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The construction of large dams in India has faced criticism for its neo-colonial and capitalist practices. This highlights the importance of accountability, the consequences of development discourse, and the tangible impacts on the lives of those affected by dams, development initiatives, displacement, and denial of compensation. The pursuit of large-scale construction projects frequently promotes a conspicuous consumerist perspective, disregarding both marginalised groups and the ethics of sustainable development. The absence of ethical considerations such as empathy, inclusion, and egalitarian ideology in the development narrative often leads to the devaluation of certain lives while prioritising the safety and security of others. Within this particular setting, it is important to recognise the trajectories of those whose lives are considered disposable. In this context, the article scrutinizes Na. D’souza’s novella Dweepa, delving into the experiences of individuals who have faced eco-anxiety, precariousness, and vulnerability, ultimately culminating in their tragic demise due to the construction of the Linganamakki dam over the Sharavathi river.
Introduction: Dams, development and narratives in India
Irrespective of a country’s political system or level of development, every nation that has the financial means or ability to borrow funds to construct dams has a strong desire for them, and the preference is for larger dams.1 In addition, a large dam serves as a prominent symbol of national prestige, signifying that a country has successfully established itself on the global stage, or, as Bret Benjamin describes it, obtained one of the essential “fetish objects” associated with nationalism, thereby raising the question, “Is a large dam a technological artefact or a political object?” (D’Souza, 2008). Consequently, from the 1950s to the 1990s, the construction of approximately 45,000 dams worldwide supported multiple objectives such as progress, development, and economic growth (Ziolkowski, 2024, p. 4; D’Souza, 2022, p. 205). This highlights the ongoing process of modernization, where the interconnectedness of nature, cities, and people is evident in both the development and destruction that occur. The construction of dams clearly illustrates the interaction between the development of natural environments and the growth of cities. However, these dam projects not only alter natural landscapes during their construction, but they also result in severe social and ecological consequences, worsening pre-existing social and environmental injustice. Thus, these technological structures serve as prime examples of the complex relationship between creation and destruction that is inherent in ‘Modernity’s ambitious Promethean Project’ (Kaika, 2006). In this context, I analyse the dam narratives as a form of transformative literature to highlight the anxiety, precarity, and vulnerability experienced by individuals and the environment affected by development, as depicted in Na. D’Souza’s novella Dweepa (translated as Island, 2013).2 Given my focus on the politics of development and the construction of dams in India, particularly after independence, it is pertinent to provide a brief history of dams in India. This is discussed in the following passages, taking into account the publication of Dweepa in 1978.
The arguments over major dams have provided a clear demonstration of the issues around sustainable development and the role of science and technology. These constructions have been described in contradictory terms as both temples and tombs, representing both modernization and destruction. conceivably, no other advancement in human history has had a greater impact on transitioning from a society bound by tradition and nature to one where tradition is replaced by scientific knowledge and nature is controlled by technological advancements (Khargram, 2003, pp. 29–30). Indian dam projects, as products of modernist state planning, have become symbolic of the adverse consequences of modernist and statist ideology. This ideology promotes the idea of governing and controlling nature, which contradicts the recent trends towards economic liberalisation, and the appreciation of traditional, rural, and small-scale practices, which are closely linked to Gandhian philosophy (Morrison, 2010, p. 182). Since Nehru, the first prime minister of independent India, referred to dam projects as “the temples of modern India” (Khilnani, 1998), the number of large dams in India has increased significantly. In 1955, at the location of a dam on the River Krishna, Nehru proclaimed, “When I lay the foundation stone here of this Nagarjuna Sagar, to me it is a sacred ceremony. This is the foundation of the temple of humanity in India, a symbol of new temples that we are building all over India” (Dwivedi, 2019). During the inauguration of the Bhakhra Dam in north-western India, Nehru expressed his awe by stating, “There is no site that can be considered grander and more sacred than this.” These modern Indian temples were conceived as symbols of progress, reflecting a vision of development that emphasised large-scale, capital-intensive constructions as indicators of economic growth and highlighting the robustness of the economy entangled with the overall welfare of the nation. Within the Nehruvian rhetoric, dams, steel mills, fertiliser factories, nuclear power plants, and designed industrial cities were considered as areas of progress, where individuals were encouraged to perceive their own reflection in the context of technological advancements. Nehru envisioned a self-reliant and affluent society that would be liberated from a century of colonial exploitation. This vision revolved around a community of hardworking and frugal individuals, referred to as “producer-patriots” (Deshpande, 2003), who were dedicated to achieving the economic growth targets set by the Five-Year Plan (Baviskar, 2019, pp. 27–28). These prevailing viewpoints, advocated by Nehru, have shaped the country’s approach to dam policies ever since its independence.
