"Every four minutes, a child is born dead in Madhya Pradesh. Of those that 
survive, over 14 per cent die before they turn six. In the seven months from 
July 2008 to January 2009, 676 children died here of malnourishment. That’s 
three a day. Empty kitchens, leafless trees and ration shops that are as barren 
as the landscape are visible proof that there is precious little to eat in 
northern MP. A chronic, pervasive hunger that lay hidden till a few years ago 
now screams for attention in newspaper headlines. It is not surprising that, in 
December 2008, the BJP’s Shivraj Singh Chauhan became Chief Minister against a 
poll promise of subsidised rice. With no actual food to be had, the mere hope 
of food is what people subsist on. Lok Sabha aspirants have realised that here, 
the promise of food security is a profitable one to make and a convenient one 
to break"
 





A Famished Franchise
What is a vote to a starving man? What does the world’s largest election mean 
to the world’s largest group of forsaken people? ROHINI MOHAN finds out. 
Photographs by SAYANTAN BERA
http://www.tehelka.com/story_main41.asp?filename=Ne020509a_famished.asp





Threadbare Sadan Nayak wanted to sit up to receive his guests, only to 
tearfully tell us he was too weak. Kashipur, Orissa




‘Five people in my family have died of starvation. The only thing I have left 
is the privilege of a vote’

DHIRU KAKA
Kottali village, Kashipur, Orissa. His wife, daughter, son-in-law, and two 
grandchildren died of starvation in 2008. He stays with his two-yearold 
grandson, the only surviving family member
‘I’ve lost three children. Nothing will bring them back. I still vote. If I 
don’t, the government will pay even less attention to my only child that is 
alive’
KALUNA SINGH
Radep village, Sheopur, MP Lost three children in five days. They were six 
months, two years, and five years old. All were malnourished
‘Why? Why shouldn’t I vote? I don’t get anything in return, but I must do my 
duty as a citizen. I must vote out the netas who let my mother die’

HALADAR MAJHI
Pengdusi village, Kalahandi, Orissa 20 people died of diarrhoea in his village 
in 15 days. His mother and sister were among them. After a week of no food, 
dire hunger drove them to eat poisonous leaves from the jungle
A VOTE IS often a product of mixed motives — the result of generations of 
unshakeable loyalty, or the last-minute epiphany of a frustrated finger 
hovering over multiple EVM buttons. A vote sometimes rewards jobs provided, 
children schooled, identities recognised. Other times, it punishes pleas 
unheard, bulbs unlit, bruised faiths. It is a bargaining chip that negotiates a 
better life for you.
But what if you were forgotten? Even in the shower of attention that elections 
bring, what if the convoy drove past your village for the nth time? What is a 
vote to you, if for the third time, a child in your family was dying of hunger, 
and you had no hospital to take her to, and no earnings to buy her food with? 
From places that governments have long ignored come shocking stories of the 
complete failure of government and unbelievable deprivation. Not a morsel to 
eat, not a drop safe to drink. What does the world’s biggest election mean to 
the largest group of forsaken people in that country? What is a vote to a 
starving man?
It takes a stinging swarm of mosquitoes to wake little Maya from her tired 
sleep. Immediately, she bursts into tears. She thrashes her bony legs; her ribs 
visible under her skin. There are angry rashes and bleeding sores all over her 
body. Exhausted from crying, Maya’s eyes shut again. The wailing is now 
soundless, the tears flow quietly.
Maya looks about one year old, but is actually three. “She doesn’t seem to 
grow,” says Rasali, her mother. “She hasn’t been able to walk or crawl and most 
of the time, just lies in an unconscious sleep.” Maya has Grade-4 malnutrition, 
the severest degree, which means that she has only a few months left to live. 
She is from Nichikhori village in Madhya Pradesh’s Sheopur district, where 
locals recognise villages not by name, but by the number of children that have 
starved to death there in the past few months. Nichikhori is known by the 
number 6. Not one of the children here who stare at us shyly from behind walls 
and trees looks well, let alone well-fed. Without exception, they are 
underweight and have distended abdomens, reed-thin limbs, bulging eyes. Almost 
all have had a sibling starve to death.
Every four minutes, a child is born dead in Madhya Pradesh. Of those that 
survive, over 14 per cent die before they turn six. In the seven months from 
July 2008 to January 2009, 676 children died here of malnourishment. That’s 
three a day. Empty kitchens, leafless trees and ration shops that are as barren 
as the landscape are visible proof that there is precious little to eat in 
northern MP. A chronic, pervasive hunger that lay hidden till a few years ago 
now screams for attention in newspaper headlines. It is not surprising that, in 
December 2008, the BJP’s Shivraj Singh Chauhan became Chief Minister against a 
poll promise of subsidised rice. With no actual food to be had, the mere hope 
of food is what people subsist on. Lok Sabha aspirants have realised that here, 
the promise of food security is a profitable one to make and a convenient one 
to break.
RN Rawat, a Congress MLA from Shivpuri is contesting the Morena Lok Sabha seat, 
with “eradicating starvation deaths” as his primary agenda. When asked why he 
did not raise the issue in the years he was an MLA, Rawat says, “I may be 
raising this just before elections, but someone has to do it sometime.” The MP 
administration denied reports of malnutrition until 2007, when a wave of 
hungerrelated deaths brought criticism from across the world. Today, Central 
and state governments recognise the problem, but underplay its scale. Nutrition 
and Rehabilitation Centres (NRCs) were started to treat malnourished children 
in remote villages, but they admit only severely malnourished children, who are 
already too sick to respond to treatment. The other hungry children are left to 
the Centre’s anganwadis, which are supposed to provide a daily meal to children 
under six. In Shivpuri district, however, women say these meals come only once 
a week.
“Why do these people depend on the government for everything?” asks Ganesh 
Singh, the BJP parliamentarian from Satna, who is contesting the seat again 
this year. “The government helps those who help themselves,” he declares.
In Singh’s constituency, long years of drought have forced many families to 
mortgage their land to moneylenders for food. Non-agricultural jobs are scarce 
and pay poorly. Entire villages bear insurmountable debts but still have no 
food. It is at this point that people look to the government. And when even 
children die of starvation, it is usually a sign of the most abysmal hunger.
Hari Singh, a labourer in Sheopur, lost his one-year-old son three weeks ago. 
“Sonu was always very weak,” says Singh. “When he was just over 14 months, he 
suddenly got boils all over his body and his skin started peeling. He became 
sookha (dry). He couldn’t even digest breast milk and then got diarrhoea. 
Towards the end, a rotting smell came from his body. That’s when I knew it was 
over.” The experience left Hari blaming himself. But what it reveals is an 
absolute breakdown of government welfare schemes.
IF THERE is food from anywhere, the child is sure to be fed. Universally, 
parents feed their child first,” says Sachin Jain, a member of the Right to 
Food campaign in Madhya Pradesh. “If children are starving, it means the entire 
community is on the brink.”





