Thank you, Woody Guthrie, your musical genius gave the world that beautiful song- This land is your land, a much-loved classis sung with a lilt in the voice and a dream in the eyes ! But we in India only dare to speak of it in hushed tones, for what comparison can there be between a rosy picture of progress and prosperity and a dismal scene of plunder and pillage, of a country racing to the pinnacle of power and a land raped and ravaged by the powerful in the land?
We hear the tortured cries of this land of mine, pleading for liberation from the clutches of a motley group of people gnawing at it from within while they claim to rule it from without! My Motherland is up for sale! The flight of funds to foreign shores due to the abuse of power is killing this land and its people. Yet, we hail our great country on this day of its past liberation from foreign rule and hope for another Mahatma to secure us present freedom from the corrupt yoke of those who treat India as their personal fiefdom…..
This land is your land, this land is my land
From Himachal peaks, to the Vindhyan heights
From coastal ghat jungles to sonar Bangla waters
This land was made for you and me…...
From the rolling plains of Punjab to the seven streams of Sindhu
From the sacred hills of Utkal to the fragrant air of Kodagu
And the sparkling spreads of the Arabian sands
The shimmering dunes of the warriors’ Royal land,
This land is made for me and you……..
In the swaying fronds in God’s own country a lullaby lies,
Saffron sunsets over the Mannar bay, a sight for sore eyes
Among the Tehri Garhwal Sal forests, on banks of flowing Godavari
I see a land, a land of gold and silver, a land of milk and honey,
And I feel proud that this land is my land ………
Snatches of folk songs, blooming of the bamboo in sacred sanctuary
Where the tiger roamed free, the cuckoo called a sweet melody
From Chirapunji to Tiruchirapalli, from Darjeeling to Dhavalagiri
Swinging to the tillers’ song I walked through the fields of prosperity
And I saw before me the land of sages and selfless statesmen
Oh! This land was indeed made for me!
I walked the country roads to Chchatrapati’s fortresses,
Wind caressing my face, rippling the golden paddy fields
Woods thick with birdsong and fearless wilderness
The expanse of the Rann, the intricate maze of Sunderbans,
I marvel-when did this land cease to be mine?
As I walked I saw a sign there, and that sign read – No Trespassing
But the other side, I hoped that could be mine……..
The side that had said nothing before
Now painted in bold letters the order for sure
- Keep out all citizens, can you not see
This side is made not for you but for me?
I've roamed and rambled and I've followed my own footsteps
Through the once swaying fields in golden valleys that are no more
I passed bare mud-huts in dark hamlets, to the din of empty vessels
The dreams of my youth lay shattered in the bare countryside
And all around me a haunting voice sounds
It SEZ to me, this land was made not for you but and me.
The country roads have turned to highways of progress,
Hills and wilderness, swanky mansions of the rich and famous
All roaring has ceased, my land littered with choked streams,
Massacred groves, desecrated hillocks- spoils of the rulers’ games
Fields fallow, hills denuded, rivers breached and fewer
Nature, quartered and hung for sale in the corridors of power-
I scream- Who dares claim this land that once was mine?
The sun comes shining out, focusing on the plunder
On the sacred Utkal hills to the moan of the pillaged earth,
Vedanta gurus were chanting ‘Bauxite, Bauxite we plunder’
Death throes of poisoned rivers, heavy stirring of toxic air
Tribal cries rising to foreign shores- ‘Don’t Mine us out of Existence’
In the dark of the night Kudremukh tunnels rape the earth secretly under
In Maratha land, the King’s fort on auction block awaiting highest bidder
Was this land made not for me but only for you?
In the squares of the city - In the shadow of the steeple
Where painted grins on paper faces rule the skyline,
Hide the truth of the rape and ravage of this land of mine
Near the urban relief camps and in the stony stares of migrant masses
I see my people with despair on starving faces, aliens in their own land
With hunger in their bellies and disease in their bones, trembling and shaking
And some are moaning, some are grumbling and some are wondering
Was this land ever made for you and me?
- Vera Alvares
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