Currently, there are over 4,900 large dams in the country, with 4600 of them being constructed after India gained independence in 1947. Additionally, there are 300 more dams that are still being built (Central Water Commission, 2016). The construction of dams frequently involves citizen expropriation. Between 1947 and 1997, a total of 50 million individuals were forced to leave their homes due to construction projects. Large dams alone accounted for the displacement of 16 million people, with 8 million of them belonging to the adivasi community, which is one of the most economically disadvantaged and susceptible groups in Indian society. However, despite the significant number of evictions, both on a project-specific basis and in total, there was minimal public awareness regarding the people impacted. The estimates of the extent of relocation resulting from major infrastructure projects in India since independence vary significantly, with projections ranging from 21 to 65 million people (Feldes, 2017, p. 72). In light of the magnitude of this displacement, it is therefore reasonable to inquire about the kind of development that is meant to be accomplished through these initiatives, as well as for whom and with what repercussions. Typically, authorities rarely conduct comprehensive and methodical assessments of the people that will be relocated. This greatly complicates the task of accurately determining the precise number of individuals who have been forced to leave their homes. Although the number of displaced individuals since independence is more than three times the number of people displaced by the Partition of India, they have not yet become a part of our national conscience (Ray, 2000, p. 35). As Fernandes (1999) argues, the primary reason for this callous attitude is that the majority of displaced individuals are impoverished rural residents who lack assets, such as landless workers and small-scale farmers, as well as powerless and voiceless individuals.
The excessive focus on abstract theorizing and obscure theories of knowledge about dams, developments, and debates often diverts attention away from the real-life realities of marginalized groups. Examining the world through their viewpoints and documenting their life narratives might result in a transformative form of scholarship that questions conventional ideas about the ‘centre’ and the ‘margins’. In light of these conditions, it is imperative to cultivate a “form of epistemic practice” that specifically centres on the narratives of those who have been forcibly relocated and are in a state of vulnerability as a consequence of the construction of dams in India. This involves focusing the discussion around those who have historically been disadvantaged and are still marginalised in various contexts, arguing that “the histories and knowledges of marginalized communities are the histories and knowledges of the majority of the world” (Causevic et al., (2020), p. 6). In order to illustrate this assertion, the article is divided into three sections. The first section briefly examines Indian dam narratives as part of transformative literature. Engaging with diverse narratives about dams is essential, since these works illustrate how narratives may help us contest and transcend dominant developmental paradigms. In the marginalized communities of developing countries, these literary works advocate for decolonial approaches that recognize the struggles of victims and strive to integrate their narratives into mainstream environmental discussions (Karmakar, 2024a). The second section explores eco-anxiety and the challenges faced by submerging voices in the novella Dweepa. The third section focuses on the marginalised voices that are disregarded and treated as disposable individuals. I support this argument by incorporating real-life observations from Arundhati Roy’s essay “The Greater Common Good” from her book My Seditious Heart: Collected Nonfiction (2019). This collection features a compilation of Roy’s essays that express critique of capitalist and developmental endeavours and her thorough examination of economic policies and social regulations. The reason for this cross-reference, as I contend, is to focus on both perspectives of those impacted by dams: those who are inundated or have already been submerged, and those who have been displaced.
Transformative literature: Dam narratives in India
Narratives, in particular, possess the ability to perceive and understand the real-life encounters of those who exist on the fringes of society. Given that the voices of marginalised individuals are typically excluded from mainstream conversations, narratives that depict their life experiences serve as a powerful means to comprehend the intricate relationship between their socioeconomic circumstances and prevailing development frameworks (Indira, 2020, p. 11). Considering that a significant number of major dam projects in India have been situated in areas largely inhabited by tribal and other marginalised populations, it is not surprising that ethnic-based and indigenous peoples have been the focal point of the fight against these dams in most of the narratives (Somokanta et al., 2021). For instance, Kamala Markandaya’s novel The Coffer Dams (2008) provides a comprehensive view of the construction of dams and the negative impacts they have on indigenous communities, wildlife, and the environment. The Coffer Dams focuses on the construction of a dam that posed a significant challenge during the post-independence era in India, specifically during the Nehruvian period (Patil, 2020, p. 92). Sarah Joseph’s novel Budhini (2021) exemplifies the genre of dam narratives in India, which contribute to the advancement of anti-dam literary activity. The novel critiques the nationalist symbolism associated with large dams in India by exploring the unspoken tales of “unimagined communities” that exist in the lesser-known aspects of the national narrative (Venugopal & Rangarajan, 2024). Aslesha Mahajan’s July 12, 1961 (2021) recounts the events of the fateful day on July 12, 1961, when the Panshet Dam in Pune broke, resulting in devastating floods that drowned a significant portion of Pune and altered the region’s history and geography. Non-fictional work like Nandini Oza’s book, The Struggle for Narmada: An Oral History of the Narmada Bachao Andolan, by Adivasi Leaders Keshavbhau and Kevalsingh Vasave, examines and analyses the hitherto unknown perspectives of the Adivasis in the Narmada Bachao Andolan (NBA), a significant mass movement in post-independence India. Oza’s pioneering endeavour to document the previously unacknowledged perspectives of the Adivasi people offers valuable insights into the way in which the afflicted communities themselves experienced and understood the anti-dam protests (Somokanta, 2022). Arundhati Roy’s essay “The Greater Common Good” illustrates the operational mechanism of the postcolonial capitalist economy, which relies on the accomplishment of constructing large dams like the Narmada Dam in central India, arguing that the project favoured a small group of people while disregarding the well-being of the impoverished population in India. The essay, on a broader scale, critically analyses the interconnectedness between the Indian ruling class, neoliberalism, and globalisation, claiming that this relationship has undermined the potential for freedom that emerged after independence and has led to a growing socio-economic inequality for the majority of the population.
