Thousands of Indians have found a way of escaping their destiny as an outcastBy Andrew Duke
Noon in Karimnagar, central India, and already it's over 40 degrees. A queue of 2000 wedding guests wait patiently in the sun outside a covered courtyard decorated with lotus flowers and ornate drapes. The women wear brightly coloured saris and fan themselves as they chat; the men, clad in sharp, 1970s-cut suits, dab at their foreheads. From time to time, a VIP is whisked along to the front of the line. I know these people are important because they have bodyguards, and their bodyguards are carrying sub-machine guns.
Everyone here knows who these people are, and why this wedding ceremony is so significant. Before the betrothed marry, they will undergo a controversial religious conversion and the congregation of well-wishers, family members, politicians, academics and writers are here to show their support.
Deekonda Tirupathi and his bride-to-be, Sucharitha, are converting to Buddhism because they are Dalits, members of society rooted below even the bottom rung of India's complex hierarchical system. Above them, four main Hindu classes, or varnas, occupy their own places in life: the priestly Brahmins; then the ruling class, the Kshatriyas; next are the Vaishyas, the artisans and traders; then follow the Shudras, labourers and servants. Those born without varna are seen as sub-human, or, as they used to be referred to, "untouchable", their lives restricted to menial jobs and duties deemed impure in Hinduism: they alone work leather, dispose of dead bodies, handle carcasses, clear human and animal excrement.
Our wedding couple are the latest in a long line of Dalits who hope to rid themselves of the stigma of "untouchability" and be accepted as equals by adopting a new religion. They follow in the footsteps of one of the country's greatest thinkers, Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar, a Dalit lawyer and scholar who went on to become the main architect of India's constitution.
Ambedkar's attempts to reform the system in the 1940s and 1950s came under attack from an unlikely source: Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi - later Mahatma Gandhi, celebrated peace campaigner, spiritual leader and father of the nation.
Gandhi's hope of finding a solution to the problem of untouchability without dividing Hindu society sat at odds with Ambedkar's intention of direct political action: Ambedkar's demands that Dalits should form separate electorates were initially accepted by the ruling British but he was forced to back down after Gandhi began to starve himself to death in protest.
Ambedkar did, however, manage to ensure that a quota system was introduced in education, politics, the law and public service before his disdain for caste-based Hinduism led him to convert to Buddhism in the late 1950s. "Ambedkar said if a Dalit is to be empowered, the only true way is to leave Hinduism," Tirupathi tells me. "Since Ambedkar converted to Buddhism and I follow him, I am leaving Hinduism and embracing Buddhism."
But for the vast majority of the estimated 180 million Dalits (16% of India's population), everyday life is about basic survival.
"What can we do?" asks Vimalemma Mari, a widow since 1983. "We have families to support and no choice of what work we do." I meet Mari as she starts work in a northern suburb of Hyderabad. Every day, seven days a week, the 52-year-old mother of six joins an army of women across India in the unending task of sweeping litter and dust from the nation's roads. A gangmaster - her boss - circles the neighbourhood on a motorbike checking all the sweepers are pulling their weight.
A couple of metres beneath Mari's feet, 27-year-old Padma Rao begins his job of clearing the drains of human waste with his bare hands. Once the task is complete, his colleagues pull him out. He lets me take his photograph but, as a friend explains, he doesn't want to talk to me about his life because he is too embarrassed. He looks at me apologetically, gulps some fresh air and is lowered into another drain.
For their efforts, Mari and Padma will be paid around £1 a day.
Discrimination against Dalits, although outlawed, is deeply ingrained. "In rural areas it is still very dangerous for a Dalit to allow his shadow to fall across an upper-caste man - it is the biggest crime a Dalit can commit," says Moses Vattipalli, himself a Dalit. "It results in very severe punishment, sometimes death. In villages, all Dalits live together on the east side because the wind flows from the west. This way, members of the upper caste will not have any wind or sound coming in from the direction of the Dalits."
Vattipalli, 31, manages a website documenting the problems faced by Dalits. Much of the site catalogues violence - the beatings, acid attacks, rapes and murders - as well as day-to-day discrimination. "At my village school," says Moses, "I was told again and again that I was a Dalit boy, and so I was unfortunate. In class we would sit separately and couldn't share anything. Teacher would abuse me and beat me with sticks - when the upper-caste boys got something wrong, I got the beating. We weren't allowed to drink in the same place and I had to bring my own tumbler. I was always angry, always asking, Why was I born a Dalit' ... thinking it would have been better if I hadn't been born."
