From your garden of words, we make songs and poetry, 
Of times good and bad, of our happiness and despair, we tell the world

                                                    –Brajbhusan, from a poem on the Bhojpuri language

In the 1880s, when ‘Hindi’ fresh with the fervour of the nationalist impulse, simultaneously also being hacked off from its Hindustani roots of various bolis, Persian and Arabic, and carrying with it the civilisational burden of Sanskrit and a glorious past, landed in Bihar, it was faced with resistance. It was familiar and yet not so, seemed to belong and yet appeared alien, sounded similar but wasn’t the same to any of the half a dozen or so major spoken and written languages of the place. It was largely championed by the intelligentsia of Bihar, Bengal and North West Provinces (present-day UP), and by the colonial administration which always saw benefits, real and imagined, in homogenisation.  

George Abraham Grierson (1851-1941), the great linguist who undertook the pioneering Linguistic Survey of India (1898-1928), was posted as a collector and magistrate in Patna in the 1880s. Grierson, who had been studying the various tongues of Bihar, and collecting songs and poetry, thought that the “Bihari” group of languages was distinct from Hindi. 

In 1893, frustrated with the way ‘Hindi’ was written by officials in Bihar, he wrote: “The numerous gross grammatical blunders in documents, most of which are written by fairly educated men, may surprise those who do not know that book-Hindi, and a fortiori court-Hindi is a foreign language to all who use it in Bihar. The native language of every Bihari (excepting those born and bred in the large towns) is as different from Hindi, as French is from Italian; and the little they ever knew of that language has been learnt after several years of painful training in the Government higher schools, and most of that little forgotten before they have any occasion to use it.”

Starting in the late 19th century, and led by men like Bhartendu Harishchandra, Madan Mohan Malviya, and an entire generation of educated elite across the Indo-Gangetic plains, Hindi became the common language of a vast swathe of the country. It was the language of the freedom struggle, an answer to the need to have an “Indian” language with pre-colonial, pre-islamic roots, to be distinct from Hindustani, Urdu, Farsi, and to be ultimately Hindu. It was not the language that people spoke in the bazaars. It was not the language of dreams. It wasn’t the language of joy. It wasn’t the language of sorrow, nor of melancholy. It would become the language of those things eventually and fairly quickly. By the 1920s, Hindi literature had started acquiring a brilliance that overshadowed its earlier clumsy attempts at literature and poetry. On the backs of remarkable authors like Premchand, Mahadevi Varma, Suryakant Tripathi ‘Nirala’ and others, all of whom chose to write in Hindi, rather than Urdu or Bhojpuri or Braj or other languages in which they were fluent. 

As the official language of the newly-Independent nation, Hindi through politics and policy, was vested with hungry imperial ambitions of its own. By one estimate, it subsumed within itself at least 44 other languages and dialects.

"Some academics have referred to Bhojpuri as the daughter of Hindi. Bhojpuri, in fact, is more like the aunt. If anything, Hindi has travelled around the world on the shoulders of Bhojpuri."

Bhojpuri, the largest of the languages overshadowed by Hindi, has more than 200 million speakers in India. In the 2011 Census, more than 50 million people identified Bhojpuri as their mother tongue, a gross underreporting because it is likely that many more Bhojpuri speakers identified Hindi as their mother tongue, the language of work and communication, of social parleys with speakers of other languages. 

Unlike 22 other languages in India, recognised under the 8th Schedule of the Constitution, Bhojpuri, the language of 200 million people, isn't included. Its origins can be traced to the 6th-7th centuries, and more authoritatively from the 12th century. The poetry Kabir and other Bhatkti poets are rendered in it. It has genres of songs going back to hundreds of years, and a modern literature that is 140 years old. Its songs of longing and migration, of separation and pain, of seasons and professions, carry within themselves a deep soulfulness that bears cultural memories of a people who have been at the crossroads of time, changing the course of history. 

“Some academics have referred to Bhojpuri as the daughter of Hindi. Bhojpuri, in fact, is more like the aunt. If anything, Hindi has travelled around the world on the shoulders of Bhojpuri. It was the Bhojpuri writers of the time who dove into the making of Hindi, driven by the spirit of the freedom struggle. They put aside their own mother tongues to develop another, an example of how the Bhojpuriya has always been driven by the larger national interest,” said Brajbhushan Mishra, one of Bhojpuri's foremost critics and writers. 

This then is the story of Bhojpuri in the time of Hindi. 

***

It was only in 2020 that the first Bhojpuri novel was translated into and published in English. Phoolsunghi (Penguin, 2020), the novelistic retelling by Pandey Kapil (1930-2017) in 1977, of one of Bhojpuri’s and Bihar’s most enduring legends and tales. Phoolsunghi is the story of Mahendar Misr (1886-1946) and Dhelabai, a courtesan or tawaif and their love that is defined by the absence of Misr for large periods of time. Like all great love stories, it is about a love that is doomed, that remains unfinished. It is about Haliwant Sahay, the Zamindar from Chhapra, who gets Dhelabai abducted from Muzzaffarpur after she spurns his advances and confines her to the Red Mansion, where she performs for him. It is about the ephemeral presence of Revel Sahib, or Henry Revel, a much loved colonial administrator of the Saran division, of which Chhapra  is the headquarters, who serves as spiritual mentor to Sahay. Sahay keeps a shrine to the Englishman and visits his grave for reflection. 

