Gandhi chose a fistful of salt as an artifact of a great battle. Shrewdness was written into the sub-text of Dandi March. Idiom of politics has changed a lot since. Otherwise, politicians in Punjab’s Malwa would have been equally shrewd and chosen a glass of water as the artifact of a great fight. But now they aren’t shrewd in a Gandhian way. This is the era of the crooked.
Mr Politician, have a glass of water here
S P Singh
Jajjal (Talwandi Sabo)
"Are you here to find about cancer deaths?"
VILLAGERS in this dusty sprawling stretch have handled so many politicians, doctors and scribes swooping down on them that they now immediately know what has brought a stranger to this Talwandi Sabo village. And they are also sure of another thing – that no one comes with a solution, least of all a sarkari man.
“Election season was the only hope, but so far we haven’t got any promises. I am losing even that hope,” says Gian Singh at Jajjal’s bus stop.
Jajjal, along with nearby Malkana, Tarkhanwala, Giana and a string of other villages has been making news for over two years now – for all the wrong reasons.
The village has seen some 80 deaths in five years, most of these due to cancer, and across the board villagers believe that the unhygienic quality of drinking water is responsible for the deaths.
Medical teams visit the village almost every month, from the district authorities, or from nearby Baba Farid Medical University of Health Sciences, or the PGI at Chandigarh. Water samples have been collected innumerable times, but villagers are still in the dark whether the deaths were really due to the water.
But something else is certain – the poor quality of water, and the continuing apathy of the government. Then Governor JFR Jacob visited the village in May 2003, and later took up the issue with the state government. Villagers got sympathy, and media coverage, but water is what they wanted, and didn’t get. When the state government launched a scheme asking villagers to pool in ten percent of the cost of the water works, Jajjal residents deposited the amount quickly. But the waterworks are nowhere in sight.
Of the 500 houses in Jajjal, 58 have water connections, but only half the taps have running water. Of the remaining residents, the better off lug the water from Malkana water works three km away.
But the dalit families walk half-a-km to fetch a pail from the canal, and drink it straight. So do their cattle.
There is intense hatred for both Akalis and Congressman. “To what use is panthic Badal and Maharaja Amarinder, if we can’t get water half-a-century after independence?” asks Nazar Singh of Jajjal.
Sarpanch Jasbir Kaur has tried issuing threats of an election boycott, but it hasn’t really brought the politician running to the villagers’ door.
In Tarkhanmajra on the Punjab-Haryana border, over 1,500 villagers depend on the Bangi Rajwaha (water-carrying canal), two km from the village. But during closure days, they venture six km into Haryana to get the elixir from Narang Rajwaha. Now it’s becoming serious than just water, it’s affecting the social fabric. “Pind de mundeya nu rishte nahi milde (Village boys are not finding brides),” says Rajvinder Singh, the Multipurpose Health Worker at Jajjal’s civil dispensary. “I feel guilty offering you water, but I want politicians to drink a lot of it here,” a school teacher in Jajjal said, handing over a tumbler. That’s the ground reality of India Shining. Down it with a glass of water, but not here. This is Jajjal.
(May 3, 2004)