Cry for help In Chaitan’s village in Orissa, every second child is underweight
Starvation deaths are often downplayed by governments as transient aberrations, 
ones that might merit a cure but never prevention; aberrations that can be 
dealt with after they occur. The Mizoram government, for instance, has 
camouflaged chronic hunger among its other anti-famine measures. The state 
witnesses a unique phenomenon called mautam, literally, ‘bamboo death’. Every 
48 years, a particular species of tropical bamboo flowers. A temporary surfeit 
of rich bamboo seeds leads to an explosion in the population of rats, which 
soon overrun paddy fields, causing a famine. The last famine was in 1959, and 
it took on political colour as it became the genesis for the militant Mizoram 
National Famine Front.



WITH NO ACTUAL FOOD TO BE HAD, LOK SABHA ASPIRANTS HAVE REALISED THAT THE 
PROMISE OF FOOD SECURITY IS A PROFITABLE ONE TO MAKE, AND AN EASY ONE TO BREAK
Since late 2004, Mizoram has been going through another devastating famine. 
There are clear manifestations of the onset of famine in eight districts. It 
seems bizarre that an entire people live perennially on the verge of 
starvation, but mautam remains a non-issue this election. CL Ruala, the 
Congress candidate says that the famine does not feature in the party manifesto 
because its repercussions are limited. C Rokhuma, founder of the Anti-Famine 
Campaign Organization, believes that Mizoram is a victim of politicised and 
badly tackled hunger. “The 2007 mautam was manipulated by politicians,” he 
says. “They let people starve and then brought rice for them from outside, so 
as to be seen as solving their problem.”
The snag in approaching hunger as a famine-like phenomenon is that the solution 
is often short-sighted. The Central government accumulates an emergency stock 
of food grains by buying directly from farmers, a cache meant for famine 
relief. It has been hoarding this for so long that it now has four times the 
required stock. As development economist Jean Dréze puts it, if these sacks of 
grain were lined up in a row, that array of futile, wasted food would stretch 
for more than a million kilometres, to the moon and back. Grotesquely, though 
India has the largest unused stocks of food in the world, it also has more 
people suffering from hunger than any other country.
ALOOK AT the states that have lost the most people to starvation — Madhya 
Pradesh, Jharkhand, Rajasthan, Mizoram and Orissa — reveals a more silent and 
misunderstood killer: chronic hunger, the kind that is caused by an utter 
disability to buy any food. With no land to grow food on and no earnings to buy 
even subsidised food, families grow hungrier by the generation.




