The Fragmented ‘Indigenes’: Travails of Becoming Bengali in Modern Assam

Abstract

The chapter begins with a brief outline of how Partition of 1947 constituted the Bengalis of Barak valley into a community distinct from the Bengalis of both East Pakistan/Bangladesh and West Bengal. As most of Sylhet went to East Pakistan thanks to the referendum held in July 1947, there was huge influx of mainly Bengali Hindus who had settled predominantly in the three districts of the valley. As the rest of India was celebrating Independence, Partition is said to have ‘robbed their independence’ and closed all other alternative possibilities. One may say that they were ‘free’ in the sense that they had no language to ‘articulate their unfreedom’. The second part of the chapter reflects on the paradox that they came to face in their newly constituted land. In the face of this closure, much of the politics of the Bengalis flows inwards, engages in the project of making of their collective self and takes refuge in it. The chapter draws our attention to three major—albeit overlapping—projects of self-making in this connection.

Introduction

While much has been written¹ on how Partition (1947) as a governmental rationality has the twin effect of ‘right-sizing’ and ‘right-peopling’ the States² in the subcontinent (O’Leary, 2002: 11), little is written on the impact this had had on the communities of India’s Northeast that were torn into fragments across diverse nations, States and administrative units and how they negotiate the crisis. Again, whatever little is written focuses on how these fragments float between the binary of gradually adjusting themselves to the reality of new nations, giving in to the newly emergent governmental rationality of Partition on the one hand, and having to ‘defy’ their integration on the other. We define ‘fragment’ as a social body that remains uninserted into either of the two newly emergent nations. Recent ethnographic works in this direction seem to have broken the linear rationality of adjustment or what Bodhi S. R. calls the evolutionary format of ‘isolation-integration- assimilation’ into either of the two nations and nation-states (Bodhi, 2022: 78). The fragments, according to Samaddar, often “defy the will and policies of the state…” (Samaddar, 2007: 108).

This chapter proposes to tell the story of how a fragment—the Bengalis of the Barak valley in Assam—negotiates its way through the reality of Partition. The Bengalis were divided into the four units of East Pakistan/Bangladesh, West Bengal, Tripura and Barak valley of Assam. For one thing, Bengalis of the Barak valley find it difficult to adjust to the reality of Partition for fear of losing their own language and culture in the face of the dominant and often ‘belligerent’ Assamese nationalism. For another, Partition has enforced what we call a closure in the sense that it has also wrested away from them the option of resistance and defiance. Neither of these two alternatives of adjustment and resistance seems to work for them. In the face of the closure, the fragment, the chapter argues, turns inward, seeks to become its collective self, comes to terms with it and takes ‘refuge’ within itself. While identity usually pushes a community outward—whether through adjustment or resistance and defiance, or any of their combination—refuge pulls a community within itself, and much of this inward-looking politics is focused on the becoming of the Bengali community. The chapter attempts to understand the nature of the inward-looking politics of the Bengalis of the Barak Valley with the cautionary note that the distinction between the outward and inward nature can hardly be exaggerated. The two parts of the chapter revolve around the twin themes of closure and refuge.

The Barak valley, geographically an integral part of the composite Surma valley consisting of the land mass of the Barak-Surma-Kushiyara-Meghna river system, was separated in the wake of the Partition when the rivers Surma, Kushiyara, and Meghna fell into East Bengal/Bangladesh and the three districts of Cachar, Karimganj, and Hailakandi of Assam formed what is today known as the Barak valley in Southern Assam. We make a case study of the Bengalis of the Barak valley, a fragment that was thus severed ‘historically and linguistically from the Gangetic valley' (Gogoi, 2020: 53). All these rivers—Barak of Southern Assam, Surma, Kushiyara, and Meghna of East Pakistan/Bangladesh—are in turn part of the larger Gangetic valley, inhabited mostly by the Bengalis.

Partition, Loss of Indigeneity, and Closure

On the one hand, Bengalis—once considered indigenous to the Barak valley, an integral part of the Gangetic delta—were fragmented into two parts of East Pakistan/Bangladesh and Southern Assam, thanks to the Partition in 1947. On the other hand, the reorganization of national and international borders as a result of Partition, as I will argue below, also ruled out many a historical possibility, albeit with a varying degree of success.

