Why are we silent on violence against nature?

This used to be the most beautiful time of the year in Delhi, when the dry, dusty landscape of summer gave way to cool breezy mornings and evenings, newly-planted winter flower saplings greeted you even on the city’s roundabouts and there was a renewed interest in exploring the many lovely walks and monuments scattered all over this historic metropolis. Fast forward now to the scene outside my window today: a thick yellow-grey smog, deserted parks and markets and faces shrouded in masks so that you feel everyone has recently come out of a life-threatening stay in an ICU. No morning walkers, no children playing on swings, no mohalla cricket matches or picnics in public gardens.

I am told by friends from all over north India that the situation is no better elsewhere.

Meanwhile, a huge blame game is on, X blames Y, who blames Z, but no one seems seriously concerned about solving the problem of our toxic environment. Ironically, many of the outraged voices belong to those who drive diesel SUVs, two-wheelers that spew ugly black fumes and happily ride public transport buses that should be consigned to scrap yards. There are unfinished buildings all around us, with no attempt to adhere to the ‘strict’ laws that insist that all such sites should have mandatory dust covers, no rubble should be left under half-done flyovers and metros lines that distributes the dust over miles. The Yamuna floodplain has long been colonised by dodgy colonisers and unlicensed nurseries of plants and trees have taken over the rest of the space. Even a respected religious sect supposedly dedicated to a clean environment has contributed its bit to polluting this natural biosphere. Bahen Mayawati’s Dalit Prerna Sthal in Noida has monumental statues of her (handbag and all), Kanshi Ram and Dr BR Ambedkar standing in an area carved out the erstwhile Yamuna Biodiversity Park. Hundreds of trees were cut down to be replaced by Kota sandstone forecourts around a central ‘temple’ dedicated to Dalit icons.

We are rightly outraged by the violence against women, tribals, children, old people, Dalit and minority communities but why are we silent on the violence against nature? Is it because flora and fauna do not have a voice nor do they constitute a vote bank or is it that we have no respect for nature, even though we profess deep love for it? Environmentalists are often regarded as a slightly balmy fringe group, a space they occupy with vegans, vegetarians, feminists and anti-nuke activists. I am currently reading a remarkable book titled ‘Political Violence in Ancient India’ (Upinder Singh) that has a fascinating account of violence against nature in a chapter called Wilderness. From ancient times, we have regarded forests and their occupants with scant respect. Our readings of the Ramayana have been concerned with the battle between right and wrong but we seem to have glossed over the lessons that Ram’s exile in the Dandakaranya forest reveal. The strange denizens that one encounters there — bears, monkeys, vultures — play a vital role in restoring Ram’s lost kingdom and wife. The fruits offered by Shabari or the boat-ride offered by Kevat are merged into the larger narrative of Ram’s triumphs. The battle between Bali and Sugriv over a woman is a replay of a drama that takes place between Ram and Ravan later.

As Upinder observes, there has never been a single attitude towards nature. Even Ashoka — perhaps the wisest ruler of Ancient India — grappled with the problem of violence when he chose ahimsa as his state policy. The world over the forest or wilderness has been variously regarded as a paradise (Garden of Eden) or a dangerous darkness populated by fierce animals and belligerent characters (Shakespeare’s Tempest and Caliban). Closer home, it was where sages built their peaceful ashrams and also a place of heartless political exile (Ram and the Pandavas). Man has always struggled to tame this wilderness or has been changed by it, depending on how you view the issue. The law of the jungle is both an implacable divine fact as well as a challenge to man’s ability to tame it. In short, many of our cultural and political ideas emerge from the lessons we have learnt (or not learnt) from nature.

Has life changed all that much from those mythical times? Our forests are plundered by rapacious exploiters or state governments for their wealth and minerals. We destroy the environment and then weep when nature strikes back. Hunting animals was regarded a manly sport until a few decades ago and colonial history is replete with examples of how special shikars were organised for visiting foreign guests so that they could take home a tiger skin. In rural Punjab (as in Rajasthan), partridges and quails are still slyly hunted by the owners of vast benami farm properties. This is no hidden fact but no one speaks of it. The farmers’ lobby is as vicious as the coal or iron ore lobby and almost as powerful as the granite and sand lobby down south. Yet they are accorded great political patronage and no one questions whether they pay honest taxes or stash their wealth in shady accounts abroad. These must be the mythical ogres and demons in a modern avatar, I feel.

India still awaits the person or party that will lead this clean-up. Until then, prepare to choke on the muck they have blessed us with.