The morning splintered with wisps of cloud and clear light, a break from the drudgery of the torrential rains that lashed Bihar, the last few days. An instigation and a sign for us to head to our destinations- the Muslim dominated Basti’s of Patna. Our mentor for the visit, Dr. Prakash Louis took us through the landmarks that make up this modern metropolis. The broken, potholed roads of Patna were full with the morning traffic- heaps of garbage and amidst them pigs, cows, buffalos, dogs and men, all working in unison. The seat of culture for an epoch, a city of the 21st century, helplessly looked on as the gingivitis of rot wound its tentacles around it.
View of the rain washed streets of Patna A diversion from the crowded main road, led us to a serpentine lane, choc- a-block with cycle trams, people, motorist and tiny dotting shops carrying on the business of life. We were heading to Ramna Road, today a Muslim dominated area in Patna city.
The rains and the mounds of garbage had hardly left anything of the road, which swiveled in knee deep waters. But this didn’t seem to make any difference to the lives of those who lived on this street- the elderly, children, women and men, clothed and naked, all clambered atop cycles and scooters, waded across the filth and negotiated unseeing potholes and man holes. We were looking for Sapna Apartments and in the labyrinth of the alleys, with the rain streaking down the sills of the car; we stopped at every nukar [1]to enquire. We were to meet Khalid here- a doctor by profession, who also heads an organization, Shirkat that imparts live skill and training to people in the basti’s.
A brief introduction later, we were on our way to the Basti’s near the Shah Arzan Masjid. Dargah Shah Arzan derives its name from a Sufi saint of medieval times who is believed to have laid a great deal of stress on education and thought. For a distance that was perhaps not more than 20 minutes, the journey seemed unending- the road on either side had hundreds of hoardings of tutorial centres- the broken road dedicated to education of many. We learnt from our companions that private tutorials are a major business in Bihar, that no matter what people do, they believe in educating their children in the best of mediums, so that the next generation can have a secure and better life. Poignant as it may sound it seemed that the country’s intellects were breeding in these little “dhabas[2]” of learning.
The Ramna Road opened into Kun Kun lane, where the billboards accompanied the broken roads, heaps of waste and feasting animals all around. To our amazement ever street corner had mounds up garbage of several days piled up, emitting a stench utterly indescribable; and as the day stretched, we learned recognizing street corners by noticing these mounds first. We passed Musalapur Haat[3] which we were told, used to be a marketing haat in earlier times and now functions as a subzi mandi, fruit mandi, fish mandi etc……Trade on the streets was at its peak, as was the filthy water - both relentlessly pursuing their goals.
After a precarious 5 minutes walk over loose bricks and miraculous balancing acts, we found ourselves staring at a colossal but damaged structure of earlier times- Palki Khana.
An ancient ruin that was previously used as a station for palanquins is now a home to 15 odd families. Some 30-40 of them congregated around us to tell us about their lives. Firdausa Bibi was the first to speak on the malfunctioning of the anganwadi.
She narrated how children go to the anganwadi close by and come back empty-handed. The situation was such that, even the smallest of children return home to use the toilet. Kausar Jahan, standing behind her, identified herself as the helper in the anganwadi, which she informs us, is “currently under water”. She told us that the money to run the anganwadi is appropriated by one Sultana who is the teacher, who visits sometimes.
Kausar Jahan hasn’t received any salary for the last several months. No one amongst them seemed to be aware of the role of the Anganwadi and what is available there. We were also informed that the anganwadi was started only recently on the 26th of Dec. 2007. Many parents send their children to the local Madrasa, preferring it to be a safer place, one that ensures there children are fed at least one meal. None of the women in the group were aware of the provision of money given under Janani Suraksha Yojana. There was almost a unanimous response of dejection on mention of deliveries in government hospitals. Shiraz Bibi recounted that her sister had gone to the sarkari hospital on her due date, only to be sent back by doctors after examination. The woman delivered on her way back in the rickshaw. Everyone in this basti goes to private doctors and clinics which charge exorbitant prices and sometimes even complicate cases. There is no ANM here and no vaccination for women or children. Saqib, a young boy told us that he goes to the sarkari school nearby. We felt a little reassured when he said he gets Dal Chawal to eat in school, but not for long, as the child added that there is hardly any studies that takes place and that many a times many classes are rounded up and made to sit together, with one or no teacher.