‘One and Indivisible’

The Bengali claim to indigeneity is based on a combination of three premises: First, the Bengalis have been living in this land since they were brought in by the ancient Kamarupa Kings during the period 350–1140 AD. It only gives credence to the fact that they have been the ‘native inhabitants’ (sthaniya basinda) of present-day Assam (Kendriya Karyanirbahak Samiti, 2018: 4).

Secondly, this does not by any means rule out the Assamese claim to indigeneity. Also it does not necessarily make the Bengalis of Barak Valley into ‘Bengali-speaking Assamese’, as is being claimed by a section of intellectuals and politicians in Assam. Bengalis are Bengalis, regardless of their geographical location. The Bengali discourse prefers to look upon the indigenous space as one that, in an irreducibly plural society like Assam, cannot but be shared and hence can hardly be monopolized by any single community. All attempts at monopolizing this space were met with dangerous consequences, as the post-colonial history of the state would bear out.

Thirdly, Bengalis are ‘one and indivisible’ and a community that remains divided and fragmented cannot survive as a collective body. Barak Valley was indeed an integral part of Gangetic Bengal. According to Niharranjan Ray—one of Bengal’s premier historians who wrote a history of the Bengalis (and not Bengal)—observed back in 1959 when his book on the ancient history of the Bengalis was first published: “Southern Assam/Northeastern Bengal or Barak valley is the extension of the Greater Surma/Meghna Valley of Bengal in every aspect–from culture to geography” (Ray, 1980: 78). As a recent pamphlet also puts it, Barak is only a part of ‘the extended land of Bengal’ (samprasarita Bangeeya bhumi) (Kendriya Karyanirbahak Samiti, 2018: 4). Besides, the Treaty of Yandabo (1826) that inaugurated the British rule in Assam, made it a part of the Bengal Province. It was only in 1874 that Sylhet (then a part of the Dacca (Dhaka) Division) and Goalpara (then a part of the Rangpur Division) were cut off from Bengal and integrated into the newly created Assam Province. While Bengali was made the language of schools and courts in Assam between 1835 and 1873, Assam continued to remain a Bengali-dominant Province until the Partition. The three districts of the Barak valley recorded 80.84% of Bengali-speaking population in the census of 2011. The present attempts at depriving the Bengalis of their indigenous status—whether by claiming them as ‘Bengali-speaking Assamese’ or by branding them as ‘foreigners’ illegally migrating from across the borders betrays ‘the mentality of a narrow, chauvinist and belligerent Assamese nationalism’ (Kendriya Karyanirbahak Samiti, 2018: 2).

‘Shattered Dreams’

Partition (1947) of India not only divided the Bengalis into fragments strewn—predominantly but not exclusively—across the Indian state of West Bengal, East Pakistan and subsequently Bangladesh and the Bengalis of the Barak valley but took away from them their indigenous status insofar as they were separated from their traditional homeland of the Gangetic valley. Unlike the indigenous peoples elsewhere, Bengalis lost their indigenous status, not because they were overwhelmed by the outsiders and immigrants but because of the Partition and the consequent reorganization of borders that reduced them to a minority. In the words of a commentator: “[T]the entire Bengali nationality (Jaat) was geographically and ecologically part of one single ecosystem pulverized (tachhnachh) by this unscientific act of Partition” (Gupta, 2002: 26). Partition, according to the pamphlet mentioned above, tells us the story of ‘shattered dreams’ (swapnabhanger kahini) (Kendriya Karyanirbahak Samiti, 2018: 3). As far as Assam was concerned, Mountbatten—the then Governor General of India and the architect of the Partition project—is quoted to have said.

Though Assam is predominantly a non-Muslim province, the district of Sylhet which is contiguous to Bengal is predominantly Muslim. There has been a demand that, in the event of Partition of Bengal, Sylhet should be amalgamated to East Bengal. Should Bengal be partitioned, a referendum will be held in Sylhet district under the aegis of the Governor-General and in connection with the Assam Provincial Government to decide whether the district of Sylhet would continue to form a part of Assam province, or should be amalgamated with the new province of Eastern Bengal, if that province agrees. If the referendum results are in favour of amalgamation with Eastern Bengal, a Boundary Commission with terms and references similar to those of the Punjab and Bengal will be set up to demarcate the Muslim-majority areas of Sylhet district and contiguous Muslim-majority areas of adjoining districts, which will then be transferred to Eastern Bengal (quoted in Dutta, 1991: 310–11).