These narratives regarding dams significantly educate readers about various dam movements in India, such as the Narmada Bachao Andolan, a widespread protest against the construction of dams on the Narmada River traversing Gujarat, Madhya Pradesh, and Maharashtra; the Silent Valley Movement aimed at preserving the Silent Valley, an evergreen forest in Kerala, from destruction by a hydroelectric project; and the public opposition to the construction of the Hirakud dam in Odisha, among others. These grassroots movements against major dams must be situated within the broader context of challenges to a developmental paradigm hitherto regarded as a pathway to modernity (Shah et al., 2019). Engaging with these narratives necessitates rethinking the connection between present-day issues surrounding dams and past events. A focus on the past does not automatically imply the preservation or solidification of the past, but rather makes those narratives widely acknowledged. Building on bell Hooks (1989) perspective, I argue that the objective is “not to forget the past but to break its hold” (Ahmed, 2004, p. 33). These narratives exemplify the genre of transformative literature, which focuses on the perspectives of diverse characters who are not part of the dominant group and delves into the unequal power dynamics and dehumanization that occur in the context of building dams, as well as the negative effects they have on both humans and the ecosystem. These literary works identify and highlight instances of discrimination while guiding the characters and readers towards envisioned futures that prioritise freedom, respectability, affection, compassion, and sustainability, thereby fostering collective solidarity and resisting these narratives to “fall into the trap of staying within a world that is ‘thinly known’” (Williams & Mawdsley, 2006, p. 669). Transitioning from a multicultural to a transformative approach to literary reading involves asserting the need for dedicated time, space, and responsibility to contemplate stories that deeply connect with the everyday lives and visions of marginalised individuals (Enciso, 2019, p. 86). Following Patel (2018), I contend that achieving true sanctuary necessitates discreet, tactical, and altruistic actions by individuals who already have the privilege of being at liberty in society. Likewise, the increasing number of dam narratives in India highlights the need for writing that includes concepts of restorative justice (Winn, 2013) as well as the perspectives and outcomes of indigenous and tribal sovereignty (San Pedro, 2015)—the right to express opinions, protest, and even criticise authorised narratives of development and progress in the name of the nation.
I argue that Dweepa is part of the broader discussion of transformative literature. Before delving into the text in the following sections, the writer’s perspectives are presented in the framework of suggesting that positionality is a crucial element in transformative literary discourses. Dweepa, written by NA. D’Souza, a notable Kannada novel published in 1978 and translated in English by Susheela Punitha in 2013, explores the issue of destruction caused by development. D’Souza is recognised in Kannada literary circles as a ‘submersion writer’ due to his emphasis on individuals and families impacted by large dams. D’Souza has written three more novels that explore various facets of displacement: Mulugadu (Submersion, 1984), Oddu (Dam/Barricade, 1990) and Gunavanthe (A Worthy Woman). Dweepa illustrates the misery caused by the growing backwater, which results in the separation of human lives and emotions. Conversely, Oddu exemplifies the bureaucracy’s lack of compassion by refusing compensation to those whose lands are above the full reservoir level, yet still impacted by the backwater. Mulugadu offers insight into the diverse ways in which individuals navigate their futures after departing from their ancestral homes and embarking on a new chapter in their lives. According to V. S. Sreedhara (2013, p. xxvi), these three works can be considered a trilogy. Collectively, they provide a multifaceted portrayal of the intricacies of human existence, the unnecessary loss of specific ways of living and ideologies, and the unavoidable process of adapting to new ways of being. D’Souza’s extensive quarter-century of professional experience in fields related to the Sharavathi hydroelectric project, combined with his firsthand observation of the displacement of local residents and underprivileged individuals caused by the construction of the Linganamakki dam, profoundly influences his literary works. Furthermore, his understanding of the project’ impact on impoverished and marginalised villagers allows him to delve deeply and reveal the heartbreaking consequences of broken relationships, unrealized aspirations, and the destruction of an entire way of life.
Eco-anxiety and the fear of being isolated/submerged
Dweepa revolves around the river Sharavathi, which is currently confined by the Linganamakki Dam. The river plays a central role in the story and remains prominent until the novella reaches its climax. The novella’s chapters are named after stars that influence the various phases of the monsoon, reflecting the changing moods and behaviours of the rains. These changes occur quickly in the lives of Ganapayya, his wife Nagaveni, and Krishnayya, an orphan raised by Nagaveni’s father, who works for him. The story commences by defining Ganapayya’s social status as an individual of moderate means, owning “two acres of wetland for an areca farm and three acres of agricultural land to grow rice” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), p. 1). Despite not having any farm workers, he hired several and paid them salaries. However, this does not affect his status. In the Malenadu villages, status is determined by the amount of cultivated land one possesses, rather than the number of farm labourers or the extent of land ownership. The initial portrayal of Ganapayya’s social conditioning in the narrative has two primary functions: firstly, it indicates that Ganapayya lacks wealth and therefore lacks influence and authority; secondly, it highlights his dependency on his cultivated land, thus establishing the general tone of the story. Ganapayya’s family has been plagued by anxiety since the beginning, when an elderly peon from the submersion office warned Ganapayya that the Sharavathi river may engulf the Hosamane Parvatha during the upcoming monsoon season, thereby indicating a looming environmental catastrophe in the area.