As the rain started to drop faster over the seepages of the old ruins, the broodiness of the skies above mirrored the people standing in front of us. We met Hajira Begum, an old cataract ridden woman who accosted us with folded hands. It’s been 15-20 years since her husband had passed away, but she has no pension, no provision and no help from the Government. Wasim a young man in the crowd told us that the ward councilor does not work and hardly visits the area.
The average salary of each household in the basti is only about 4000 rupees. Only the men work, the women have no work. Firdausa spoke out again, “we want to learn new skills, we want to work”, this time echoing the thoughts of the other women standing their ready to undertake training and learn new skills.
Our next destination was the Flute makers basti built atop a cemetery in a place called Baradari. Khatejah Khatoon in a tattered saree stepped forward to lay bare her situation. She has no home, no savings, no earnings and a family of 10 to feed. She explained that with time the demand for flutes have greatly depreciated, a measly 1 rupees for cutting, scraping and shaping the beautiful instruments. Akhila Khatoon, Hudeja and Nahid Khatoon all expressed their helplessness in running their households. None of these women were aware of Janani Suraksha Yojana and only go to private quacks and practioners for their medical treatment. Here again there is no government PHC, no dispensary. In this basti like the other, the inhabitants were aware of the only one Government Hospital, the Patna Medical College.
In the light of no dispensaries and PHC, what seems obvious is the pressure on the Medical College to treat even the smallest ailments. We were informed by Khalid and others that many a
times critical cases from towns and villages didn’t get attention because of the bulk of patients that the hospital caters to in the city. Like the previous basti the anganwadi in Bardari also does not work and children get nothing. Mohammad Nazim and Saifuddin both flutemakers then rose to give us a grim picture of making ends meet. Their professions finished, few among them have any ration card and those who do, do not get any provision from the PDS, no oil, no rice and no grains.
Asma a young girl in the crowd told us that she used to go to the Katra School, but had left school 2 years ago to work at home. We saw her bent over the stove in her tarpaulin stretched shack as we left the basti, in the pouring rain. The halo of the smoke created mirages of her face; at once childlike and womanlike.
A short drive later we found ourselves standing in front of another dilapidated building, this one concretized. This was the Abdul Bari Bhavan, built under the Indira Awas Yojana, to hold 45 out of the 330 households. Opposite the building, stood a hand pump on the road where 3-4 children filled water. Two women sitting under it attempted to take a bath -on the road. We met Nayeer Fatimi who runs the Al- Khair Cooperative Society here for the last 4 years. Again a few wobbly steps later, we found ourselves inside a tinned structure, part of which was a masjid and part a madrassa for children to study. Here amidst the darkened room and leaking roof we sat to hear the story of the Bakhkhos community who earn their livelihood selling steel utensils, buying kabari and riding rickshaws. Mohammad Tahir encapsulated the movement of the community from the village to the city and their changing vocation from singing in functions and asking for money to trying to earn a respectable earning. He informed us that the basti had been burned down thrice in the past because of communal tension. Ironically they have largely been victimized by members of the Dom community, also a singing community of yesteryears
Many people recounted how they were stripped of all their savings by one, Helius Company that robbed the basti people of more than 2-3 lakhs. Now they preferred to just spend what they have, rather than save it someplace. Nayeer Fatime told us that people in this basti and all the poor go to the moneylender only on two occasions – for marriages and for ill-health and never to take a loan to start their business. This basti like the others we visited had no health facilities for the inhabitants. We met Sadiqa Khatoon, Anwari Khatoon, Kalima Khatoon and Kabudan Khatoon here. None of these women knew about the provisions of Janani Suraksha Yojana and they all had deliveries at home. Merun Khatoon told us that she had to pay 600 rupees, as bribe to the Dai who took her daughter to the Girija hospital, but that later she did receive Rs. 1400/-.
The complaints here were similar, no anganwadi, malfunctioning school, no dispensaries and no toilets.
Children filling water from the handpump while a woman bathes on the street in the background Their biggest complaint- “everyone just comes, take down names and numbers and goes away”.
We then met Halima Khatoon, a young girl who has just completed her class 8 exams.
Azad, a young boy of the Basti who has just enrolled for his inter in Oriental College She is set to follow the steps of Azad, a young boy of the community who has passed his class 10 board exams and has gained admission to the Oriental college for his class 11.