Radcliffe Boundary Commission decided to resolve the question of Sylhet by way of holding a referendum on 6 and 7 July 1947. The outcome of the referendum was predictable, for, it was by and large reflective of then-existing demographic profile of the district. While 56.6% of Sylhetis (people living in Sylhet are so called) voted for joining East Pakistan, 43.3% voted in favour of remaining with Assam roughly coinciding with, according to Amalendu Guha, the communal composition of the district’s population (Guha, 1977: 320). In a district where 60% of the total population consisted of Muslims, it was obvious that 56% would vote for inclusion in Pakistan.

But, was there more to the outcome of the referendum than it being a mere reflection of the district’s communal composition? The extraordinarily aggressive campaign launched by the Muslim League was incompatible with the allegedly muted ‘walkover’ conceded by the Assam Pradesh Congress Committee (APCC), the provincial wing of the Indian National Congress. The APCC seems to have tacitly lent support to the separation of Sylhet from Assam since the district was made a part of Assam Province back in 1874. The predominantly Bengali-speaking Sylhetis with their early access to English education and public employment were viewed as their competitors, a threat to the Assamese language and culture. In the words of Chakrabarty, the Assamese had “little stake in [retaining] Sylhet” (Chakrabarty, 2002: 346–7). Had Sylhet been included in Assam, it would have changed the demographic balance in favour of the Bengalis and Assam would slip away from the hegemonic grip of the ethnic Assamese. Language—more than religion—played a key role in the voting of the Sylhet referendum. Dasgupta calls the Partition in the Northeast in general and Assam in particular ‘a third site’, (Dasgupta, 2008: 18) besides those of Bengal and Punjab: “[T]he hegemonic tendency of the Bengali refugees made the domiciles in these two states [of Assam and Tripura] insecure and they considered it a threat to their existence” (Ghosal, 2021: 120). This, according to her, marked ‘a shift from religious to linguistic or ethnic categories’ in Partition politics (Ghosal, 2021: 121). The ethnic or language question is marked by a ‘struggle’ against the ‘Bengali hegemony’ by the Assamese and the ‘original inhabitants’ of Assam and Tripura respectively (Ghosal, 2021: 121).

Partition led to a massive demographic upheaval in the state. On the one hand, over the next few years following Partition, large number of “upper-caste, Hindu refugees” from the ceded parts of Sylhet started pouring into the contiguous parts of Southern Assam (Dutta n.d.). On the other hand, the Bengalis lost their demographic edge in the state, thanks to the Partition, although they retained their numerical superiority in Barak valley. In 1931 (no census was held in 1941), the Assamese-speaking population accounted for 31.42% of the total population, while in 1951 it jumped to 56.69%.

Closure of History

Foucault shows how history realizes itself by way of trying to impose a closure on its alternative possibilities, by pushing these alternatives into what he calls ‘voiceless obstinacy’ (Foucault, 1977: 146). History is what it is by way of effectively eliminating what it could have been, but could never be. His genealogical analysis was a search for the fragments that return in order to torment, tweak, and nibble the course of history and holds history from becoming what it wishes to become. On the other hand, the closure also burdens the Bengalis with a historical responsibility that they find it hard to bear.

One such possibility would have been that both the Hindus and Muslims of Sylhet could have asserted their common Bengali identity and voted in unison in favour of remaining with East Pakistan. In that case, they might not have migrated to India, stayed back in East Pakistan/Bangladesh and could have joined the fight against the imposition of Urdu on the Bengali-speaking population of East Pakistan—a fight that eventually led to the birth of Bangladesh in 1971. Premendramohan Goswami, a known language activist and former Principal of Silchar Narasing School and former General Secretary of Barak Upatyaka Banga Sahitya O Sanskriti Sammelan (BUBSS), for instance, reminisced on what could have happened had they decided to stay back in Sylhet. He could have joined the ‘Muslim language fighters’ and focused on ‘building East Bangla’ (Purba Bangla) (Deblaskar, 2021: 22). According to him, it would be better to become a ‘religious minority’ there than living as a ‘linguistic minority’ here in Assam (Deblaskar, 2021: 20).

