India’s smallest state has an unusual antipathy to discussing – leave alone addressing – the pernicious and poisonous impact of caste practices in culture and society. Caste gets foregrounded during elections, but the rest of the time Goa prefers to ignore the painful realities incurred, at a heavy cost that other states have navigated much better. Here, it is important to note our most important anti-caste literature and writings are basically unavailable to the public, whether Os Brahmanes by Francis Luis Gomes from the 19th century or Vishnu Surya Wagh’s searing 21st century Sudhir Sukta poems. In this regard, the elegant new publication of the late Dadu Mandrekar’s soulful, sorrowing Untouchable Goa (originally Bahiskrut Gomantak) by the excellent Nagpur-based Panther’s Paw is an important milestone. It is a riveting book that should be read closely by every thinking person, and merits urgent inclusion in the senior school curriculum as well.
How can it be that caste is everywhere in Goa – nowadays even food is proudly said to possess caste – yet purposefully erased from the social and political discourse? Part of the reason is possibly the last two centuries of history in the Estado da India, where a kind of republicanism – including the famous “universal” civil code – gave the appearance of equality under law and was often used by excluded communities (such as the Gomantak Maratha Samaj) to successfully petition for their rights well in advance of their counterparts in other parts of the Hindu world. But whatever the precise cause, there can be no doubt that contemporary Goans are very uncomfortable dealing with caste, and prefer to deny or dissemble about how it continues to work in their own lives, and the active discriminations their own communities are complicit in. These uncomfortable silences bothered Dadu Mandrekar greatly, and he never stopped trying to break them, over long decades when he stood almost entirely alone.
“The storm called ‘Ambedkarvaad’ – the ideology of Ambedkar – swept into my mind when I was still young, barely in my mid-twenties,” writes Mandrekar: “It became the fertile ground from which countless ideas have taken root and flourished over the years. It allowed me to see everything and everyone through an unwaveringly critical lens. Most importantly, it gave me a foundation upon which I could cultivate creativity, justice, change, and my people – ideas that have never left me. Sometimes, when the right forces align and give me adequate aid, these ideas transform into reality. Ambedkarvaad keeps me grounded in other ways too, preventing me from wasting words on empty criticism or frivolous gossip. Instead, it helps me channel my energy toward sharpening my abilities and using them to uplift others.”
Mandrekar says “Dalit communities are found across the length and breadth of Goa, their presence in villages far outnumbering that in cities and towns. In many villages, their numbers are large enough to form separate vastis – neighborhoods of their own. Across the Pedne, Sattari and Dicholi regions, there is scarcely a village without one or more of these vastis. The Mahars for the largest segment of this population. They are the true sons of this land – not just of these regions, but of Goa itself [and] like elsewhere in India, the Mahars in Goa are considered untouchable. They make up the majority of Goan Dalits and bear the weight of immense suffering – poverty, illiteracy, and an ignorance imposed upon them through centuries of deprivation. Every injustice, every wound, every trauma inflicted upon Dalits across the nation has left its mark on them as well. By fate – or by peculiar decree of my stars – I too am a Mahar. I too have seen, felt, lived and endured the pain, deprivation and indignities of my people. From the moment I was capable of thought, one conviction has remained unshaken for me; my people’s lives and struggles must not remain invisible.”
This is remarkable testimony, with an ineffable character that sets it distinctly apart from the vast canon of Dalit writing from Maharashtra, to which Mandrekar’s oeuvre has an undeniable relationship beyond the mere fact he wrote in Marathi. Here’s what Untouchable Goa’s sensitive translator Nikil Baisane told me earlier this week: “While Dadu tries to incorporate literary touches that often seem very Savarna Marathi Lit coded they give out a very ironic tone. It feels as if he's subtly mocking such flowery language by pairing it with harrowing stories of discrimination and bias. His writing isn't full of anguish in a very angry-young man kind of way, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't possess the spirit of anger and frustration against the system, and the society that continues to force people in hellish situations. Another factor that I found great about his writing is that while it's very reportage-like, it's not dry or matter of fact, instead Dadu we hear everything from his perspective, a perspective that represents the voices of the downtrodden. It's full of emotions and restlessness that flow out in a calm manner. I'm not sure if I remember any other writer that has a similar style”
Baisane is a very bright Pune-based 30-year-old, who is currently writing his debut novel, and Untouchable Goa is his first published translation. He told me he was especially troubled by Mandrekar’s descriptions of educated Dalits in his own age group: “we see all kinds of such young men, some who are educated but are still bound to caste practices, some who can have a bright future but are forced to stay indentured to caste, and some who have fire in their heart and ready to tackle oppression without any care. I call these passages troubling because what Dadu wrote back then is still very much visible everywhere.”