A young child runs out from his tarpaulin house to see us leave the basti Nayeer Fatemi interjected by telling us that the schemes for the post and pre-matric scholarships never reach people, that forms are printed too late and almost never distributed in time. He shows us papers where he had written to authorities to ensure that a dedicated cell is formed and these forms dispensed in a timely manner. He complained of a lackadaisically working minority’s welfare department that adds to the people’s woes manifold.
As we negotiated our trapeze act back to the car, our heads heavy with the falling rain and the narrations of misery, our eyes swiveled back to the naked children standing in the tiny shanti’s we crossed. The rays of the sun seemed to have completely by-passed them.
We were led to our next destination, the PHC at Phulwari Sharif by Dr. Shakeel-ur-Rahman, who runs the social organization, CHARMS. The landscape offered us a multi-cultured hue of litter in a fern bedded green of water accumulated as if in a pool. And wallowing in this part swamp, part pool were pigs and piglets, carrying on the chores of life. A short drive over submerged non-existent roads later we found ourselves in front of the PHC.
Maha Sundari Devi, atop a cycle van to journey a 5 km distance over potholes and manholes just after her delivery. There sitting outside atop a cycle tram in a bedraggled saree splattered with blood we met Maha Sundari Devi. She looked seriously anemic. Her mother-in-law sat near her cradling the new born, informed us that this was her 5th child. Her husband who had arranged for the transport, the best he could with his means showed us the check of Rs. 1400/- paid to him under Janani Suraksha Yojana. Dr. Shakeel told us that a new circular from the Bihar Swasth Samiti states that patients are entitled to free ambulance from the hospital to their home, but we saw no such availability here. The Sarkari Ambulance we were informed charges Rs 5 per kms to ferry patients. Appalled at the condition of the woman, who looked seriously anemic, we then marched inside the PHC, wherein we came across a young pediatrician who it seemed had just stepped in, even though her shift started an hour ago. On enquiring about how Maha Sundari Devi could have been discharged without supervision, she was almost flippant in her reply remarking that she hadn’t seen her or the infant on account of them leaving without any information. The battle of words ensued and she informed us that she was in a contract at the PHC, thus shielding herself from taking any more of the blame.
Incidentally the PHC has four super specialty doctors who are all on contract. Our tour of the PHC revealed only empty rooms, the general wards, the OT, the special rooms all adorned big locks. Dr. Jha the PHC supervisor who accompanied us was barely audible, mumbling apologetic responses. We then headed to the gynecological ward where we saw a pregnant lady brought in by a woman and laid on a stained bed. Rehana Banu told us that she is an anganwadi worker at the Garib Nawaz Jhopar Patti at Eshopur and had brought in the woman to deliver her 3rd child.
Women lying in the room pre and post delivery Even though Rehana Banu had brought in the young woman she is not entitled to get any money as is the norm for the ASHA in rural area.
She hopes the family will give her something “khushi se”.
Sarfaraz, a young man from the Al-Khair Society then led us to the basti near Ishapur Nahar.
Tabassum with her daughter Saloni We met Tabassum here whose daughter Saloni was born in a private hospital after an operation that costs her 10,000 rupees.
The women congregated around us here, were more vociferous with their problems. The water situation in the basti was precarious they told us, women have no work and the elderly get no pension. Here too the same fear of non-functional sarkari hospital was deep-seated, only one among the group was aware of the provisions under Janani Suraksha Yojana.
Women talk about their problems in the Ishapur Nahar Basti The Anganwadi centre in the area was run by people who came from outside and children in the group informed us that they were given kichidi after every 15-20 days. Abdur Razzak an elderly man who runs a small educational centre in the basti told us that the forms for the pre and post matric scholarships were never distributed in time by the state government and were difficult to fill in.
Women in this basti like the others we visited did not have any means of livelihood but were open to learning news skills and trades.
Now as we sit to gather the shards of our memory and sketchily written notes to paper, our minds traverses back to the basti’s we visited; the numerous women and men who came forward to tell us that they want to better their lives. The single strand that streaks them all is hope. Hope that is bedded on the faith of their strengths to learn and apply themselves and better their life situations.
[1] Nukar- street corner
[2] Dhabas- centres where people congregate to eat learn etc.
[3] Haat- trading area