Due to the construction of a massive dam that spans the river, it is quite likely that Hosamanehalli will be inundated as the dam will effectively collect the water. Ganapayya expresses worry over the potential consequences, as he says, “If that should happen, what will happen to my house?” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), 2). He expresses his distress and sorrow, stating that the government is deliberately destroying several homes, and he feels insignificant because his village and home are at risk of submersion. This underscores the phenomenon of eco-anxiety, which refers to the experience of anxiety in reaction to a shifting natural environment and unpredictable environmental circumstances (Albrecht, 2011). It covers a wider range of concerns compared to discomfort caused by specific environmental changes in a particular location (Albrecht, 2006) and extends beyond anxiety related to climate change (Pihkala, 2020), as it encompasses anxiety experienced in response to ecological crises as a whole. Eco-anxiety typically presents itself as a pragmatic worry or a healthy eco-fear (Buzzell and Chalquist, 2019), which can motivate introspection and proactive action (Kurth, 2018). Ganapayya, motivated by ecological distress, reflects on his circumstances and takes action to obtain government compensation for the purpose of relocating to a more secure location. Herambha Hedge and Parameshwarayya, two other landlords in the village, have received their compensations and relocated to new places. However, Ganapayya has been informed by the surveyor Shetty at the submersion office that his “file is missing” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), p. 4). This situation highlights two aspects of eco-anxiety. Firstly, the relocation of the other landlords and their bonded labourers3 will leave Ganapayya’s family with no alternative but to stay isolated in the village. Secondly, the government’s unprofessional and indifferent approach to the relocation of all families from the village is concerning. To expedite progress on his file, Ganapayya resorts to bribing the authorities with a sum exceeding one hundred rupees, resulting in the remaining amount being in his possession. This desperate act serves as an indication of his submission to “a chronic fear of environmental doom” (Albrecht, 2012, p. 250).
The severity of eco-anxiety extends to a greater degree, as evidenced by the potential drowning of Sita Parvatha (the mountain). This raises concerns about the survival prospects of Hosamanehalli, or Ganapayya-Herambha-Parameshwarayya’s homes, fields, and farms. And “if the houses of the landlords can get submerged, what would be the plight of the labourers’ hutments?” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), p. 7). The question concerning the predicament of bonded labourers like Byra and Hala from the Hasalaru community (the Hasalaru, also known as Hasala, are a tribal community residing in the southern Indian state of Karnataka) becomes even more pertinent, particularly when they receive no compensation due to their lack of personal possessions and must depend on the generosity of their landowners. Roy (2019) emphasises the same concern by stating that the majority of tribal people lack recognised ownership of their property, thus rendering them unable to seek compensation. Roy substantiates her opinions by pointing out that the state governments of Madhya Pradesh and Maharashtra exhibit an absolute absence of empathy or consideration in how they communicate with displaced individuals. The rehabilitation policy of the Government of Gujarat surpasses those of the other two states, making them appear outdated in comparison and claiming to have the most effective rehabilitation programme worldwide. The programme provides land to individuals who have been displaced from Maharashtra and Madhya Pradesh and further acknowledges the rights of individuals referred to as ‘encroachers’, typically tribal people who lack official documentation. The deception, however, resides in its delineation of the individuals who meet the criteria as “project affected”.
Ganapayya’s family is concerned that the swelling Sharavathi river will encroach upon the land surrounding the village. As a consequence, they will be forced to live on an isolated island for a duration of four months. During this time, they will have no communication or interaction with the outside world until the monsoon season ends. Ganapayya, feeling a strong sense of imminent danger, anxiously questions, “How can we live here in this condition? I must say, enough of this problem, let’s go elsewhere. But where can we go? I’ve depended on this farm and the field till now, where else can I live?” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), p. 11). This further underscores the significance of the compensation for his family. Failing to receive it not only exacerbates his eco-anxiety, but also puts his family in a precarious condition. Ganapayya, desperate and frustrated, returns to the submersion office in Kargal. He questions the officer about the wrongdoing he has committed that would prevent him from receiving his compensation. Additionally, he expresses his anxiety by asking, “Do you wish that my father, my wife, and I should meet our death by water this monsoon?” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), p. 17). The officer summons Shetty, the person in charge of Ganapayya’s file, and directly asks if Ganapayya provides him with enough bribes. This implies that administrators routinely take advantage of and manipulate the socio-economic and political disadvantages of the majority of communities under submersion, subjecting them to indifferent treatment (Kothari, 1996, p. 1478). Despite observing Ganapayya’s distress and trepidation, the officer fails to take any action and instead provides reassurance that he will assume the duty of resolving his outstanding debts once the monsoon season concludes. Consequently, Ganapayya is left with little alternative but to endure the wait and seek means of survival. The officer’s failure to secure compensation prior to the possible flooding of the village underscores the necessity for the government’s policy in this matter to be seriously evaluated. Rehabilitation is a proactive procedure that aims to promote long-term sustainable living. Ideally, it should commence before to the initiation of a project rather than as a response to negative impact that has already occurred. The project should be founded on the idea that the quality of life for those who are relocated should be improved compared to their previous circumstances, or at the very least, remain at the same level (Bandyopadhyay et al., 2002, p. 4112).
