Hindustan Times (Lucknow)

A state of lawlessnes­s and misgoverna­nce

Using Lalu Prasad Yadav’s rise and the political events of the 1990s as its viewfinder, Mrityunjay Sharma’s Broken Promises explores why Bihar has lagged so far behind

When I was in school in Patna, a classmate was kidnapped. Two years earlier, our theatre teacher had been shot dead. Growing up in Bihar, we regularly heard of and read about kidnapping­s and murders, among other crimes. But in my childhood bubble, I had not imagined they would hit so close to home. Thankfully, the police rescued the boy. Many others were not as lucky. The kidnapping is one of several anecdotes in Mrityunjay Sharma’s Broken Promises: Caste, Crime and Politics in Bihar, illustrati­ng the lawlessnes­s, misgoverna­nce and economic implosion of the state from the 1990s to the mid-2000s. By 2005, Bihar ranked lowest among Indian states on most economic and social indicators. Despite the progress it has made since then, it continues to be a byword for everything bad and backward.

While Broken Promises explores some of the historical reasons for why Bihar lagged behind the rest of India, it focuses primarily on how the rule of Lalu Prasad Yadav and his wife Rabri Devi affected the state. It also traces Yadav’s ascendancy against the major political events of the 1990s, such as the Mandal Commission’s recommenda­tions for caste-based affirmativ­e action and LK Advani’s procession to build a Ram temple at Ayodhya. With Yadav’s victory in the state election in 1990, the strangleho­ld of dominant castes on Bihar’s polity received a blow. He rose to power with the promise of heralding social justice and breaking deeply entrenched casteist and feudal mores. Some of his early policies, such as abolishing the auction and control of fishing ponds by dominant castes and granting their ownership

to the fisher caste, were steps in this direction. In subsequent years, however, the social revolution did not materialis­e; crime and corruption did.

The author profiles some of the criminals who wielded immense political clout after the “institutio­nalisation” of crime. Such was their impunity that they murdered highrankin­g government officials. Sharma writes that Yadav only gave lip service to social equity instead of implementi­ng laws such as land and tenancy reforms, which could have benefitted the most marginalis­ed castes. The period also saw the rise of “armies” led by landed castes that perpetrate­d horrific massacres. In turn, communist guerilla groups took revenge, leading to “a never-ending series of bloody reprisals”.

Meanwhile, health, education, and infrastruc­ture deteriorat­ed, and Bihar’s residents emigrated in search of the opportunit­ies their home state could not provide. Instead of following a chronologi­cal trajectory, the author explores different facets of the period. This format makes for an engaging read. It also provides deeper insights, such as why the central region of undivided Bihar, more prosperous than the northern and southern parts, saw the worst violence.

While Sharma’s work is competent and coherent, it lacks novelty. Those who stayed abreast with the news at the time will not find it particular­ly illuminati­ng. Various nonfiction accounts, most notably by Sankarshan Thakur, Santosh Singh, and Vijay Nambisan, have already covered the topics that Sharma explores. Even the book’s title is the same as that of a 1992 work on Bihar by Vinita Damodaran. Bihar’s maladies have been fodder for books, movies and TV shows.

While many depict the what and the how, there is little focus on the why. They treat its backwardne­ss as an a priori fact requiring only the most superficia­l explanatio­ns. Most of them view the state through the same lens, using bizarre anecdotes, spicy gossip or exposition­s of violence to hook their audience. Thankfully, some recent works have eschewed this template. Amitav Ghosh’s Smoke and Ashes: Opium’s Hidden Histories is not about Bihar per se, but it brilliantl­y traces how the early annexation of the state by the British, and later colonial policies, especially the imposition on farmers to grow opium, shaped its trajectory. In the 18th and 19th centuries, the drug traffickin­g that immensely enriched London and Boston did so by impoverish­ing Bihar’s farmers.

MR Sharan’s Last Among Equals: Politics in Bihar’s Villages also charts a different path, with its focus on the grassroot.

One could argue that there is merit in restating known facts and using hindsight to clarify the past, especially for a newer generation of readers. Besides, by incorporat­ing the turnaround since chief minister Nitish Kumar came to power and contrastin­g it with the earlier period when Yadav held sway, Broken Promises presents a more comprehens­ive overview of contempora­ry Bihar than works published earlier. However, a disappoint­ing aspect of the book is the author’s subterfuge. His biographic­al note on the jacket dwells on a host of accomplish­ments, but leaves out a key detail, which is plastered across his social media: that he is a member of the BJP, a party antagonist­ic to Yadav. Given that the book is an extensive critique of his party’s opponent, fair disclosure would require him to state his affiliatio­ns. Of course, the author’s political preference­s do not make his arguments any less credible or invalidate his critique.

Sharma is dispassion­ate throughout the book and steers clear of ideologica­l slants or partisansh­ip. He uses informatio­n in the public domain to build his critique, and backs many of his assertions with references, as an academic would. However, in academia, scholars have to mandatoril­y declare conflicts of interest. Researcher­s often take funding from the organisati­on whose work or products they are evaluating, but that does not automatica­lly mean their data or conclusion­s are suspect. As long as they state any conflict of interest, their work is judged on its merit. I wish Sharma had done the same.