One of the biggest challenges for English children’s literature in India is the representation of realities from the non-English speaking parts of our society. It has been a struggle unique to writers of English in India – the struggle to find a self-confident voice that writes in a language given to us by colonialism. Today, that extends to the struggle of using that voice to bring stories of other post-colonial inequities – from villages and working class urban settlements, from forests and tribal lands. How can these mediated stories reflect realities that are so different from that of the readers of those books? And why should these realities matter to young adult readers?
Siddhartha Sarma’s new book, Year of the Weeds, answers this in an exemplary way. It is the story of Korok, a young boy from the Gond tribe in a corner of Odisha, and his community as they fight to retain control over their lands. Like Korok, the book has a gentle and deeply-thoughtful voice that leads us through his everyday life – the garden in the Forest Officer’s bungalow that he works in, the hill on which his dead mother is memorialized in a hanal kot, the bus journey to the prison in town where his father is wrongfully incarcerated. Sarma lays bare all the injustices meted out to communities such as the Gonds through the eyes of an adolescent – the arbitrary and harsh treatment by the police, the falsifying of records, and the complicity between the state, private corporations and the media. And even as Korok navigates what seems like a lonely life, we see the bonds of community that make it possible for him to be more than a passive protagonist of his own life.
Image credits: Duckbill Books
Drawing upon the celebratory decision by the Supreme Court on the Niyamgiri Hills, Year of the Weeds plots an engaging story of how a community manages to convince the Supreme Court to reinforce the importance of the commons. And what better way to do it than through the agency of a young boy. While the role of the older headman and educated tribal members is important to the plot of the book, it is Korok with the help of his new friend, Anchita, the Forest Officer’s daughter, who comes up with an idea that prevents the government from displacing the community to mine their lands for bauxite.
Just as the stoic resignation of an older generation of tribal communities has given way to a more vocal collective resistance against the injustice of the Indian state in many parts of the country, Sarma’s book too makes place for the incipient collective anger that fuels a people’s movement. When the tribals gather to protest peacefully at the entrance to their village, the police lathi charges them, injuring many including Korok. Drawing upon his journalistic side, Sarma writes about this with a reporter’s keen eye for detail that becomes evidence for a well-researched opinion, as he points out that
“What is truly frightening is that more time has been spent thinking about the right way to carry out a lathi charge than all the ways for a policeman to speak politely to people.”
The pace of the book picks up as Korok and Anchita work towards executing the plan using all the tools at hand – from the gossip mill to the internet. As the brash but foolish police officer acts with predictability, the book leads us to a very satisfying end, resonating the sense of victory that many felt with the judgement on Niyamgiri. However, the larger struggle for equity is still far from over and this is why Year of the Weeds is a must-read for young people. As Sarma said in an interview in the Duckbill blog, “I wrote this as a YA novel because I still have hopes from young people. Our generation has failed, mostly, and has bought into the propaganda, the bigotry, the greed and the depredations of corporate groups and the government. But I still have hopes from young people. By writing it as a YA novel, I was hoping young people would have access to this story, which I was not certain they would have if I had written it for an adult readership. Adults are good at hiding these issues from young people.” So, go on, get your own copy or be an adult that gets one for the young reader near you.
A YOUNG READER WEIGHS IN
“Year of the weeds is a beautiful book but not something I would read multiple times. I felt the subject it dealt with was something that doesn’t really appeal to my age group; most normally read humour, sci-fi etc. However, it is promising for someone who likes reading stories with serious issues addressed in a simple manner. It’s the first book I have read that bravely describes how the government has the power to end an old culture with one blow. It also beautifully depicts how a small community can rise up to a whole state with just hope and hard work.”
-Ila, Age 12
EXTRACT
The weeds had returned.
After all the work he had done, as the coldest days passed and the ground softened in the sun, the weeds had returned from hiding under the ground. Korok could never win against them. After pulling out a few of the bigger ones, he felt very tired, and felt like crying, so he threw the trowel away and sat on the ground. Jadob was right. Nobody cared about the Gonds.
The central and state governments certainly did not. Patnaik, of course, hated every Gond in Balangir. Everyone just saw chances and opportunities to use the Gonds. The police saw Gonds as people to be arrested for crimes they didn’t commit. The Company saw metals under their land. The government saw money. Even the Red Brothers saw, in the Gonds, a chance to fight the government and get people to take up guns. The politicians saw a chance to be in the news. And the government and the Company would keep on returning, again and again, until the Gonds lost.
Anchita had been right. The government and the Company were just like weeds, and weeds were …
What were weeds, really?
Korok thought he must know.
He knew all about them. So he sat on the cold ground and thought about weeds. He thought and thought for a really long time and even after the sun had gone down.
That evening, Korok visited Jadob’s house and talked to him. The next morning, he visited his mother on the hill, and spent a long time at the hanal kot. And then, knowing Bishto would turn up whenever he was needed, Korok walked down to the main road and waited for the bus.
Year of weeds is undoubtedly a significant YA book on a very important theme. I did however find narrative gaze and voice inconsistent and the agency accorded to Korok not adequately supported by the characterisation and therefore somewhat forced. The tone is unnecessarily cryptic and sarcastic at times. Can someone not immersed in adivasi struggle write authentically on there behalf? Is that appropriation? These are some questions I am grappling with after reading the book.