The characters in the novella Dweepa often display a sense of hopelessness, which contributes to the prevailing themes of despair and disillusionment surrounding narratives about climate change. This leads to an occurrence of eco-anxiety, characterised by varying levels of worry and predominantly distressing feelings towards the environment and everyday life, and apprehension or uncertainty concerning what lies ahead (Brophy et al., 2023). Duggajja, a septuagenarian and the father of Ganapayya, experiences profound eco-anxiety upon witnessing the state of Herambha’s land and the dilapidated remnants of his own house. He regrets the unfortunate destiny that has befallen this once innocent community. The village, consisting of only four to five families, flourished with shared happiness and hardships, and there was a sense of security in the close-knit community. If Duggajja ever needed help, he could rely on his neighbours to come to his aid. However, due to the construction of the dam and the subsequent displacement of his neighbours like Herambha and Prameshwarayya, the village is now deserted. Despite Duggajja’s decision to remain in the area and confront the repercussions, “there is always the fear of what might happen” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), p. 27) if the rains come and inundate the surroundings. Duggajja’s feelings of solitude, vulnerability, and apprehension epitomise the broader issue of dams and the consequent displacement of people in India. Mahapatra (1999) observed that developments in India between 1947 and 1997 potentially resulted in the displacement of 25 million individuals. According to Negi et al., (2011), the number of individuals who have been displaced in India during the past 50 years is estimated to be above 50 million, and this estimate becomes more accurate when considering project-affected people (PAPs). Amidst the circumstances of being marginalised, it is crucial to cultivate a sense of hope in order to alleviate feelings of eco-anxiety and provide mutual support in confronting concerns related to climate change without succumbing to overwhelming emotions. Consequently, Duggajja advises Ganapayya to hire several individuals from the Deevru community as regular daily-wage labourers. In the course of events, Krishnayya joins them to assist the only family residing in the village in their efforts to sustain themselves, thereby highlighting the broader picture of young people taking “an active stance towards a global future” (Ojala, 2007, p. 68).
Individuals who do not succeed in moving to alternative locations have to modify their social practices, without receiving any recompense for the associated sociological expenses. Consequently, they experience significant strain in order to sustain themselves, resulting in a state of socio-cultural stress. As Hosamane becomes increasingly deserted and on the brink of becoming an isolated island surrounded by water from all sides, Ganapayya is forced to labour relentlessly, causing him to be unable to keep Nagaveni’s companionship. Nagaveni’s experience of working alone on the farm and field has become less enjoyable due to the absence of the Hasalaru women, who have left for other places because of the construction of a dam. This situation has created a sense of isolation, highlighting that, unless carried out with great care, disruption and a move to another place may culminate in the collapse of the community network. Due to the higher level of reliance of women on males in rural areas, the disruption of these social connections leads to significant feelings of insecurity and distress. Women are more affected by this compared to men, who have greater mobility. For instance, the Sardar Sarovar Project revealed that the division of society has resulted in social connections being disrupted, with a greater impact on women than men. The lack of female kinship and family institutions further exacerbated feelings of insecurity, worry, and melancholy among the women (Kumar and Mishra, 2018). Upon the arrival of Krishnayya, Nagaveni finds some solace in his presence. However, the scenario quickly becomes complicated for her as the water level increases, intensifying the family’s anxiety and precariousness.
Vulnerable ecosystem, precarity and disposable lives
As a consequence of the dam, the Sharavathi river is obstructed, causing it to expand and encroach over the adjacent forest and valley. The trees, shrubs, and vegetation have already been submerged in knee-deep rainwater, which is red and muddy, creating an image of submerging environment. Ganapayya expresses to Krishnayya, “who ever thought the government would bring us to this state, Ayya? They’ve sent everyone else from this village to other places […] but they didn’t do anything in my case… to whom can I now go and talk about our troubles?” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), p. 45). Ganapayya’s frequent references to the government’s decisions, prejudice, and his reliance on the system highlight the precariousness of his situation. Ganapayya’s precarious condition underscores the broader policies related to the relocation and displacement of the population, which are not only physical in nature but also carry significant existential implications. As one example, Rama Bai, whose village was inundated due to the construction of the Bargi Dam on the Narmada River and currently lives in a slum in Jabalpur, further illustrates the point when she questions: “Why didn’t they just poison us? Then we wouldn’t have to live in this shithole and the government could have survived alone with its precious dam all to itself” (Roy, 2019, p. 29). This precariousness, whether it for Ganapayya or Rama Bai, is characterised by an underlying powerlessness and need, which is a challenge that every society must confront. Butler asserts that precariousness means being in a state of social dependence, where one’s life is constantly affected by others. It involves being exposed to both familiar and unfamiliar individuals, relying on people we are acquainted with, or have limited knowledge of, or have no knowledge of at all. In addition, Butler connects this concept of ontological vulnerability to a particular understanding of precarity as a condition that is created by politics, in which certain individuals experience indifference in the socio-economic support system and are more likely to be harmed, abused, and face death at a disproportionate rate (Butler, 2009, pp. ii-14). Thus, precarity encompasses individuals who may be marginalised or disempowered, whose physical well-being, existence, and ability to survive are given less consideration and are not mourned for enough. Dweepa here emphasises this feeling of uncertainty that has affected Ganapayya’s family, their environment, and the entire village due to the implementation of capitalist-driven development initiatives.