Kalahandi in Orissa has become an icon of Indian poverty. Visited repeatedly by 
Congress bigwigs and development journalists, the district still remains an 
unfortunate, living stereotype. A ricesurplus district, yet a district with one 
of the highest mortality rates (140 per thousand) in the country. The poorest 
state, yet one voting for 27 crorepati candidates, seven of them from the 
hungriest Kalahandi-Bolangir-Koraput region.



EMPTY KITCHENS, LEAFLESS TREES AND RATION SHOPS THAT ARE AS BARREN AS THE 
LANDSCAPE ARE VISIBLE PROOF THAT THERE IS PRECIOUS LITTLE TO EAT IN MADHYA 
PRADESH
When the residents of Pengdusi village in Kalahandi are asked what they do for 
a living, one man bursts out laughing, “We’re boatmakers, fishermen or farmers. 
At least until we become patients.” In September 2007, 16 people died of 
diarrhoea here in just 15 days, most of them adults. No one was taken to the 
hospital because it is 45km away, and there was no bus, no ambulance, and no 
road. “If you fell sick in this village, you died,” says 30-year-old Madan 
Nayak, who lost his wife and, one day later, his one-month-old daughter. 
Diarrhoea is the most common symptom of hunger death — a body’s final rejection 
of any food or water, an inability to digest anything because of being unfed 
for too long. Even today, the Primary Health sub-Centre set up 5km from the 
village following media and NGO pressure, lies locked, with no doctor or health 
worker appointed. Two years after people died of neglect, no lessons have been 
learnt.
Yet, instead of despondence, there is still talk of political change. “We all 
campaigned for Pushpendra Singh of the BJD in the 2004 assembly elections, 
because we thought he would help us get our BPL cards,” says Haladar Majhi, 
“But after he won, when we went to remind him of his promise, he asked us who 
we were.” This year, the popular parliamentary candidate seems to be the 
Congress’ Bhakta Charan Das, the first politician to visit the village at its 
worst time in 2007. “He came on a motorcycle, with a doctor riding pillion,” 
says Haladar, “He ensured that the road is paved. He responds to us, at least 
for now.”
NEARBY, PREDOMINANTLY tribal Kashipur has been facing the wrath of failed 
crops. Everyone seems to be at work in lush paddy fields for most of the day, 
but in their homes, there is commonly just half a pot of dilute rice gruel for 
a family of five for three days. It is a simple difference between the haves 
and the have nots. In the last 50 years in Orissa, big farmers have been buying 
fertile land and cheap labour for throwaway prices. Adivasis work for 
foodgrains on lands they once owned. When there is no harvest in the rainy 
season between May and October, they find themselves jobless and too poor to 
buy even the Rs 2 rice from ration shops. Those with a few acres of land manage 
for a month or two before hunger strikes them too. Everyone seems to have an 
NREGA card, but instead of a guaranteed 100 days a year, people in Kashipur get 
an average of 20 days’ work. Most of that is unpaid.



ORISSA, ONE OF THE POOREST STATES IN THE COUNTRY, IS VOTING FOR 27 CROREPATI 
CANDIDATES. SEVEN OF THEM ARE FROM THE HUNGRIEST KALAHANDI-BOLANGIR-KORAPUT AREA
The staple diet is mango kernels, which lie drying in front of every house. 
They will be ground and eaten, even though it was these very poisonous fungus- 
ridden kernels that caused rampant diarrhoea a year ago. “We know this isn’t 
very good for us,” admits Kaluna, who now raises four children belonging to her 
sister who died of starvation last year in Kashipur. “But there’s not enough 
farm produce,” she says. “We need something to quieten the growling stomach.”
The still-robust will to vote among the most neglected is striking. “In the 
absence of food, land, work, and good health, my vote is the only privilege I 
have left,” says the 67-year-old Dhiru Kaka, who lost his son, daughter-in-law 
and wife to starvation last year in Kashipur, Orissa. Playing with his voter ID 
card is his 2-year-old grandson, the only family he has left. When Dhiru Kaka 
made the trip to the polling booth on April 16, it was to cast his vote for the 
17th time. “At least for a few months after the election, the winning 
politician will bring us food,” he says, hugging his grandson. “That is the 
best we can ever expect.”
With Teresa Rehman in Mizoram
WRITER’S EMAIL
roh...@tehelka.com





>From Tehelka Magazine, Vol 6, Issue 17, Dated May 02, 2009


With Regards

Abi
 

Knowledge is the best gift, and manner is the best transaction
- Ali


      

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