In Gautam Choubey’s restrained translation, the story shines through, a world unknown to many is rendered alive. Sahay’s rise under the patronage of Revel Sahib, his smarts and his zeal for life, his conceit and arrogance, and the fortune he builds, are portrayed in the book with a conviction and authenticity that is rare. Pandey Kapil’s masterful hand runs through the book, giving the narrative pace and plot, and yet it has the pauses, the unexpected moments of insight and contemplation that elevates the book.

Mahendar Misr, the legendary poet-singer, isn't a strong character untouched by events around him. He is a flawed man, a genius with a heart of gold, with an ego to match.

For Choubey, whose grandfather was a celebrated Bhojpuri writer, his tryst with Phoolsunghi began by the goading of a senior in college. “I got the book from a senior, then it stayed with me for two, two and half years. I had finished my Phd, and then this came,” said Choubey. “I had obviously heard of the story, and of course knew of Pandey Kapil. I had heard from many people that this was the greatest novel written in Bhojpuri.”

Pandey Kapil was a doyen of Bhojpuri literature, his Patna residence an essential pitstop for writers of Hindi and Bhojpuri, struggling and famous. He came from a family of writers, his grandfather was one, as was his father. His two brothers are as well. Like many Bhojopri writers, he wrote in Hindi as well. In his introduction, Choubey writes that Kapil’s father, Pandey Jaganaath Prasad (1905-88) wrote a novel (Gaon Ghar Tola, 1979) based in Sheetalpur, his village, that traverses 300 years of history starting with Jehangir’s reign. It is regarded as one of finest examples of an “aanchalik” or regional novel in Bhojpuri, along with Rahi Masoom Raza’s Aadha Gaon (1966).

Pandey Kapil’s Phoolsunghi stands out also for his portrayal of Mahendar Misr, the legendary poet-singer, who is known more by myth than fact. In Phoolsunghi which, as Choubey writes, is  one of the four novels based on the story of Misr and Dhelabai, Pandey Kapil’s genius lies in making Misr a more passive sort of character, to whom things happen. He is still the maestro of song and poetry, he still does things the legends impute, but he isn’t a strong character untouched by events around him, as he is portrayed in some other renditions of the story. A flawed man, a genius with a heart of gold, with an ego to match, in Pandey Kapil’s telling he cuts a figure which is lesser than the legend and greater than the fact. 

In a brief, almost terse preface to the novel, Pandey Kapil starts with the proclamation, “I don’t have much to say about Phoolsoonghi; its plot must not be mistaken for history;...”   A couple of lines later, he says, “It is beyond doubt that Dhela, Mahendar Misir, Haliwant Sahay and Revel Sahib were real people.” The one claim he makes in the last line of the preface sums up the book the best, “Nonetheless, its portrayal of a particular period, a certain region and a specific society is indeed correct.”

Choubey’s translation has been widely well received, and for readers in English it is their first authentic brush with the Bhojouri landscape. For those who come from those parts, who carry the place in their hearts but have forgotten the language, Phoolsunghi’s translation is the whiff of a left-behind home. 

For Choubey himself, Phoolsungh’s translation was personal. “It was a way for me to reconnect with my mother, who passed away 15 years ago. As a child, she would read me her father’s short stories in Bhojpuri. I spoke to her in Bhojpuri. It was her language.”

***

In 2016, Ranjan Prakash, a bank employee of 26 years, and prior to that an air force man for 15 years, was looking forward to retirement. After a lifetime of practical living, it was time to pursue his passion. The world of Bhojpuri literature could be his to explore again. A nephew of Pandey Kapil, Prakash comes from a family of writers. His father was a writer based in Chhapra. He had a library of Bhojpuri books, prose and poetry, fiction and non-fiction. Prakash, along with his brother Ranjan Vikas started Bhojpuri Sahitya Aangan sometime in 2016, a unique repository of Bhojpuri books, periodicals, and stray poetry including some rare ones, online. 

“One of the long-standing demands has been for official status to the Bhojpuri language. How to build a case for something like that without even showing a collection of literature? I searched all over the Internet and even libraries, but could hardly find even 40-50 Bhojpuri books in one place. A few private collections existed, including in my family, but nothing that was accessible for everyone. Nothing that could show the wealth of Bhojpuri literature,” said Prakash.

Armed with a basic Canon flatbed scanner, and a website set up for him by his daughter and son-in-law, Prakash started digitising books. First was his father's collection of books, many self-published by authors who were no more, by publishing houses that didn’t exist any more. His next stop was his uncle Pandey Kapil’s formidable library. Pandey Kapil had established the Bhojpuri Sanstha in 1970, a publishing house that gave young writers a platform and mentorship that was lacking. It published more than 100 works in Bhojpuri. Then there was his personal collection. Prakash also tapped into other family members and friends, an extended circle of litterateurs, for their libraries. He contacted descendants of writers, some of whom only had a copy or two of the books remaining with them. He had to convince them that he would return the book after digitising it. 