The first manifestation of precarious conditions and vulnerability arises when Duggajja falls gravely ill, and because of the problem of submerged roadways, the family can only procure herbal medicine from a local doctor, while more advanced treatment options are unavailable. Despite Duggajja’s death, the powerful flood that has breached the Sharavathi river and continues to rage over Sita Parvatha prevents Krishnayya from informing others. The family performed the cremation of the elderly man in front of the cave on top of the hill. Ganapayya ignited the funeral pyre, and as it caught fire, the rain ceased. The pyre burned until it turned to ashes, symbolising how nature mourns and pays tribute when certain lives are deemed ungrievable and thereby disposable by those in power. The occurrence of failing to inform others about an unfortunate passing represents a broader problem of how specific individuals, who have been involved in significant development projects in postcolonial India, are no longer acknowledged in official records. When history is recorded, they will not be included, nor will they be referenced in statistical data. Roy (2019) also resonates with those impacted whose lives are at risk of being devastated but were not informed, attended to, or recognised. The Ganapayya family is grieving the loss of Duggajja, while their local ecosystem, including the farm, trees, and woodlands, is being severely affected by the profound monsoon. Hosamanehalli appears isolated and vulnerable, resembling “an insignificant rock in the sea” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), p. 48), completely cut off from the outside world due to the surrounding water.
The family is troubled by numerous concerns, such as what they should do if the stagnant water does not recede, and what their eventual fate will be if something unforeseen occurs to them. At present, the only remaining properties that have not been inundated are Herambha’s and Ganapayya’s land, as well as Ganapayya’s house. As the surrounding forests and valleys get flooded, wild animals such as foxes, deer, and wild goats fearlessly wander behind Ganapayya’s house in search of refuge. The family grows increasingly anxious upon discovering a tiger howling near the cattleshed, since the creature’s own territory is flooded, and the frightened tiger’s desperate need of shelter paves the way for a potential human-wildlife conflict. Nagaveni, out of anxiety and fear, laments saying, “Who knows what else is awaiting us? Tigers, foxes, snakes, and boars have started living behind our house. […] What if the tiger or a boar comes in and takes away one of us?” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), pp. 54-55). Nagaveni’s concerns emphasise the concept of ecoprecarity, which refers to both the vulnerable existence of humanity in the face of ecological disasters and the precarious state of the environment caused by human involvement. Hence, ecoprecarity necessitates that any endeavour to address human precarity must take into account the repercussions of a deteriorated environment on both humans and all other forms of non-human life. Consequently, it is imperative to assess the degree to which developmental projects, including their regulatory aspects, align with a future that seeks to address and overcome precarity. To be more precise, if capitalism and developmentalism give rise to an ecological crisis, which in turn leads to precarity, there is a potential for the ecological crisis to intensify and eventually affect all of mankind and the environment at large (Nayar, 2019, p. 7; Höglund, 2020, p. 450).
While the wind causes destruction in the village and adjacent areas, uprooting trees, the Sharavathi river floods the low-lying areas along its banks. In the midst of this, a water-snake enters Ganapayya’s kitchen to seek shelter. Krishnayya captures the snake and throws it in another direction, symbolising the vulnerable equilibrium between humans, nature, and other living beings. This highlights how the entire web of life is constantly moving towards a precarious state, often resulting in the extinction of species and drawing attention to the disregard for other life forms in the pursuit of “human development and modernity” (Shukin, 2009; Nayar, 2019, p. 8). The text here criticises the lack of awareness about preserving the environment and ecological equilibrium in the region. It draws attention to the Narmada Sagar Project, where the construction of dams results in the destruction of the sacred hills and woods of the local populace, as well as their places of worship and ancestral residences of their deities and otherworldly beings. Furthermore, these structures inundate a valley that has yielded fossils, microliths, and cave paintings, as well as human habitation dating back to the Palaeolithic era. Both the World Bank and the state failed to document the riverine ecosystem, including its seasonal changes, biological richness, and patterns of resource utilisation (Roy, 2019, pp. 62–66). The involvement of the state in controlling tribal communities, peasants, bonded labourers, helpless landlords, and the ecosystem demonstrates how, within a capitalist system, humans, non-human beings, and the ecosystem are transformed into vulnerable entities. This becomes apparent when Krishnayya ascends a portion of Sita Parvatha to observe the water level and the corpses of rabbits, wildfowl, and deer floating in the river. It is possible that these animals drowned in the water or perished due to the impacts of rain and wind. In this instance, the precarious condition of both human and non-human entities symbolises a sense of ecocide, which is defined as the significant harm, devastation, or loss of ecosystems within a particular region, whether due to human actions or other factors, to such an extent that the inhabitants’ peaceful dwelling in that region is severely compromised. I argue that this situation not only affects Ganapayya, his family, his lands, and the adjacent ecosystem, but also underscores the fact that as long as developmentalism and capitalism coexist, disregarding the natural environment and its inhabitants, instances of ecocide will continue to persist as a deeply ingrained phenomenon within the economic frameworks supporting modern industrial societies. This issue is likely to escalate as these societies exceed their ecological boundaries, warranting continual attention and evaluation of developmental policies (Lindgren, 2017). The reference to ecocide here elicits a comprehensive awareness of the issue as an ecological catastrophe, highlighting the imperative for safeguarding ecosystems, communities, and non-human entities, rather than perceiving it as a mere intangible, external environmental concern.
