After his famous father’s death, Naresh Tikait takes over Bharatiya Kisan Union at a time of farmer unrest.
Come, eat food.” This is neither request nor command. It is a statement, and we make no show of gratitude but quietly obey. After all, we have driven three hours to Muzaffarnagar in western UP to meet Naresh Tikait. Naresh is the eldest son and successor of Mahendra Singh Tikait, the Jat farmer leader who for nearly 25 years headed the Bharatiya Kisan Union (BKU). The senior Tikait, often called Baba, died in this house on May 15, aged 76, of bone cancer.
Our host is a young man named Charan Singh (no doubt after that other great farmer leader). He is the son of Rakesh Tikait, Baba Tikait’s second son. This is Rakesh’s house. Rakesh is the BKU spokesman; he is in Lucknow in advance of a “kisan panchayat” Chief Minister Mayawati has called to discuss the land acquisition mess in the villages of Bhatta-Parsaul.
Muzaffarnagar is the district headquarters. It is an hour from Sisauli, the village where Baba Tikait held sway, where BKU is headquartered, and where Baba Tikait launched his mass agitations — including the week-long dharna on Rajpath in Delhi in early 1988 by 500,000 sugarcane farmers, the gherao of Meerut later the same year, and the 2008 action in which thousands of loyal Jats prevented UP police arresting Baba Tikait for allegedly having made a casteist reference to the CM.
Rakesh Tikait’s house is spacious, with little furniture and no clutter. Ceilings are high and floors cool. The front room is public, and furnished with plastic chairs. It is dominated by a portrait of Baba Tikait and black-framed scans of local papers announcing his death. A few farmers are waiting, because the new chaudhary is expected shortly. A chaudhary is the head of a khap or caste organisation; like his father, Naresh heads the Baliyan khap, which covers 100 villages.
We go upstairs to a courtyard-like skylit room, where Charan Singh serves us lunch. A woman’s face peeps from the kitchen and thereafter stays hidden. Lunch is roti, dal, mango pickle, gur (the Tikaits grow sugarcane) and buttermilk. We share it with a cheerful young retainer from Sisauli who works at a sugar mill. Two furry Dr Seuss figures hang from the skylight but there is no other sign of children.
We eat and descend, to wait in the sole AC room, used by Baba Tikait in his final days. Naresh’s arrival is signalled by the entry of a man with a Sten gun. In the front room is suddenly a crowd of physically imposing men, nearly all in kurta-dhoti. We sit down. There is a pleasant smell of sun-baked cotton cloth and skin. “Which one is Nareshji?” I whisper to the retainer. He points at a yellow kurta between two whites.
Naresh Tikait, in his mid-50s, does not look as striking as his father. Seated on either side of him, he points out in a querulous voice, are two other khap chaudharys, both older men with a long association with his father. I ask whether his father is missed.
“The absence is there, everywhere,” he says. “This is a family, the Union is a family. When the head of the family goes, the lack is felt in everything. I cannot replace him. I will try to continue his work, with [he indicates the elders] their blessings, experience and support.”
I ask about the famous 1988 BKU siege of Meerut, for higher sugarcane prices, loan waivers and so on, and whether he was there. Many of those present nod firmly; one grizzled veteran with piercing eyes says it lasted 26 days and the District Commissioner fled. “I was young,” says Naresh, “but gave my full support. The farmers had demands, we had social improvement demands...”
He continues, “Compared to those times, things are much better now. We can speak our minds.” The grizzled veteran says, “Tikait sahab enabled every man to go in front of the officer and directly say what he had to say.” “Without fear,” adds another elder. “It was an awakening,” says a chaudhary, and everyone nods.
Farming problems, though, remain. The chief grouse is the purchase price of sugarcane. The recent low was 2007-08, when the crop was negotiated and sold at, Naresh says, Rs 15 a quintal. “We agreed and gave our sugarcane to the mills. But we are still waiting for full payment.” There is a rumble of agreement. Input prices, from fertiliser to diesel, have all risen faster than sale prices. “There is no margin,” says Naresh.
“A voice should be raised,” he says. “Tikait sahab raised that voice, the voice achieved far-reaching success. That will go on.” This is what the BKU wants — to be recognised by the government as the voice of the farmers, and to advise on matters affecting them, including land acquisition. To that end, says the grizzled veteran, “A meeting has been called on June 16-17-18 at Hardwar. People will come from all Hindustan, under the leadership of Naresh Tikait, and we will decide on a ran-neeti [war strategy].”
Despite martial metaphors and his repeated assertions that he doesn’t want farmers to turn to “terrorism”, Naresh says, “We believe in national progress. We don’t want violence. We don’t believe in roadblocks. But if we didn’t have a problem, violence wouldn’t have to be thought about.” Let acquired land be generously paid for, he says, so the farmer can start a business. Why should state and builder take all the profit from his land?
Naresh is careful to sound accommodating. Occasionally he is prompted to include phrases like “kisan biradari” (farmers’ brotherhood) or “jan samuh ka vishwas” (people’s trust). But some elders appear to long for a confrontation to put the BKU back at the head of a farmer movement.
As we rise to leave, Naresh calls forward a young farmer in shirt and trousers who has been waiting patiently at the back, and asks a colleague to solve his problem. A loan was taken for a tractor, an amount remains unpaid, the bank manager has taken the registration certificate. “Who is this bank manager?” asks the elder. “I will get the RC back for you, but the rest you have to handle.” And thus the Baliyan chaudhary continues to discharge his duties.
