We’re here to ensure the well-being of Tamil Nadu’s farmers. That refrain was heard repeatedly last week as protestors across the state demanded that the ban on the bull-taming sport of jallikattu. The exertions through which the bulls were put, allowed farmers to identify the most virile animals, the argument went, and was vital for ensuring the survival of native breeds of cattle.
This line of reasoning, however, seemed to ignore the fact that the failure of both the South-West monsoon in June-September and the North-East monsoon in October-December has resulted in distress among farmers that the revival of jallikattu is unlikely to assuage. Lakhs of farmers have lost their crops to drought, forcing some of them to sell their cattle in desperation in order to feed themselves.
The drought also took all the joy out of the harvest festival of Pongal that was observed in the state last week. The out-of-work farm hands are at home, struggling to get by on the government’s festival gift of one kg each of rice and sugar distributed through village ration shops. With no work, loans to repay, and having lost all their assets in the process, many Tamil Nadu farmers are spiralling into a deep debt trap.
A visit by this reporter to two of the worst affected districts of Thiruvarur and Nagapattinam in the Cauvery delta region provided snapshots of lives in disarray in a drought-ravaged countryside. This, in a month when travellers to this area are ordinarily greeted by the sight of golden-green paddy fields ripe for harvest.
Death and debt
In a village near Keevallur town in Nagapattinam, R Ganeshan waved a sheaf of blue and pink bills, for loans taken, saying, “This is why my brother killed himself.”
Ganeshan and his family ushered in the new year with the death of R Paneerselvam, 52, who was found hanging from the ceiling fan of his room. Paneerselvam was the eldest of three brothers, and is survived by a wife, two daughters and a son. He also left behind a debt of Rs 3 lakhs to be paid back to various banks and microfinance institutions.
For almost 35 years now, Ganeshan and his large joint family have been growing paddy on two acres of land taken on lease. The brothers take turns to bear the cost of cultivating the crop and earning for the family. This year was Paneerselvam’s turn, and the situation was grim. Following poor summer rains for at least six years now, farmers in this region have been forced to forsake their kuruvai crops, which are grown around June-July. Their livelihoods are now solely dependent on the samba or winter crop, which in turn relies on the October-December monsoon. But this year, the rains failed them twice.
Like many farmers, Paneerselvam was forced to take loans, a large portion of it to finance his daughter’s wedding. He borrowed small amounts of money from multiple microfinance institutions to avoid having to repay a large lump sum all at once. But this clearly did not work for him.
“After the monsoons failed, Paneerselvam became more withdrawn and depressed,” recalled Ganeshan. “His entire personality changed, he was always worried.”
Following his death, Ganeshan and his family have to find a way to repay the loans. “We don’t have anything apart from our field,” he said. “It is only with this soil that we are struggling.”
One hand pump
Karainagar village, also in Nagapattinam district, has one functional hand pump, located at the end of a street where members of the Dalit community live. Almost 100 families are dependent on this lone source of water.
Of the three Cauvery delta districts of Thanjavur, Thiruvarur and Nagapattinam, the latter is the worst positioned in terms of irrigation, as it is the last to receive water released from the Mettur dam. It also has a problem of sea water mixing in with its groundwater. “There are no borewells in this area because if you dig one, you will hit salt water at just 25 feet below ground level,” said V Subramaniam, district secretary of the Tamil Nadu Farmers Union.
Given these constraints, villagers who live by the hand pump regard its clean, clear water as nothing less than a miracle.
”We used to bathe and wash clothes in a lake nearby, but it dried up,” said M Ambika, a resident. “Now, if we don’t have this pump, this entire area won’t get any water.”
The pump draws residents of neighbouring villages too, who come to collect water in steel drums, as well as people from other castes, said villagers. It will most likely run dry by summer, they added, after which the residents of Karainagar will have to look for other sources of water.
But despite the water being scarce, there are remarkably no fights over access to it, according to residents. “What is there to fight about?” asked Ambika. “They are only coming to take water to drink, right? God didn’t give us rain this year, but he gave us this pump at least. We are thankful for that.”
Distress sale of cattle
A few days after her father-in-law, K Marimuthu, died of a heart attack – one of many farmers to reportedly die of distress after seeing their failed crops – V Sujatha had to sell her two cows to pay for his funeral. The two acres of paddy Marimuthu had tried to cultivate were wiped out by the end of November. He also left behind loans amounting to Rs 80,000.
“Just the other day, his close friend died after returning from his field,” said a tearful Sujatha. “The next day, my father-in-law went to check his crop, fearing the same fate. He collapsed on his way back.”
In the hurry to collect money for his funeral, Sujatha was forced to sell her cows at half the price they would have normally fetched. “I would have got Rs 40,000 for the two cows,” she said. “But now, traders are not willing to buy from you unless you sell for very cheap.”
Parting with her cows was difficult. She had reared them for five years and milked them every day. The money from selling this milk went into running the household. Soon after, she was forced to part with four goats for a mere Rs 1,000 each. “I would have got Rs 2,500 for each goat normally,” she said.
In a number of villages, distress sales of cattle have gone up drastically, with the animals mostly sold to traders from other states at very low prices. “Many cannot even bear the expense of looking after an animal anymore,” said P Vasantha, a farm labourer.
Organic survivor
In Thiruvarur district, residents and government officials unanimously agreed that the southern taluk of Thiruthuraipoondi had seen the worst of the drought. The entire tract does not have borewells because of saline water intrusion and is solely dependent on rainfall.
As farmers here started giving up on their crops around November, one did not give in to despair. Sixty-six-year-old A Karikalan, a Tamil soap opera actor-turned-farmer, cycled 12 km every day to visit his field and tend to his crops.
Eight years ago, Karikalan had moved from Chennai post-retirement to pursue farming near his native town of Thirutharaipoondi. After studying the techniques taught by G Namalwar, an organic farming expert in Tamil Nadu, he grew only traditional varieties of paddy, but tried innovative farming methods.
In September, after the region failed to receive any water from the Cauvery river, Karikalan did not sit idle. He employed labourers under the Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Scheme to build a small bund-like structure called a panakuttai in the middle of his field to collect rainwater. He used what little rainwater he collected to irrigate his organic paddy seeds. Later, he planted the half-grown shoots inside the bund itself, which contained a foot of water.
His labour paid off. “I haven’t faced a huge loss,” he said. ”I grew some paddy on a single acre of land and it turned out quite well. But this result may not be achievable by all.”
Voice of the people
In a stationary bus at the Thiruvarur town bus depot one afternoon, a young man made an impassioned speech to commuters boarding the vehicle to travel to nearby Kudavasal town. “This government does not even have a clue what our problems are, then how can you call it the government of the people?” he asked.
On his white collared shirt were the words “Makkal Adhikaram”, or people’s power – the logo for an activist group that works for social causes. Its members conducted a demonstration the next day against the lack of aid to farmers and the alleged corruption of the ruling All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam party.
A blaring horn interrupted the young man’s speech but he was persistent in drawing the attention of commuters to the group’s cause. “Already in this district, you will hit upon water only if you dig at least 200 feet deep,” he said, a sheaf of pamphlets and a donation box in his hands. “This is the main reason for our drought. It is true that rains have not arrived. But if we ruin our environment, how will we receive rain?”
Suddenly, a swarm of passengers got off the bus and into another. For a moment, the activist looked crestfallen. But he recovered quickly, passing the donation box to a passenger. “Our farmers are dying,” he said. “Please don’t think it is someone else’s problem. It is our problem.”
