It is a typical rough-hewn terrain at the Mundanthurai Tiger Reserve, situated in the hills of the Western Ghats that slice through Tirunelveli district. But P. Veluchamy prefers to walk barefoot.
If he had worn slippers, the soles of his feet would have turned soft, making it harder to climb the hillside trees for honey. And he needs that honey. Without it, he will be left with just one source of income — the tapioca crop he cultivates on a three-acre plot in the village of Periyamayilar — and the rain gods have not been kind this year.
Veluchamy has come down to the village of Chinnamayilar, which is also home to the Kanis, along with Servalar, Thiruvattamparai and Injikuzhi. The winding, uphill road to Chinnamayilar begins at the edge of Papanasam, which lies 60 km from Tirunelveli, and it stops at Karaiyar.
To get to Chinnamayilar from there, you have to cross a wooden bridge across a small stream that flows behind the small shop that sells chips, biscuits and candy for just a little more than what they cost at the bottom of the hill.
The Kanis built this bridge themselves because they’re seen as squatters and the government cannot build bridges for squatters. That’s why the Kanis are looking forward to the elections. They want a new government in place so they can get the patta , the title deed, for their land. Despite the Forest Rights Act of 2006 — in other States, its implementation has benefited tribal people — cases filed by environmentalists and conservationists have prevented the Kanis from owning land.
If not for the elections, they would have got their pattas already. The land they have lived on for generations would have finally become theirs and it would have helped them take loans. But now they will have to wait till June.
What will the Kanis do with loans? They certainly won’t buy household appliances. Those, they already have. “A few months back, Amma gave us mixers, grinders and fans,” says M. Ganesamoorthy. “And a few years ago, Thatha [Karunanidhi[ gave us TV sets.”
The Kanis paid Rs. 600 for a round trip in an auto to the nearest town, Vikramasingapuram, to pick these up.
They weren’t bothered by the fact that there is no power supply in Chinnamayilar, Periyamayilar and Injikuzhi to run these appliances. Ganesamoorthy shrugs. “People like freebies,” he says.
But a loan will come in useful to buy, say, a solar-power unit. After all, it will take a while for the new government to give the Kanis what many of us take for granted as markers of modern life: roads, electricity, health centres and drinking-water facilities. A handful of them have already taken refuge in solar power.
* * *
Slowly, people begin to gather and talk about the elections. P. Arumugam Kani, an elder in these parts and the head of the Society for the Development of Podhigai Malai Adivasis, says that the Kanis have been voting since 1952.
He looks like a politician in his spotless white shirt and dhoti, and also has a politician’s tact. When asked who he thinks will win, he smiles and says: “ Yaaru vandhalum sandhosham [Whoever wins, I’m happy].”
A few hours later, possibly emboldened by the confessions of other Kanis, he says that his vote will go to the DMK, who helped the community get the certificate that granted them Scheduled Tribe status.
R. Mani, a CPI(M) man and a treasurer of the Society, says: “Tamil Nadu needs an alternative from Amma and Thatha ,” he says. “They only serve themselves or their family. We need someone who will serve the people.”
It is Mani’s job to collect money from all the households — there are about 60 families in these parts — for initiatives that help everyone.
They pooled in money to buy a jeep that they use to travel the 6.25 km between Chinnamayilar and Periyamayilar, the road strewn with pink and blue candy wrappers bought in the store in Karaiyar. The vehicle cost Rs. 1.2 lakh. Each family contributed Rs. 1,000, and the remainder came from the sale of an older jeep.
* * *
It is a bumpy ride to Periyamayilar. The first stop is at the home of Srirangan Kani, a wiry man of 65 wearing a small red towel He recalls that there were rains when the DMK was in power. The irony of the calendar above his head, with a beaming Chief Minister Jayalalithaa, completely escapes him.
When asked who he was going to vote for, Srirangan was unsure. “Maybe the Communist party or Vijayakant,” he says. “I know they won’t win, but I still want to vote for them.” Ganesamoorthy laughs and asks him if he knows about the NOTA option on the ballot. Srirangan shakes his head.
Talking about successful States, Srirangan gives the example of Kerala. “They keep alternating between two national-level parties: the Communists and the Congress. We only have these two State-level parties.”
By now, it has become a bit of an adda . Veluchamy speaks of a road through the forest that will reduce the distance to Kerala. The people of the tribe want easy access to markets there because they get more money there — Rs. 23 more per kg for tapioca and Rs. 150 more per kg for pepper. But because this is protected wildlife area, these projects never take off. The Kanis laugh when asked about tigers. Srirangan grins and says that the only tigers around are the ones painted on the signs all around.
After leaving Srirangan, it is a small ten-minute trek to the house of Kaaliyan Kani. Kaaliyan is an AIADMK loyalist.
“I get free rice. I can eat and sleep in peace.” Rice didn’t cost much more when the DMK was in power. It was Re. 1 per kilo. But Kaaliyan says the free rice tastes better and his dog likes it too. Her name is Kingini, and she lies sprawled in the centre of the hut, suckling a month-old pup. The women of the house — 57-year-old Ritamma, 48-year-old Valsala — too say that they are voting for Amma. “She is doing things for people. She gave us a mixie, a grinder,” says Valsala. These appliances lie untouched in a corner, awaiting electricity. But Kaaliyan isn’t concerned. He spends most of his time in the clearing outside, where he is building a second house.
* * *
During the walk back to the Jeep, Veluchamy turns into a tour guide. He holds out what looks like a small red berry. “It’s a chilly,” he says, and issues a rather unnecessary warning about popping it into the mouth.
The Kanis, he says, use it in their dishes, and that’s why they have such low incidences of cancer and diabetes. One of the dishes it’s used in, ground with coconut, is chammandhi curry, a kind of cure-all. New mothers have this to alleviate post-partum pain.
Mani is disapproving of these digressions and steers the topic back to elections.
“No one comes to these parts to canvas.” It isn’t hard to see why. Going to each house is a bit of an adventure sport. So the candidates come to Chinnamayilar, with its jackfruit trees and Ilayaraja songs playing on radios. They ask the Kanis to assemble, ask them about their problems and say they’ll take care of it all. Then they leave.
Of late, they have begun to offer money. And a quarter bottle of liquor. As a result, the Kanis do not have the moral high ground when, after the election, they want to complain about unfulfilled promises. “The men here,” Mani says, “they know that whoever wins, there’s not going to be much change. So they might as well make some money from all parties, get some free booze. Ippo ulla ulagame quarter ulagam [This is a ‘quarter’ world].”
Mani laughs when asked about parties promising to implement prohibition. “Some of our youths are ganja addicts. When something like that is so freely available, how can prohibition stop them from drinking?”
The Kani men expect money this year too. But they won’t use it to buy chicken and mutton for a meal, or a sari for the wife, or toys for the kids. They’ll buy alcohol and drink the money away. “Because some of the candidates we take money from are going to lose,” Mani says. “And they might end up cursing us. We don’t want this curse touching our families.”
They want a new government in place so they can get the title deed, for their land