In the absence of any such unified move, the Sylhetis are called upon to fast reconcile themselves to their given minority status within Assam. Sir Akbar Hyderi—the first Governor of Assam—made it clear on 5 November 1947 in Assam Legislative Assembly:

The natives of Assam are now the masters of their own house. They can take what steps are necessary for the propagation of Assamese language and culture… The Bengalee has no longer the power, even if it had the will, to impose anything on the people of the hills and valleys, which constitute Assam. The basis of such feelings against him as exists is fear – but there is no cause of fear. I would, appeal to you to exert all the influence you possess to give the stranger in our midst a fair deal, provided of course he in his turn deals loyally with us (quoted in Misra, 2021: 46).

The test of their ‘loyalty’ is believed to lie in their ability to assimilate into the Assamese mainstream. Ambicagiri Raichoudhury, then the General Secretary of Asom Jatiya Mahasabha, observed on 20 March 1955 on the eve of the visit of the members of the States Reorganisation Commission³:

Cachar is a distinctive (bishista) part of Assam. All of you in Cachar with such titles (khitab) as Deb, Nath, Meetei, Laskar, Barlaskar, Bhuyan, Barbhuyan, Bishnupriya, Hidimba, Kachhari, Rajbanshi, Rajkhowa, Chaudhury, Das, Patni, Datta, Chakrabarti etc. are the descendants of the permanently dwelling⁴ (khilonjiya) Assamese [people]. Assamese is your linguistic identity. But a few temporarily cultivating (pomuwa) people who fled from outside (bhagoniya) have hatched many designs to trample all of them for ever by depriving them of their God-given ancestral rights from every sphere of life in Cachar … Will you let the designs of the temporarily cultivating and fleeing people become successful? Definitely - do not let them [become successful]. If you do, then the permanent dwellers shall die. The States Reorganisation Commission will visit in a short while. You, the entire [body of] permanent dwellers, organize yourselves strongly, peacefully and in a disciplined manner under the ideals of Asom Jatiya Mahasabha and tell the Reorganisation Commission in one voice that in the sphere of our linguistic [and] cultural identity, we are the permanently dwelling children of mother Assam – we have no other language and culture (quoted from Deblaskar, 2021: 32).

The strong plea for rechristening these ‘permanent dwellers’ as Bengalis has been one of the running strands of the politics of Assam since the referendum. The Assam Tribune, while reporting on the 54th session of Asom Sahitya Sabha⁵ on 5 March 1998 at Hailakandi, pointed out that Bengali is not the language of the Barak valley; it is to be called Baraki which has greater closeness to Assamese language than to Bengali language. Satya Prasad Baruah made the plea:

Now Assam Sahitya Sabha’s task will be … to plan for bringing out some books which will be inexpensive, which will not be published in Assamese, but in the spoken language of the people of the Barak valley. One has to insert a few Assamese paragraphs into them so that the similarity of words could become evident. I think, they will join us if we can put emphasis on their spoken words … They seemed to be convinced when we told them that they did not speak Bengali in their homes and that, they actually, speak a language different from Bengali and this was what we might call Baraki language. I told them that if they cultivate and develop this language, they would soon find out that it had greater affinities with Assamese language than Bengali language. The Assam Sahitya Sabha should take up a scheme of publishing low priced books on cultural integration etc. written in the spoken language of the Barak valley, interspersed with one or two paragraphs in Assamese having common words, because, I felt that the importance given to the spoken language would bring them closer to us and would help them establish their identity

– and their links with the Assamese language (Baruah, 1988: 4).

The emphasis hitherto laid on the Bengali language with its closeness to Kolkata (then Calcutta) had made their task of being a part of the Assamese society difficult and had only furthered their alienation from Assam. Such attempts—by no means rare in the recent past—could not elicit the kind of response that the Bengali activists wanted to muster from Kolkata. Their enthusiasm was only met with stout indifference of the intellectuals in Kolkata (Das 2005: 15–20).

Shahidul Alam Chowdhury, a Minister of the Asom Gana Parishad⁶ elected from the Barak valley, read out his address prepared in Assamese:

Although the educational institutions of this valley impart education in Bengali language, in reality the language the rural people speak, is not Bengali. One can name the language being spoken in this region as Cachari, Sylheti or by any other name. That language has grown out of a mixture of Assamese and Bengali. The rural people, more often than not, use many Assamese words like maati, moi, khaichhi, shunchhi, jam, kham etc. Be that as it may, when the children go to schools, they have to learn a language that is not completely what they use as their mother tongue at home. As a result, they have to learn a new language, and thus the development of a child’s natural inclinations (britti) or qualities (gun) faces obstacles. This is the reason why the children of the villages cannot do well in Bengali examinations; nor do they study Bengali in the Universities. Even after a good deal of thinking I have not found any solution to this problem. There is no way Baraki could be introduced to the schools. Because there is no book in this language (quoted from the Bengali translation by Chaudhury, 2002: 126).

