“Nation? What nation? Which is my nation?”
How can there be peace in a land where so many are still in pursuit of the most basic tenets of life? How can there be prosperity and welfare in a land torn by unrest and violence? Peace and development go hand in hand and the people of a nation are not simply passive agents in this system- any development that isn’t for the people is simply another way to fill the pockets of the rich. A peace earned by silencing the people is simply the quiet before the storm.
Budhini by Sarah Joseph is a novel translated from Malayalam and is narrated from the perspective of a journalist who aims to unravel a story that reflects the dubious nature of grand infrastructure development in India. When former Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru visits the Panchet dam to inaugurate it, a girl named Budhini from the Santhal tribe provides him the ceremonial welcome of a garland and tilak. While this gesture was merely symbolic, Budhini is ostracised from her community for violating traditions, and the government swiftly moves to their next big developmental venture, leaving behind several lives that were somehow marked dispensable. This fictionalised narrative of Budhini’s life is not just a glimpse into the dynamics of community rules and traditions, but a look into problems that transcend one girl, one community, or even one nation.
In our research for this review, we’ve come across several wonderful perspectives on this book. These include the struggles of minorities who are expected to sacrifice their lands, cultures, histories, even lives, at the altar of the “greater good.” With the large-scale infrastructural development in post-Independence India, dams were hailed as the symbol of growth. But the mighty dams and powerful rivers have washed away homes and displaced families, turning them into collateral damage and nothing more. Along with these important themes, our experience of reading Budhini was marked by reflections on the ethics of development, to date.
We’ve always seen development equated to economic growth. There is little room for examining whether this objective for growth benefits every member of society, whether it enhances the quality of life, or if it protects the freedom of people. The economism in development has blurred the ethical lines of development, and this is why the story of Budhini and her people only reiterates itself across generations. When development is governed by profitability, it is not surprising that tribal communities across India have been forced to give up their land, their livelihoods, and their cultures.
This book drew us into the Santhal way of life, the helplessness that permeates through them when their fears are never assuaged but their identity is chipped away at. This book is first and foremost socio-political and despite the elements of Santhal culture, the narrative is consistently about oppression. Sarah Joseph’s writing captures this sensitive situation without resorting to objectification, which is why the descriptions throughout the book ring honest and haunting. The biggest takeaway for us from this book is not a reflection on the book itself, but on the lessons, it has for our future. We are in the middle of a climate crisis and much of this current situation can be linked to the faulty path of development most countries have adopted. Sooner or later, we’ll be at this crossroads again, what is the cost of growth? What is the cost of development? Whose life is worth saving and enriching? We can only hope that the inertia of our past mistakes will not wipe away the hope for a better future.