Amidst heavy rainfall and the flooding of low-lying areas, Ganapayya’s family adheres to the concept of Vivir Bien,4 which can be simply understood as “good living.” Vivir Bien is derived from many indigenous worldviews, socio-natural perspectives, and ontologies. It challenges the dominant ideologies and actions of development by shifting the focus away from economic expansion and instead promoting a way of life that emphasises living well within one’s community and maintaining harmonious interactions with the non-human world (Hope, 2022, p. 178). The fundamental principle of good living under anxiety, precarity, and vulnerability is exemplified as Ganapayya endeavours to utilise his land for crop cultivation, employing additional labourers at higher wages, and seeking assistance from Krishnayya to ensure the family’s sustenance. As in one point Ganapayya asserts, “I’m glad they didn’t compensate me with land elsewhere and money. I’ve got a good crop in the fields and the farms” (D’Souza, 2013, p. 77). In addition, the family’s affection for their cow, Belli, is evident when they go as far as climbing the hill to hunt for it when it goes missing. This demonstrates their harmonious relationship with non-human beings. A slow reading5 of the details in this novella, perceived from a broader standpoint, suggests an important aspect of interculturality: relationships extend beyond social interactions and encompass all aspects of life, both human and nonhuman. These bonds involve not only human socialising but also a harmonious coexistence among all natural beings (Gómez, 2017, p. 136). However, their ways of living are disrupted when interculturality is subjected to ecoprecarity. Eventually, the tiger kills Belli, raising existential questions for Ganapayya. He wonders how they can continue living there with the tiger so nearby and if it will attack their cattle shed or their house in the days to come, thereby anticipating “a threat to [their] ontological safety, security, and identity” (Dowd et al., (2011), p. 145).
These ontological concerns illustrate the “corporeal vulnerability” (Butler, 2004, p. 30) and existential dilemma faced by marginalised individuals residing in that village. Their hardships for survival are not acknowledged in official accounts, and their grievances and needs are not considered legitimate or worthy of attention. As a result, Ganapayya consistently feels worry and trepidation in this precarious environment. The pervasive and all-encompassing eco-anxiety, stemming from the “degradation of the greater-than-human natural environment” (Passmore et al., 2023, p. 139), is causing a series of deep-seated existential anxieties throughout the entire family. As a consequence of this existential problem, eco-anxiety, which is not a pathological condition, causes distress and adversely impacts happiness, well-being, and interpersonal relationships. The resulting discomfort is linked to feelings of frustration over one’s autonomy, competence, and sense of connection with others. The diminished chances to interact with flourishing ecosystems due to climatic crises, along with the distress caused by this situation, exacerbate the adverse impact on human well-being and relationships (Wullenkord et al., 2021; Swim et al., 2009). These become apparent when Nagaveni, who is secluded in that village without any female companionship, grows frustrated and begins contemplating forming a relationship with Krishnayya, breaking her marriage tie with Ganapayya. Consequently, due to his underlying baggage of anxiety and vulnerability, Ganapayya struggles to effectively handle the situation and resorts to using offensive language and physically assaulting Nagaveni. The depiction of a family’s disintegration becomes evident as Ganapayya confides in Krishnayya: “Whatever’s happened has happened, Krishnayya. She hasn’t been this way before… I too lost my cool” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), p. 69).
An external force, as Sreedhara (2013) notes, in the form of a dam, gradually submerges the village. The force of nature is also affecting the intricate network of relationships that have supported the community during previous challenging periods. The dam becomes an emblem of a developmental catastrophe caused by humans that endangers not just people’s means of living but also their interpersonal relationships. The obstruction to the river is an act of violence perpetrated against the ecosystems, which will inevitably lead to retaliation. The excessive rainfall in this area inundates the land, roads, pathways, and animals, and consequently highlights how a disconnection from nature leads to a diminished sense of morality, ethics, and values. This demonstrates that “the loss of relation to nature goes hand in hand with the loss of the sense of one’s own self” (May, 1953, p. 75). Eventually, Nagaveni loses her self-worth and, in an attempt at regaining her autonomy through her attachment to Krishnayya, she ends her own life by drowning in the Sharavathi river. Krishnayya, in an effort to save her, also dives into the river, and both of them eventually sink beneath the depths. Observing this immersion, Ganapayya ponders, and as he walks onto the porch of his residence, the tiger attacks, fatally wounds, and kills him.
Unfortunately, there is nobody left in the village who can even express their grief and sorrow over the awful demise of these vulnerable individuals. This makes their lives ungrievable and easily disposable, as if they are not worth mourning for. They exist in a state that prevents abandonment or destruction, as they are already part of a forgotten and collapsed place. From the very beginning, they are already considered lost and destroyed, so when they die, everything remains the same except them (Butler, 2009, p. xix; emphasis added). The novella likewise concludes on the same note: “Water from the Sharavathi continued to girdle the land. The wind from the Sita Parvatha continued to blow as it always did during the monsoon. And the Aslesha rain poured as usual without stopping for breath” (D’Souza, Na. (2013), p. 90). The Ganapayya family, together with Krishnayya, are the only ones who perish and escape from their state of eco-anxiety, precariousness, and vulnerability. These fatalities illustrate how severe inequality renders numerous lives insignificant, depriving them of the opportunity to be grieved. The institutional mechanisms at play prompt us to consider: Whose life is recognised as valuable, and whose loss is acknowledged as significant? (Butler, 2020, p. 63). Following Giroux’s (2006) perspective, I maintain that individuals such as Ganapayya, who are marginalised, powerless, and dependent on state assistance, are considered disposable by those in authority. These individuals are not only ignored in terms of the various ways in which hyper-neoliberalism has made them vulnerable, but they are also not recognised as human beings in their entirety. Simultaneously, as the wheels of development progress, they transform these individuals into active contributors to the national economy while abandoning their wasted bodies and the remnants of the colonial-capitalist system, thereby creating numerous “postcolonial graveyards” (De Boeck and Baloji, 2016; Karmakar and Pal, 2024). Consequently, the context of dams and development renders the deceased individuals invisible, despite their dignity and agency in their constrained circumstances; they become Bauman’s wasted lives. Bauman observes that at the onset of the twenty-first century, a substantial number of individuals worldwide—indeed, hundreds of millions—are deemed surplus and, hence, redundant. This redundancy results from the worldwide proliferation and success of modernization processes. The generation of “human waste” (the “excessive” and “redundant” refer to individuals who are either unrecognized or unwanted) is an unavoidable consequence of modernization. The modernisation processes can primarily be comprehended as the colonisation of all facets of life and environments by market mechanisms, norms, and processes within frameworks of capital accumulation (Bauman 2004, pp. 5–6). Consequently, within this structure of developmentalism and capital accumulation, the entire Ganapayya family, along with their surrounding environments, are regarded as redundant and expendable components that can be disregarded and forsaken. Thus, the interconnection between wasted bodies and degraded landscapes necessitates the concurrent emergence of alternative political economies and ecologies (Bragard, 2018).