Chaudhury argues that such a plea confuses language with dialect. The relation between Baraki and Bengali is much the same as that between the Assamese and one of its variants being spoken, say, in Nalbari or Goalpara. This does not mean that the dialects of Goalpara or Nalbari are not Assamese. Two, since both Bengali and Assamese have emerged from the common source of Sanskrit, there are common words that are used in both languages. This does not mean that the two languages are the same.

In sum, the Bengalis of the Barak were confronted with many an alternative possibility of asserting their identity, none of which actually worked for them: (i) They could have stayed back in East Pakistan, But, they preferred their religious identity to the linguistic identity as they evidently cast their vote in the referendum and a section of them decided to migrate to Assam. (ii) They might not have taken the painful decision of migrating to India had the two Bengals merged into one ‘United Bengal’.⁷ (iii) they could have softly assimilated into the Assamese mainstream by silently returning the particular Bengali dialect being spoken by them as a variant of the Assamese and thus voluntarily undermining their distinctive identity as Bengalis. (iv) Bengalis of Barak could have developed a seamless Bengali identity by hitching their destiny into a common Kolkata-led Bengali identity. The project of Brihatbanga (Sen 2018) or ‘Greater Bengal’, I have argued elsewhere, reinforces the hegemony of the Kolkata-based Bengali elite as much as it privileges the Bengali language of Kolkata over all others. Besides, this runs the risk of triggering a backlash within Assam—particularly from the Assamese-dominated Brahmaputra valley—the impact of which they might not be able to withstand in the long run.

Politics of Refuge

According to an account, the Indian flag was hoisted in the town of Sylhet on 15 August 1947. But on 18 August when results of the referendum were announced, Pakistani flag was hoisted by the local officials and the Muslim League supporters. Laskar described the event of hoisting two different flags in a gap of three days as ‘an unprecedented event’ in history (Laskar, 2002: 10). When I met three old men (Narendra Chandra Paul, Sukhendu Sekhar Dutta, and Satu Ray) and an old lady (Padmabati Majumdar) on 30 July 2022 in Karimganj, all of them having the experience of spending those tumultuous days in Sylhet, where the announcement of the result of the referendum was made, recounted that it came as a ‘shock’. Paul—the oldest amongst them—remembered that they were advised by their schoolteachers to hoist the Indian flag and encircle their village in a procession, as the Independence Day approached. In their enthusiasm they also started decorating their school building and classrooms with flowers and Indian colours. As the disappointment sank in, the Bengalis felt like they were robbed of (kere neoya) their freedom the day Sir Akbar Hydari—the first Governor of Assam—delivered his speech mentioned above (Deblaskar, 2021: 14). On the other hand, the same act of Partition and reorganization of national and international borders imposed a closure by way of screening off the alternative historical possibilities. Borrowing from Zizek, we may say that the Bengalis of Sylhet were ‘free’’ because [they] lacked the very language to articulate [their] unfreedom’ in the face of the all-pervasive closure (Zizek, 2021: 2).

In the absence of any language of articulation, much of the politics of Bengalis in the valley—and certainly not the whole—flows inwards. Alluding to the defeat of the Germans in a war against the French and deprived of all historical possibilities of redemption in the world outside, Fichte (1762–1814) warned the Germans against the ‘foreign spirit’ that would have invaded and engulfed them, ‘influenced their ordinary life’ (Fichte 1922: 119), and how eventually it would have led to their ‘inward death’ (Fichte 1922: 125). It is at this critical juncture that one has to fight against one’s own self and not an outside enemy. As Balibar—one of Fichte’s contemporary commentators—introduces the concept of ‘refuge’ while summing up his philosophy and observes:

Doubtless we [Germans] are defeated, our territorial states have been made into satellites, but this is secondary and in truth is only external. A refuge always exists for national identity, which, as an essentially moral identity … never had anything but a secondary and artificial … connection with these states and their borders, and this refuge is precisely the “self” of the Germans. Or rather this refuge is the invisible liaison woven between them by the bonds of language, the invisible unity of what will be called the kulturnation. Not only is this refuge the only one that deserves to be defended … but is also the only one that can be defended on the basis of this defeat itself (Balibar, 1994: 67).

