Older publication being put up here due to formatting issues-- aarrrrrrrgghhh!! 

A couple of years ago, --so now going on 3, updating so very late-- in the US, this young (and oh so very kind!) girl, Laci F Hector, started Livina Press. This special issue of Homeland is dedicated to Palestine and all proceeds from sale of the book go towards the cause. My poem is about the people displaced in the Narmada Bachao Andolan in which frankly my interest was instigated by a rather selfish reason-- a teacher once said I could be like Aruna Roy!! Crazy teacher, no doubt. And in my vague and rather ignorant mind, Aruna Roy at that point seemed to have a relation with the Narmada Andolan whether she actually did or not. Do not worry, the banshee has read up on Aruna Roy a bit since then, thanks to Zubaan projects!! The title of the poem 'Namami Devi Narmade' comes from one of our assembly songs in school. It seemed to fit the poem and context. The 56 poems/stories/pieces here (I figure at number 51) seem to be very moving and heartbreaking, full of pathos, just by the titles in the

contents pages. She says she got a very good worldwide response for this, perhaps because of the Palestinian cause. A few Indians here too--- including poet Vinita Agrawal! You can see the tree and the watermelon on the cover. The Banshee has been wailing about quite a few things other than love now.

Namami Devi Narmade

The River was our Mother Goddess

She supplied us with abundant water-

To drink, to clean, to feed

The forests gave us firewood, and

wood to build houses. And fruits, 

And leaves. And so much. 

Our ancestors came and settled here:

They cleared the forests, tamed

the wild animals. They were

good people. They did not smoke. 

Neither did they drink. They worked hard. 

One day, the government men came and said that all our 33 villages must be cleared

to build a dam. Sardar Sarovar Dam. 

We heard that the Forest Ministry did not clear

the project, but still, it was passed. 

We did not know what would happen 

but it seemed that the huge big dam 

encroaching on the Narmada, fettering it

from free flow, would inundate our villages. 

Our lands. Our homes. Our forests. Our lives. 

What right do they have to snatch the land

Cleared and cared for by our ancestors? 

Why should my children not live on this land? 

Some people from the city to help us, men and women

Scholars social workers oral historians anthropologists like Medha Patkar and Nandini Oza, 

People retired from the army, and many, many more. 

We joined hands, urban and rural, men and women

We gathered people, formed groups, raised our voices

Did campaigns like Doobenge par nahi hatenge, 

And jal samarpan. We were ready to drown, 

but not to leave our land. We sent across a clear message:

We oppose the construction of the dam. 

But our voices don't matter. Only the voices 

of those who cry development. 

We blocked roads to prevent construction material

from reaching the dam site. We went on 

indefinite hunger strike, had sit-in protests, 

took out rallies. We will not leave our land. 

The World Bank withdrew funding for the dam. 

250 organisations worldwide supported us. 

But what answer did we get from the government? 

They beat us, it is easy to beat women anyway

They put us in jail. So many of us have been in jail. 

We all resisted this project for over 2 decades. But finally, the dam was built. 

The dam was built. Most of us were never rehabilitated. 

The waters rose, drowned our houses, swept away

our cattle. The river swelled up and crocodiles came

We were afraid to go to the river, and so were the animals. 

They killed our Narmada. Killed us. Our forests. Our villages. 

They rehabilitated some of us. But life was full of strife

in the new place. First, locals do not accept us. 

Second, we are far away from our native lands, our place. 

Third, it is too expensive here. There is no Narmada here 

to give us water, no forests to give us wood, food. 

Here we women too have to go out to work. 

We never had to do that in our Narmada village. 

Obtaining water for washing, cleaning, drinking

for the house has become an ordeal. 

Finding wood without our forests is so difficult. 

We grew in that land just as the trees grew

We cannot be uprooted and transplanted at will. 

We grew in that soil, we are strangers here

They look at us with suspicion. 

I asked them for land. The government said 

I cannot get land because I am a woman. 

This makes no sense to me. Why can i not

get land, when a man can? Was it not my land too? 

Did I not lose my land too? 

To add insult to injury, today there stands on the site

Not only the dam, but a hideous humongous Statue of Unity. 

Statue of Unity! I puke on it for shame! 

This is a statue of division, showing people

whose voices matter, and people whose voices do not. 

People whose lives matter, and people whose lives do not. 

Unity is not a statue. Unity is a roaring, crashing wave, 

Breaking and forever rising again in solidarity

Like Our Narmada Bachao Andolan Front. 

*Namami—respect, worship 

Narmada—river

Devi Narmade—the river is also worshipped as goddess 

Doobenge par nahi hatenge— we will drown but not move from here

Jal samarpan— water dedication 

Andolan—political campaign / protest / struggle