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The Kols, a tribe that inhabits the badlands of Bundelkhand, struggle with bonded labour, the fraudulent seizure of their lands and a national democracy that does not seem to include them in any way at all
Directed by Sehjo Singh
Produced by Anwar Jamal and Sehjo Singh
Hindi and Bundelkhandi with English sub-titles, 70 mins  Sehjo Singh and Anwar Jamal’s film on the Kol tribe is set in the badlands of Bundelkhand, in northern Madhya Pradesh. For the rest of the nation, this region is notorious for its dacoits and general lawlessness. But the film reveals more than lawlessness and the rule of the gun – this is a region apparently untouched by more than half a century of Indian independence. Feudalism and casteism are the order of the day – the vestiges of democracy lie in ruined courthouses and an even more decrepit and dysfunctional legal system.
The central issue of the film is the exploitation of the Kols, the indigenous inhabitants of the area. They struggle with bonded labour, the fraudulent seizure of their lands and a national democracy that does not seem to include them in any way at all. The film opens with preparations for an Adivasi rally, where the Kols will demand redistribution of lands and recognition for themselves as a Scheduled Tribe so that they have reservations for employment. But this hopeful moment of participatory democracy is soon overshadowed as the film unfolds with more and more examples of endemic oppression. There is an endless cycle of debt for these dispossessed people who work as labourers on lands that rightfully belong to them. When they seek legal redress through the courts and the land registration offices, they are confronted with a monolithic system that unites against them with the power of caste, money, education, the state and eventually, guns. Even as we hear the story of the Kols and their struggle through Bhim, we are also told the story of a Brahmin family that has become, over the generations landowners and civil contractors, even though these professions are not really appropriate for their high-caste status. The first is the story of a community, the second, the story of a clan. The young man of the Brahmin family, Rajan, wants to go to the city, but care of the family possessions keeps him rooted in the area. Rajan’s father appears to be the effective ‘ruler’ of the village, righteous in his religious rituals and his morning exercise, righteous even in the fact that he has unlicensed gun-toting bodyguards because of the dacoit threat in the region. Nothing seems to have changed over the years, except that now, landowners have trouble finding labour for their fields. Apparently, the traditional labourers, presumably the Kols, have been incited against their thankless (and penniless) ‘jobs’. Despite this reference, the two stories run parallel, the tellers and the protagonists never meet, indicating parallel truths and parallel universes. This is unfortunate because surely, the plenty of one depends on the deprivation of the other. The middle of Kol Tales breaks away from the (largely) masculine world of court cases and brushes with recalcitrant authorities to the world of women, where the exploitation is doubled. They still walk long distances to collect firewood and water. Not only do they share the poverty and disenfranchisement of their men folk, they are the victims of rape and non-consensual relationships with the upper-caste landowners. Their children are half-castes and cannot get married. The landowners who sired them do nothing to support them and the burden falls upon the women that bore them. And yet, there is also Butibai, who educated herself and has won the local Zilla Parishad election. The film catches a moment where the Kols are becoming aware of their rights and the fact that somewhere far away, there is a government that is bound to acknowledge them. They are still singing their traditional songs, but often enough, we hear new words and ideas set to the old melodies. Butibai is a case in point for this new awareness and determination to fight, as is Bhim. But what remains the message of the film is that there are vast portions of the country and huge numbers of our ‘fellow citizens’ for whom the march of democracy, human rights and economic prosperity means nothing at all. It is not simply that they could be living in another country, the sad truth is that they could be living on another planet, for all that they enter our consciousness. More and more these days, we are called upon to celebrate the nation’s healthy economy and our courageous stand in WTO meetings. We are asked to laud the strength of our vibrant democratic institutions and for the most part, we do. The reason for this is quite simply because in our cacophony of voices, we do not hear the sound of those who have been silenced for generations. For further information, contact: Anwar Jamal and Sehjo Singh
D-3/3173 Vasant Kunj
New Delhi 110 073.
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