Taking refuge in the context of the Bengalis of the Barak valley set in motion, not one, but at least three albeit mutually overlapping projects of self-making: One, consolidation of a common Bengali identity under the leadership of the Kolkata-based cultural elite with some form of central cultural authority in their hands; two, creation of a world of their own by way of claiming some form of autonomy thought to be essential for the protection of their identity and culture; and three, building of some form of civic nationalism by way of including in it the other communities and nationalities living in the valley (like the Mishings, Dimasas, Karbis, Garos, Rabhas, Tiwas, Bishnupriya Manipuris, Meiteis, Mizos and so forth).

Centralizing the Bengalis

Bhattacharya argues that in the absence of the erstwhile central coordinating mechanisms of the Bengali language, the syntaxes, spellings, and grammatical rules have been facing ‘utmost chaos’ (Bhattacharya, 2002: 30). With so many Universities springing up in the region and outside, the erstwhile predominance of the University of Calcutta with its vast jurisdiction from Rangoon (now Yangon) to Peshawar has been lost. Most importantly, such towering personalities like Tagore are no longer there. Bhattacharya pleads to the Bengali thinkers, intellectuals, and linguists for creating ‘an umbrella centre’ with the twin function of ‘removing the current indiscipline in language’ and ‘restoring its ‘liveliness and dynamism’ (Bhattacharya, 2002: 31).

In more precise terms, the coordinating project is believed to have started back in 1916 when Bhubanmohan Debsharmabidyarnab, in his address to the third session of the Surma Sahitya Sammilani, said (as paraphrased by Deblaskar): “There is neither Greek, nor Jew, but Christ is All … There is no Sylhet or Nadia [dialect] in Bengali. Anything that prevails throughout the undivided (akhanda) Bengal is Bengali” (quoted in Deblaskar, 2021: 35–6). He also described this kind of speech diversity (bagboichitra) as a mark of barbarism.⁸ Although Deblaskar believes that “our only identity is [that] we are Bengalis” (Deblaskar, 2021: 44), he too feels that such chaos and indiscipline are bound to set in particularly between the Bengali Hindus and their Muslim counterpart (Deblaskar, 2021: 72).

A World of Their Own

Bengalis of the Barak as a ‘fragment’ are caught between the two dominant communities of Bengalis, each out to swallow and subsume them. The Bengalis of Barak, to quote from Laskar, are like ‘the forgotten and long-lost orphan’, to both East Bengal (Bangladesh) and West Bengal (Laskar, 2002: 7). The aim of the second project is to assert their own identity distinctive from the Bengalis of Bangladesh or West Bengal. Popularly termed Triteeya Bhuvan (Third World) project, Bengalis of Barak view their language as a world of their own without hitching the destiny of their language into either of them. The ‘Third World’ of the Bengali language consists of the Bengalis of the Barak-Brahmaputra valleys of Assam, Tripura, Manipur, and Meghalaya. Bengali language of the Northeast is not merely an Aryan language drawing from the Assamese and other such languages within the Indo- Aryan family, but is enriched by such Kirata (tribal) languages as Kakborok, Mizo, Meitei, Dimasa, Karbi, Khasi, Garo, Bodo etc. (Misra, 2021: 106). The project is not tied to a narrow, Kolkata-centric Bengali considered as the ‘standard’ language by the Bengalis in West Bengal. In fact, they view such dependence as ‘a colonial hangover’. Imad Uddin Bulbul—a noted litterateur from the region—chose to designate their Bengali as Ishan Bangla—Bengali of the Northeast—distinguishable from its mainlandist varieties (Bulbul, 1997: 23). In a recent article, Sabyasachi Ray describes the language of the Barak as the ‘confluence of Bengali language, in which the bane of narrowness … is sunk beneath the transparent flow of multilingualism, in which remains only the mutual respect towards each other’s language’ (Ray, 2023).