Despite everything, Vattipalli made the most of his education and left his village to work overseas. But moving away from the rural areas does not guarantee acceptance. "Discrimination in the city is different and can be more severe," says Vattipalli, who now lives with his wife and daughter in Secunderabad. "In the villages you know what is happening and can be careful; here it is psychologically oppressive and dehumanising. They always ask your name: they find out you are a Dalit, then treat you differently."
But that doesn't stop thousands seeking work in the major IT and industrial centres each year, especially places like Hyderabad, nicknamed Cyberabad, home to Hitec (Hyderabad Information Technology Engineering Consultancy) City. Here, confidence in India's future is reflected in the mirrored buildings housing the likes of General Electric, Microsoft and Dell. In the shadow of these multinationals, small shanty towns of itinerant workers have grown up, providing temporary shelter for those lucky enough to be given work.
Others fall into the trap of bonded labour. A few miles north of Hyderabad is a settlement unofficially known as Pipe Village. The encampment consists of discarded pipes beside the factory that produced them. Inside the pipes live the factory's Dalit workers. Mostly from rural villages, they were enticed by the prospect of a job, accommodation and a loan to help with the move. What they got was a 12-hour day, a pipe to live in and a long-term debt that ensures they stay put.
According to a 2006 survey by the Hindustan Times, 48% of villages still deny Dalits access to water, while three-quarters of villages do not permit Dalits to enter non-Dalit homes. Meanwhile, a third of public health workers refuse to visit Dalit homes. It's perhaps unsurprising that the contentious process of religious conversion appeals.
"Every day thousands of Dalits choose to embrace a new religion," says Dr Joseph D'souza, international president of the Dalit Freedom Network. "Dalits are primarily choosing Buddhism or Christianity, although some have chosen Islam. Changing their religion means they - and more important, their children - think of themselves differently. Instead of following holy texts which say they were created only for one role in life and are of lesser value than others, now they learn about a creator who made them equal and truly free. This mental change impacts on their behaviour as they attempt new careers or fight for dignity by embracing their legal rights."
This growth in confidence has, however, set those with a vested interest in preserving the status quo on a collision course with reformers. "Just 7% of the population rules the majority of India," says Moses Vattipalli. "When the 93% gain empowerment, the minority fear they will lose everything."
Realising the threat, the right-wing Bharatiya Janata Party's Hindu heartlands of Rajasthan, Madhya Pradesh and Tamil Nadu introduced laws to severely restrict conversions, while others, including the state of Gujarat, have attempted to reclassify other faiths and bring them into the fold of Hinduism.
"When the small number of fundamentalist Hindus who want to rule all India and continue to oppress Dalits saw these conversions to Buddhism, Sikhism and Jainism, they feared they were losing manpower and growing weaker," says Vattipalli, himself a convert to Christianity. "They realised that soon they would become the minority and said that the other three religions were in fact branches of Hinduism."
But that assertion met with little sympathy. "The other religions said no, we are not part of Hinduism so long as there is the caste system,'" says Vattipalli.
As their strength has increased, Dalit leaders and support groups have taken their battle further afield to help shift domestic policy.
"The Dalit movement is at a turning point in history," says D'souza. "Most Westerners have never heard of Ambedkar, Phule, or Periyar, who were great Dalit leaders and writers. But since 2000, influential bodies such as the United Nations, the US Congress, the UK parliament have issued statements condemning caste discrimination. We are gaining momentum. We are gaining recognition that caste is similar to apartheid and deserves the involvement of the international community."
Unsurprisingly, the talk over lunch at the wedding in Karimnagar is dominated by the topic of change. But any transition from such deeply entrenched positions may prove painful. If the caste system were to be abolished folowing next year's crucial elections then, according to Vattipalli: "There may be clashes with Hindu fundamentalists because the Hindu scriptures are everything for them."
His words seem to be have been born out after recent conflict in the states of Orissa, Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, Kerala and Madhya Pradesh. Trouble in Orissa alone left 13,000 people without homes when Anti-Christian violence flared up after local Hindus accused Christian Dalits of murdering a controversial holy man. Claims of forced conversions were also levelled at the Christians. (Both allegations have been vehemently denied). During the most recent clashes, one Christian woman was left dead and scores of others were injured.
So far the outbreaks have been relatively contained, given the size and population of the country, but Moses Vattipalli fears that Dalit empowerment may prompt reprisals.
"Dalits will be angry because of injustices and oppression spread over the last 3000 years," he warns. "There could be bloodshed, even civil war."
But Dalit campaigner D'souza takes a different view. "Of course, any group of people that has been oppressed for thousands of years is tempted to take revenge, but I'm confident that Dalit leaders will follow the example of Gandhi and, even more so, BR Ambedkar," he says. "They will respond with a firm but peaceful defence of their rights and human dignity."
