and are turned down by panchayat and other officials on the pretext that there are too many unemployed people on their rolls. Says he: "But, at least, the doctors are considerate. They treat our pregnant women, snakebite victims and malaria patients, only insisting that they be taken to them." The odd household has a radio or a battery-operated TV set that catches programmes from Bangladesh and Nepal in addition to the usual Doordarshan fare.

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What's interesting, however, is how this largely unintentional but strange cocktail come about, thanks to the contingencies of history and politics. Amar Roy Pradhan, a Forward Bloc MP from the region, in his authoritative account, states that Coochbehar was an independent state in 1661, when it was attacked by Mughal general Mir Jumla. The invasion was mostly unsuccessful, but the Mughals did manage to occupy some stretches of land both in Coochbehar and in areas where the people declared themselves loyal to the Bengal Nawab, Nazim. Consequently, small autonomous pockets came into being in the independent state of Coochbehar.

When the British moved in, they recognised the independent existence of these small areas and their respective loyalties for reasons of diplomacy. The problem arose when during the Partition in 1947, Cyrill Radcliffe drew an arbitrary line to divide Bengal. It put many enclaves falling within the territory of the Dacca nawabs, which actually owed allegiance to the kingdom of Coochbehar, in East Pakistan. These pockets should logically have followed Coochbehar into India. Similarly, certain areas in Coochbehar territory which were loyal to Dacca and should, therefore, have been in East Pakistan remained in India merely by virtue of their geographical location.

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FOR the present, however, these are secondary problems. A spirit of accommodation prevails between the enclave people and their Indian neighbours who appear indistinguishable. "When Bangladeshi miscreants rob our livestock and other valuables, often shooting at us, we complain to the Indian policemen, who try to help, but of course they can't intervene directly. The BSF people too keep in touch and have helped in curbing crime. It was much worse before. Even if there is murder here, there can be no official action, because there is simply no appellate authority! But we do have resistance groups here to maintain peace. Often local panchayats intervene unofficially to resolve our disputes," say Sanyasir Hat residents.

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They have often tried to integrate with their neighbours and politics seemed an easy way out. Aswini Roy (18), whose brother was getting married at Sanyasir Hat, says: "We have worked for the Forward Bloc, the CPI(m) and even the BJP, but nothing came of it, because we have no votes." And the prospective bride from India will also perhaps join them in their fate-she too will lose her right to vote. Rai believes that Indian political parties used them without giving anything in return. Others, however, contest his claim. They are of the opinion that local MP Roy Pradhan and another Forward Bloc leader, Kamal Guha, had sincerely tried to solve their problems.

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But disenchantment here is deep set. This has spawned separatist tendencies. Aswini admits working for the militant Kamtapuri Peoples' Party, a Rajbangshi-based organisation demanding a separate state of their own.

Unknown to Indian authorities, these enclaves are becoming fertile breeding grounds for extremism. Their isolated status has led to a very different kind of politics striking root there. As village elders at Sanyasir Hat explain, in the Muslim-dominated enclaves in India, the ISI finds the situation tailor-made for its anti-Indian activities. Intelligence sources admit: "There is no way to check surreptitious entry of money or the smuggling of small arms." Besides, the ripples of extremist movements in the Northeast could well reach these remote areas. There are reports that the Kamtapuris receive assistance from the ulfa and the ISI. For the moment, there is no sign that official agencies are as yet monitoring these trends closely.

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Indian Partition, it seems, is having a cascading effect. There is more separation to come. May Radcliffe's ghost lie in peace.

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