Renu Rana from Pakasma village in Rohtak, Haryana, still cannot comprehend why her husband, Jai Bhagwan, consumed poison.
On January 19, Bhagwan had a full breakfast, bid farewell to his wife and 11-year-old daughter, and left for Delhi’s Tikri border in a buoyant mood. He had done this every day for the prior two months; he was part of the protest against the Centre’s new farm laws and would ferry vegetables and milk on tractors to replenish stocks at the protest venues.
But, as evening set in that day, Renu started receiving videos that had gone viral on social media; videos of Bhagwan consuming sulphas tablets after making an emotional speech to a crowd. Reports said that there was a “suicide note”in his pocket, in which he lamented the futility of talks between the government and the farmers.
“How could the media call it a ‘suicide note’?” says Renu. “It was the photocopy of a letter he had already discussed with me. He had listed out issues he felt strongly about. At the hospital the next day, he did not once wish to be saved or express sadness. He said this government was not listening to us while we were alive, perhaps it would listen to a corpse.”
Renu says her husband idolised Bhagat Singh. She breaks down every time she remembers her idyllic life with Bhagwan, whom she met in 2008 through her parents and instantly fell in love with. “He encouraged me to study and work,” she says. “I finished my master’s in political science because of him. He was not the insecure type, even though he was less educated. He was quite intelligent, was good at maths and stayed up to date with current affairs.”
Bhagwan earned his living by farming a small patch of land for wheat and mustard. “He was such a staunch supporter of [Prime Minister] Modi, but then started wondering why Modi ji ignored his farmer brothers and went ahead with something the whole farming community was against,” she says. “Why did he not connect with farmers through [the radio show] Mann Ki Baat? If there were no farm laws, there would not have been any protests. And my husband would not have….”
She was shaken again a month ago when her daughter’s school van was almost toppled over in an accident; the girl also contracted Covid-19. In her grief-induced haze, she has tried cracking the Delhi Subordinate Services Selection Board teacher recruitment exams this year. “No compensation amount is ever going to be enough for such a loss. I cannot put a value to it. But, can this government give me a job I deserve?”asks Renu.
Through rain and thunder, scorching summer and bone-chilling winter, disease and disorder, the farmers’ protest achieved victory after a year-long pitched battle. But the share of unfortunate deaths has hardly been accounted for.
A few days after Modi announced the repeal of the three farm laws (November 19), Shiv Sena MP Sanjay Raut demanded that the families of the farmers who died in the protests should be given compensation from the PM CARES Fund. The families, however, can hardly bring themselves to ascribe a monetary value to the deaths.
From November last year, Harinder Happy, a 24-year-old PhD candidate from Amritsar, along with his friend Anurup, has been updating a list of farmers who died in the protests. He has also worked with the Samyukt Kisan Morcha—a coalition of Indian farmers’ unions—to coordinate protests. He had, in January, put up the compilation as a blog. As of November 22, he has listed 675 deceased farmers, with their mugshots.
“We are doing this for humanitarian reasons,” says Happy, who comes from a family of landless farmers in Rajasthan. “We feared that the government could say that nothing happened or no one died. Union Agriculture Minister Narendra Singh Tomar has even replied in Parliament that the government did not have data on farmers’ deaths. Already NCRB (National Crime Records Bureau) data, and unemployment and NSSO (National Sample Survey Office) reports come out so late.”
For his thesis, Harinder is looking at agrarian policies and practices through a gender lens, and, this week, he hopes to publish a breakdown of his database on dead farmers. For instance, if one leaves aside those who died in police firing, accidents and by suicide, or the murder of farmers in Lakhimpur Kheri, most died because of heart attacks and pre-existing illnesses. He could find only 10 to 15 cases that could be attributed to Covid-19.
The stories of sudden deaths of the otherwise fit and strong are the most painful to recount. Like a 22-year-old national-level athlete taking his life at home. Or a female protester from Punjab being hit by a speeding truck in Tikri, while trying to go home. “Her husband had already succumbed to a snakebite in the fields. Her son was paralysed from an accident. Her daughter was about to be married. And she was trying to clear a bank loan of Rs10 lakh,” says Harinder. “Even after this movement is over, we will continue to collect and document data on farmers’ suicides. The real numbers are bigger than official counts.”
On May 15, Major Khan from Jhandi Bhaini village of Patiala district, Punjab, succumbed to Covid-19 at a private hospital. Belonging to a landless Muslim family, he had retired from the Army as a subedar and had camped at Singhu border since November 26.
The day the government announced the repeal, his entire village took out a procession and gave him a martyr’s homage with flowers and flags.
“He never came back once he left for Singhu. Even on his deathbed, he refused to return home,” says his 20-year-old son Amin, in Patiala. He is doing his BCA and is farming on the side to supplement a meagre pension. “I do not want any compensation,” Amin says with quiet dignity. His 72-year-old grandmother is preparing to attend the November 26 morcha to mark the completion of a year of peaceful protests.
“It is best if we are given a job. We hardly make anything from tilling this 10-bigha land,” says Naveen, whose 31-year-old cousin Deepak fell 15ft from a trolley stacked with wooden logs, while unloading supplies at Tikri. No hospital in Delhi would treat him. He died in Rohtak. Naveen is also preparing for the march on November 26. “Our brother sacrificed his life for sewa (service),” says Naveen. “The farmers have not died for nothing. Why should we go back until our demand for guaranteed MSP (Minimum Support Price) is met?”