In order to cater to the needs of the distinctive language, a separate Sylheti script ‘influenced by Perso-Arabic, Kayethi and Bangla scripts, but essentially based on Devanagari’ was developed. According to Nabanipa Bhattacharjee, “Sylheti culture, in spite of being part of the larger Bengali one, created space for the emergence of a swatantra sanskritik swatta (independent cultural soul/identity) for it” (Bhattacharjee, 2013: 53). The autonomy of Sylheti language and culture serves as a cudgel of protest against the Kolkata- based Bengali language. As Bhattacharjee writes:

Though the entire community, irrespective of age and other categories, makes use of standard Bangla for formal, spoken or written communication, the inability to speak or follow the Sylheti dialect are (sic) often turned into objects of fun and ridicule. The situation worsens if such speakers use standard Bangla (commonly referred to as Kelu/Koilkati/Kolkatian or Kolkata speech) in their interaction with other Sylhetis, consequently they are considered to be afflicted by the deshi kuttar bilati dak (country dog with a foreign bark) (Bhattacharjee, 2013: 58).

The ‘Fourth World’ of the Bengalis, on the other hand, includes the Bengalis of Bihar, Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand, Jharkhand, Odisha, and other Indian states.

The cultural and linguistic project of establishing the autonomy of the ‘Third World’ is also predicated on the political project of separating Cachar (once a composite district consisting of today’s Karimganj and Hailakandi besides Cachar) from Assam. The idea is to let the Assamese live in happiness and enjoy their rights ‘in their own Brahmaputra (Assam) valley’. And the separation of Cachar from Assam is likely to solve the Assamese- Bengali tension by keeping them separate from each other. The Assamese, according to an eminent leader of the region Paritosh Palchaudhury, ‘are yet to come to terms with the idea of living with others’. That is the reason, why ‘Manipur (sic) and Nagaland separated from Assam in the first instance and even if we do not want, we will be thrown out one day’ (quoted in Deblaskar, 2021: 50).

Palchaudhury was instrumental in forming the Union Territory Demand Committee of Cachar Gana Parishad (CGP). In fact, the demand for a separate Purbachal state within the Indian Union consisting of undivided Cachar and the adjoining hills of Manipur, Lushai (now Mizo Hills) and Tripura dates back to 1948. Much later, the demand for the Union Territory status of Cachar was articulated. This would be a Bengali-majority land and the Bengalis would no longer have to remain as ‘second class citizens’ there (Barak Upatyakya … n.d.). Palchaudhury, however, did not consider Bengali immigration from the Brahmaputra valley as a problem, should Purbachal become a separate state or were Cachar granted a Union Territory status. For, the people from the Barak doing their job in the Brahmaputra valley would be welcome once they retire. But the cultivators settled in such places as Bongaigaon, Barpeta, Hojai, Sarupathar, Nalbari, and Goalpara are involved in agricultural activities and have already found the means of livelihood in these districts. They are unlikely to return once Cachar becomes a Union Territory. Besides, there are small and medium businessmen and servicemen who have severed their connection with Cachar for long and have been settled in many places of lower Assam. Even if they have not been able to adopt Assamese fully, they have ‘psychologically accepted’ the Brahmaputra valley as their homeland. They would never come back to Cachar. ‘If they are Bengali ‘Sen’ (a surname among the Bengalis), they would write simply ‘Sendeka’ (an Assamese surname) and would melt into the Assamese society’ (Deblaskar, 2021: 52). The memorandum for the Union Territory status was submitted to the Government of India on 28 November 1972.

Civic Nationalism

The Bengalis of the Barak valley are in a quandary now. They are caught not only between the two dominant groups of Bengalis, but are, as it were, pitted against the Assamese in their own state. As Brahmachari puts it: “They are not Assamese in spite of being from Assam; nor are they Bengalis despite being Bengalis” (Brahmachari, 2002: 96). Civic nationalism in this regard is often cited as a solution. For, it is believed to have the twofold effect of (i) blunting the sharp edges that divide the Bengalis and the Assamese on the one hand, and (ii) strives for forging a larger Baraki/Cachari identity instead of restricting the Bengalis of Barak to a narrow Sylheti identity.

Civic nationalism of Barak promises to be inclusive of anyone living in the Barak valley, regardless of her ethnic identity. Civic nationalism therefore is multicentred. Kar describes it as ‘a great uprising as it were’ (Kar, 1999: page number not mentioned) involving not only the minorities living in the Barak valley, but the Bengalis of the rest of Assam, Tripura, and Manipur. The linguistic and cultural insecurity of the minorities, per se, became the focal point of discussion for the first time in the Karimganj session of the Assam-Tripura- Manipur Bangabhasha o Sahitya Sammelan (Association for Bengali Language and Literature) on 19 June, 1954. The objective of the language movement was said to be the preservation of all minority languages and cultures of Assam, Tripura, and Manipur (Kar, 1999: page number not mentioned). Ray describes it as ‘an extraordinary multiculturalism’ (ananya bohusanskritibad) (Ray, 2022: 53) otherwise unprecedented in the region’s history.⁹

