A Cry from the Heart

The first Dalit autobiography to be published, Baluta created a stir when it appeared in Marathi in 1978. Set in Mumbai and rural Maharashtra of the 1940s and 50s, author and poet Daya Pawar depicts the stark reality of caste violence and untouchability in this classic. It also celebrates the resilience, dignity and courage of the Dalit community and their fight for equality in an unequal society

- Daya Pawar

‘I’ll tell you what I remember...I have always liked a poem from In Prison. You know the one in which sorrow is compared to an iceberg? My sorrow: an iceberg, Its tip alone breaking the waterline. My memories: drops of acid That leave me shivering in pain. On my shoulders, the crucifix of life On my forehead, the placard of my fate— You who have washed the guilt off your hands, You who have exfoliated your past, How do you manage with these newhewn faces?

‘That poem mirrors my life in more ways than one. Most people see only the tip of the iceberg. And even this causes much discussion in society. My past is like the submerged part of the iceberg. But an iceberg is constantly being fed by the sea. My face seems frozen too.

‘And yet, ever since I’ve become aware of this, oddly, the past has begun to elude me. When I think I’ve got hold of it, my spirit trembles. For a long time, I think I’ve been seduced by surfaces. This shocks me.

‘Then you come along and ask that I should take an axe to the iceberg. Will it break? Or would I reduce myself to the state of a Pothraj? You’ve seen them, haven’t you? Those bare-chested men who whip themselves on the street, who wear anklets on their feet but have rather good biceps, which they pierce with needles till blood spurts...That’s who I’d be, and then people would gather around and clap and sigh and say, “Poor chap.” Do I want to become an object of people’s pity?’

‘How would you be to blame even if you do?’

‘I know. If I’d been born in some frigid tundra, would my past have been different? There too I would have known sorrow. But it would have been a different kind of sorrow, not a result of calculated inhumanity.