A fast-flowing canal races over a placid river. Surprised? Don’t be. Welcome to the British-era Nadrai aqueduct, the only archaeological and engineering wonder to have touched Kasganj in 127 years when it was rebuilt after floods washed away the original structure in this western Uttar Pradesh district in the lower Gangetic basin.
Parallel to the red sandstone aqueduct stands a drab, grey hulk of another structure – an example of shoddy Indian attempt at engineering – built at a cost of Rs 75 crore by the UP State Bridge Corporation Ltd, whose website cautions: “mediocrity breeds stagnancy”.
Strangulation Using a ‘Roomal’
The British-era aqueduct – 1,310 feet in length and 88 feet in height – that disgorges the waters of Kali River, a tributary of the Ganges, onto the paddy and mustard fields of much of Kasganj and beyond, is a reminder of the utter neglect of the region’s economy by successive UP governments.
“It is only now, just before the assembly elections, that the Akhilesh Yadav government is speaking the language of development that has eluded Kasganj, Etah, Etawah, Mainpuri and Agra for years,” Amit Kumar Tiwari, a Kasganj-based land surveyor says.
There was a time, back in the early years of the 19th century, when dacoits and thuggees (organised networks of assassins) roamed these parts of UP, looting and murdering travellers. Colonel William Sleeman then undertook a sustained campaign to eradicate the thuggees who destroyed their unsuspecting victims by strangling them with a roomal (handkerchief) at the corner of which was tied a Re 1 coin.
But dacoits and robbers reappeared after Independence in these badlands of UP close to the Chambal ravines, bordering Madhya Pradesh. Although the moustachioed dacoits were subsequently put down and some “retired”, their place was taken by rapacious politicians.
One MLA is believed to be the kingpin of the kidnapping industry, another a history sheeter.
“There are no industries in and around Kasganj,” says Dr Sanjay Saxena, a gynaecologist attached to the 95-year-old Mission Hospital. “Farming is the mainstay and it is only in recent years that the government has taken a baby’s uncertain steps towards social and economic development,” Saxena said, adding that Akhilesh Yadav’s “development USP has had varying impact on the people.”
Many years ago, Kasganj had a thriving handloom industry and its many ancillaries which, due to lack of state government patronage, closed down, throwing many people out of jobs. Today, Kasganj is among some districts that supplies itinerant labour to Delhi, Lucknow, Agra and other towns of UP.
On our way to Soron by the banks of the Ganges, where people visit to perform rituals for their departed loved ones, the lone computer of the state government-initiated Digital Seva in Fareed Nagar village has not been working because it has been hit by two days of continuous power cuts. Outside the booth, the local panchayat members – all men – were trying to thrash out a “ladka-ladki ka maamla”.
On Transcendental High...
Just next to the panchayat throng, Hanuman Das, seated on a bare patch of earth, was grinding hemp leaves (bhang is available in plentiful in and around Kasganj) on a makeshift, portable grindstone as he screamed out a mantra in honour of his guru in a state of hallucinogenic and transcendental high.
Once he had ground the leaves into a fine paste, he made a conical heap of the local narcotic before making small balls and washing them down, in quick succession, with water from a jug.
A middle-aged bachelor, Hanuman Das, dressed in a new white singlet and a blazing red dhoti that ended at his knees, is the archetypal vagabond who roams the highways, surviving on jaggery and peanuts or whatever is available. “Kuchh nahin,” Hanuman said, waving his hands and wagging his bhang-soaked shaven head when asked what he does for a living. He will have a few more balls of the pasty narcotic before dinner, blow the conch shell and hit the bed for the night.
“Mil-Baith Ke Vote Taye Karenge”
Back at the Nadrai aqueduct, Bijay Pal was setting up his bhelpuri kiosk-on-wheels named ‘Neeresh Bhelpuri Wa Chowmein Bhandar’. Suddenly, he felt the call of nature. He ambled across the road, sat on his haunches and emptied his bladder into the drying vegetation. Meanwhile, taking advantage of his brief absence, a flock of intrepid mynas partook of the puffed rice and rotting potatoes inside the glass-encased chambers of the thela which has been his source of livelihood for years.
Pal found the small, now-disappearing park by the aqueduct, locally also called the Chor Kuthariya Pul (legend has it that the concrete structures of the aqueduct served as a hideout for dacoits and robbers), a good spot to sell bhelpuri since teenage lovers and aspiring Romeos with trendy haircuts, shades and cellphones hang out by the canal.
“Kabhi ‘sakool’ nahin gaye (I’ve never been to school). I have three children who too haven’t been to school. I make between Rs 250-300 in a day which is sufficient to run the family. I have only two bighas of land on which I grow some potatoes and wheat,” Pal, a Lodi Rajput, said.
He hasn’t made up his mind who he will vote for on 11 February when Kasganj goes to the hustings. “Mil-baith ke taye karenge kisko vote dena hai,” Pal said as he rubbed his calloused fingers, their nails caked with dirt that had turned greenish black.
Timeless Fear of Dacoits
Kasganj is a dust and smoke-choked town of warrens of grim, crumbling structures. Municipal laws are not enforced. There are no decent hotels but it has three lodges. At Hari Kamal Hotel, next to Kasganj railway station, the furniture at the reception and a room we checked comprised a curious combination of pilfered railway platform benches and the rear seat of a Sumo SUV, respectively.
The young manager shrugged and grinned when we walked away, fully aware that Hari Kamal had not quite acquired the status of a hotel. Hari Kamal’s condition is similar to Kasganj, which was carved out of Etah in April 2008. Devoid of infrastructure befitting a full district, Kasganj is on the cusp of its infamous past and modern-day backwardness. Here, the timeless fear of dacoits and lack of electricity force locals to shut down their establishments by sunset, the vast rural hinterland enveloped in darkness.
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