The many Narendra Modis Bengal will vote for or against

Hooghly/Barasat/Bongaon: The day before it finally rained in this part of parched Bengal, it was not easy to step out of hutments and greet those convoys of campaign vehicles kicking up clouds of dust on the narrow dirt tracks spiralling through sweaty villages. But the live music blaring from pilot vehicles drew them out everywhere. During the day, the men are mostly at work, in the adjacent fields or nearby towns. The young and the old line the front yards. Curious grandparents smile through their creases, beaming mothers guard protesting babies from dust with the loose end of their sari and children sprint along, demanding a Modi mask each. Barely 30 km from the Bangladesh border near Bongaon in south Bengal, a few young campaigners for the “lotus party” atop a “chhota haathi” complain every time their convoy enters what they call Muslim areas. “Why waste time? There is no vote (for us) here.” But people are drawn to the music nevertheless. And kids stick out their hands as the three-wheeler distributing masks pass by.   [caption id=“attachment_1508203” align=“alignleft” width=“380”]  BJP activists campaigning in West Bengal. Jay Mazoomdar[/caption] Across a busy state highway, the convoy enters a village cluster and skirts a small temple by a pond. A group of women bathing on the other side immediately lower themselves neck-deep and grin excitedly till the last of the flag-wrapped vehicles disappears round a bend. The workers next to me are not grumpy anymore. “Ekhane onekgulo vote ache (we’ll bag a good number of votes here).” The sloganeering gets louder. Before hitching a ride in one of the campaign vehicles (mostly Tata 407s), I trailed them all morning. The previous day, I followed another campaign route. I also met a few voters on 30 April when nine constituencies went to the poll in the state. Even in these strongholds of the Trinamool Congress – the party swept both 2009 Lok Sabha and 2011 assembly elections – there is a palpable, perhaps unprecedented, wave in favour of the BJP. Party workers credit Narendra Modi for creating a definite buzz that they claim will earn the BJP at least three seats, a feat it never accomplished in Bengal. In the state’s four-corner fight, it is difficult to predict how many, if any, seats will eventually go the BJP’s way. But a tangible surge in saffron votes may spoil the Trinamool’s chances of a sweep and throw a lifeline to the beleaguered Left. As a cue of sorts, one only has to listen to what rural voters who neither follow Hindi nor understand the Gujarat model have to say about Modi. Kanu is a small time supplier to village grocers and carries six bags and a large carton on his bicycle. He thinks highly of Modi. “Everybody says he is a big leader. I’ll vote for him. He has done so much good work.” Such as? Kanu narrows his eyes. “Such as development work.” Like what? “Employment. Then… roads. Everybody knows!” he glares incredulously at my ignorance. “Look at your dusty car. Shouldn’t we have blacktop roads here?” asks Tarun, a lanky youth who does odd jobs and says he may vote for the BJP. Will Modi build a road for him? “They say he will. They say he deserves a chance. Bolche bhalo kaaj korbe. Factory korbe. Keu toh korlo na kichu. Eke diye dekhi. (He promises to do something good, build factories. Others have never delivered. Let’s try him out)." Bapi, a farmhand, is not so sure. “How can Modi say he will send all Bangladeshis back? Does he want a riot here?” But didn’t Modi and his party clarify that he meant only the infiltrators and not the refugees? “Ke onuprobeshkari, ke sharonarthi ke dikhte zaay? Hindu hoilei sharonarthi? (Who checks if one is an infiltrator or a refugee? Are Hindus automatically refugees?)” So will he vote for Modi? “khal kaitya kumir anum (why should I dig a canal to bring the alligator home)?" A woman in her seventies, whose name I couldn’t make out, raises both hands in blessing as if Modi was right there. “Notun lok, bhalo korbe (New leader, he will do well).” Does she know anything about him? “He is a religious man. We have only seen miseries all our life. A new leader is a good thing.” Standing across the road by a thicket-fence, her middle-aged neighbour listens disapprovingly. “Sob soman (they are all the same),” she says. “More parties mean more (political) violence.” Asked if they know Modi, a bunch of kids giggle nervously and, prompted by elders, put on the Modi masks to pose for the camera. Who is the prime minister of India? They don’t answer. The chief minister of Bengal? “Mamata, of course.” Can they name any other politician? “Modi,” comes the chorus. What does he do? “Distributes masks,” says one. In fact, an eight-year-old in a neighbouring village confidently describes Modi as “the mask-wala”. Purnima, a young mother of three, believes Modi has what it takes to better her lot. “Sunechi uni shokto lok (Heard that he is a strong man),” she squints. “All these years, we the poor have been robbed. Our children have no future. Parties forget us the day they take our vote.” Why does she expect Modi and the BJP to be any different? “Bolche toh sabai… ki jani (People say so… I can’t tell).” Last month, in Jharkhand’s Palamu, a young tribal voter initially refused to tell a stranger who she voted for before uttering the bi-syllable. But why Modi? Walking away, she replied with that lilt so typical of Chhota Nagpur: “Kai jani (what do I know)!” Try making sense of that.