Syed Mujtaba Ali (1904–1974)—a known liberal and a litterateur with vast experience of having travelled across the world—spoke eloquently about the civic nature of Bengali nationalism in the then Cachar:

In truth, the language movement in Assam turned into a bitter political slanging, in some cases, took resort to communally divisive thinking – yet there was never any kind of communalism in Cachar. One has to see how the Hindus, Muslims, Manipuris (within whom there are both Hindus and Muslims), Nagas, Lushais and so many other communities and non-communities have been living in amity in order to believe it (Ali 1372BS:56).

He wanted the high tide of ‘language protests and ecstasies’ to subside before any constructive cultural work were undertaken and compared ‘language protests and ecstasies’ with ‘firework’ that leads to darkness once they are over (Ali 1372BS:59). He urges all inhabitants of Cachar (Cacharbasi) to ‘think with peace and stability of mind’, plan, save money and [find out] how [we can make] all the inhabitants of Cachar fully conscious of the glory of mother language’ (Ali 1372BS:59). Ali’s short essay ends with the following lines:

This movement is peaceful, constructive. There is no political interest in any way. In conclusion, the most important thing is – this construction work will proceed without showing any hostility towards the Assamese brothers or any community of Cachar or any political party (Ali 1372BS:60).

In sharp contrast to the other two nationalist projects mentioned above, civic nationalism implies that ‘the Bengalis as a nationality’ have ‘never opposed the development and expansion of Assamese language’ in Assam (Kar, 1999: 6). Sushanta Krishna Dass observes:

… [W]e have never made the Assamese living in Barak valley feel unsafe. We have not made all those 7,600 Assamese people like the Hazarikas, Chutiyas, Baruas etc. who had taken shelter in 25 villages of the valley in the interim period between the Burmese invasion and the Treaty of Yandabo, between 1780 and 1826 feel unsafe, have not jeopardized the security or their linguistic-cultural identity or the security of other minorities like the Barmans, Manipuris (Meiteis), Bishnupriyas, Dimasa-Kacharis, Sonowals, Rabhas, Lalungs, Hojais, Dewries, Halams, Reangs, Khasis, Tripuris, Jharkhandis and Hmars or whoever lives in the valley (Dass, 2002: 7).

In 2005, a convocation of the BUBSS was organized in Karimganj in which a multilinguistic committee was formed to take initiatives for the development of languages and cultures of the Meiteis, Dimasas, Bishnupriyas, and Manipuris, Hindi-speaking people, and the Nepalis, Charai and Rongmei Nagas living in Assam. Deblaskar reminds us:

Needless to say, it is one thing to learn the Assamese language, read the Assamese and cultivate the Assamese language and culture, it is another to completely repudiate one’s own nationality while doing all this (Deblaskar, 2021: xxi).

Once the ‘real meaning’ (prakrita artha) of Assam being a ‘multilingual state’ is understood, one will be able to appreciate that the state consists of as many as 52 communities including the Bengalis, Hindi-speaking people, Nepalis, Bodos, Mishings, Dimasas, Karbis, Rabhas, Tiwas, and Manipuris, besides the Assamese (Barak Upatyaka Banga Sahitya o Sanskriti Sammelan 2018: 3).

As Bengalis lost their status as the indigenous people of the Barak valley—considered as an integral part of the larger Gangetic valley—as a result of Partition and the consequent reorganization of international borders, they faced, as it were, a closure of many a historical possibility. The Bengalis of Sylhet remained divided as they cast their votes in the referendum. The split of Bengal could not be avoided; ‘United Bengal’ remained a distant dream. They found it impossible to completely melt into the Assamese mainstream. As they were cut off from the composite Gangetic valley, their unity with West Bengal was geographically interrupted. They are caught in the tangled web of freedom and unfreedom.

In simple terms, their scope of intervention in the outside world was heavily shrunk as a result of this closure. In the face of all this, politics of the Bengalis of the Barak valley flows inwards, taking refuge in the projects of constantly making their own collective self. Unlike the commonplace ethnic politics widely seen in India and elsewhere, politics of the Bengalis of the Barak valley is a case sui generis.