Conclusion
The discourse on dams and development underscores the unequal distribution of benefits, implying that only specific segments of society reap the rewards of development. Consequently, marginalised, impoverished, and tribal communities bear the brunt of its adverse effects, with their living conditions often remaining unchanged or deteriorating. Thus, development, as a concept, is highly debated, intricate, and undetermined, thereby emphasising the necessity to carefully examine an ideological and cultural inclination that helps facilitate the global spread of the capitalist system: developmental thinking, or a disproportionate focus on development. There is a need to understand how the notion of development has been shaped by nations, corporations, and the political economy, disregarding its impact on human well-being (Dirlik, 2012, p. 30). In response to this, the politics and poetics surrounding development-induced displacement and rehabilitation in India have been thoroughly examined from various perspectives, including socio-cultural, political, economic, sociological, anthropological, and literary works. While this article touches upon some of these disciplines, it aims to address a gap within literary scholarship regarding the eventual fate of those who have been denied compensation or rehabilitation, or who are compelled to wait until they suffer the negative consequences of development.
While it is pertinent to acknowledge that major dams in India have provided advantages to communities downstream, individuals living nearby the dam do not see any improvements in agricultural output and have heightened instability with regard to the environment (Duflo & Pande, 2007, p. 640). Dweepa emphatically demonstrates this reality by portraying the tragic fate of Ganapayya’s entire family. Except for Duggajja, none of the other family members receive a proper funeral, and their only identity/significance lies in their disposable bodies. Meanwhile, the dam and the submersion office remain unaffected, emphasising how frequently development projects are constructed at the expense of others. In such a context, within the framework of hydro-modernity, it is necessary to document the perspectives of individuals who have been affected by submersion. The hi(s)tories of these individuals not only question and criticise ecological imperialism, capitalist ideologies, and the application of developmental values, but also emphasise the importance of including multiple ways of understanding dam narratives. Thus, the narrative of Ganapayya’s family, as I argue, fosters the notion of ‘pluriversal’, which refers to a “multiplicity of possible worlds” (Kothari et al., 2019, p. xvii), as opposed to the more homogenising universal accounts of dam construction and displacement. The pluriverse in this context refers to a space where different worlds coexist, which can entail conflicts due to the inherent nature of development. However, it also provides an opportunity to cultivate relationships among diverse societies based on class, caste, and power dynamics in India with the goal of creating a future that is free from isolation, marginalisation, and distributive injustice in terms of environmental burdens (Karmakar, 2024b). Embracing the pluriverse means acknowledging the existence of various worlds that include marginalised voices such as Ganapayya, Krishnayya, and Nagaveni. These voices are somewhat connected but significantly different from the voices of progress, growth, and development represented by the officials in the submersion office. Recognising these diverse perspectives requires a completely different ethical framework for how we operate, take action, and comprehend (Escobar, 2020, p. 27; Minoia and Castro-Sotomayor, 2024). This inclusive approach should be taken into consideration when undertaking future development projects, such as the construction of large dams in India.
Notes
According to the International Commission on Large Dams (ICOLD), a large dam is defined as a structure that has a minimum height of 15 metres from its lowest foundation to its crest, or a dam that is between 5 and 15 metres in height and can hold more than 3 million cubic metres of water.
Occasionally, the text is referred to as a novel, but I perceive it as a novella as Oxford University Press published it as such in their Oxford Novellas Series. For additional information on the series, please visit the following link: https://global.oup.com/academic/content/series/o/oxford-novellas-series-oxns/?cc=ca&lang=en&
Bonded labourers are bonded from birth to their masters because their fathers have not been able to pay off their debts to the landlords.
The philosophy of Vivir Bien, which draws inspiration from the kichwa notion of Sumak Kawsay, emphasises the need of achieving a balanced life. This concept originates from indigenous populations in Ecuador, Bolivia, and some regions of Colombia.
In this context, I use the phrase ‘slow reading’ in an expansive manner, suggesting that it has the potential to improve understanding, foster empathy, and even promote critical thinking. For a more detailed explanation, please consult John Miedema’s book Slow Reading.
Author contributions
The sole author is responsible for all aspects of the article.
Data availability
Data sharing was not required as no datasets were generated or analysed during the current study.
Competing interests
The author declares no competing interests.
Ethical approval
Ethical approval was not required as the study did not involve human participants.
Informed consent
This article does not contain any studies with human participants performed by the author.
Publisher’s note Springer Nature remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations.
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