Bhojpuri Sahitya Aangan is a name that comes up frequently in conversations about Bhojpuri literature. It is a place of wonder, full of Bhojpuri books, writers dead and forgotten, known and unknown.

“Today we have 1,203 Bhojpuri books on Sahitya Aangan. A few hundred editions of various magazines. Another 30 books are waiting to be digitised. It is a free resource for the people, an electronic library dedicated to Bhojpuri literature,” said Prakash. 

He has scanned most of the books himself, double spread by double spread, spending hours for every book. Once it was scanned, he learned to use the software to make corrections of light and alignment of pages. Somewhere along the way, he upgraded his scanner to a better one. 

“I have spent hours and days doing this over years now, sometimes to the frustration of my family. I haven’t hired an assistant, or staff, for who will pay for that,” said Prakash. One of the prized books in his collection is the rare second edition of Bindiya (1956), considered the first novel in Bhojpuri, published by the author’s son.

Bhojpuri Sahitya Aangan is a name that comes up frequently in conversations about Bhojpuri literature. Writers speak of it as a given, a place where everything can be found. It is a place of wonder too, webpage after webpage, full of Bhojpuri books, of writers dead and forgotten, known and unknown. In the world of Bhojpuri literature, where writers make little to nothing from their books, which are often self-published or published by publishing houses that don’t have the resources to either distribute or market the books, Sahitya Aangan has become a sanctuary of sorts.

“These days so many new writers just send me the PDFs of their books to be published on the site. That’s much easier than scanning page after page of the physical book,” said Prakash. 

***

In December 2013, when Rajesh Kumar ‘Manjhi’ was working in Delhi’s Jamia Milia Islamia as a Hindi Officer, his one-act play Girmitiya Bharatvanshi was staged. Manjhi at that time was developing it into a book-length work. One day, months later, he was called upon to visit Sushma Swaraj, then external affairs minister. “The Vice-Chancellor sent me in a car to the ministry to meet Sushmaji. I didn’t know why I was being called? After all, what would an administrative officer at a university do for the minister?”

When Manjhi reached the ministry’s office, he was ushered into the minister’s chambers. “She had a clipping from an English newspaper about my play. ‘I want to publish your play,’ she said. I was overwhelmed. I said yes and touched her feet to seek blessings.”

Manjhi, however, had a nagging fear in his heart. As he was about to exit her office, at the door he turned back and asked the minister, “Will my play be published under my name?” he asked. “Sushmaji laughed aloud at my question. She said, ‘Of course, it will be published under your name.’” The play was published later in the “Girmitya Special” edition of the  ministry’s journal. 

Manjhi who writes in English, Hindi and Bhojpuri is the author of many plays, poems, edited volumes and translations. He is also collecting Bhojpuri folk songs and translating them into English. “They belong to world literature,” he said. 

At least three of his plays have been staged. “Plays have attracted me since childhood. Perhaps seeing the domkach (a dance performance with banter done during weddings) performed by the women in the village attracted me to plays. To see my work performed on stage gives me happiness.”

The village is an important part of Bhojpuri expression, as are the fears and pains of the left-behind woman, whose husband had to migrate for work.

For Girmitya Bharatvanshi, Manjhi did extensive research, reading dozens of books on Indian indentured labour migration to Fiji. His play, with vivid description and moving dialogue, drives home the fear, anxieties, and the promise such migrations held. “Every character in the play, every name is real. It is a fictionalised account, of course, but every name in the story is a character I found during my research. They all exist somewhere in the records, in archives, and history,” said Manjhi. The book is dedicated to “My ancestors who as girmitiyas in an other land kept alive India’s civilization and culture.”

The girmitya (1832-1914) or the indentured labour experience of people in modern day Bihar and eastern Uttar Pradesh has been a subject of much literary output, almost a bona fide genre of Bhojpuri writing. From Purvanchal alone, around 1.2 million people went to Fiji, Mauritius, South Africa, Suriname, and Caribbean islands as indentured labourers. 

***

Bhojpuri literature, at least, initially took its cues from Hindi, but as Hindi started becoming more urban and even modern in its sensibilities, Bhojpuri found its own voice in the stories of its people. The village, or the village ideal is an important part of Bhojpuri expression, as are the fears and pains of the left-behind woman, whose husband had to migrate for work. Bhojpuri’s preeminent poet, singer, playwright, Bhikhari Thakur’s (1887-1971) iconic natak Bideshiya about the pangs of separation of the Pyari Sundari, the woman whose husband migrates to Calcutta for work and remarries, remains probably the most popular Bhojpuri play ever. 

The modern landscape of Bhojpuri literature is a mix of the old and the new. “Today, there is a lot of literature that is getting written, but also a lot of literature surfacing for the first time. Older works, works that are out of print or forgotten, or whose sole copies are with the families of the late authors,” said Gautam Choubey. “Recently, Tayab Hussain ‘Pidit’ passed away. A playwright and writer of great eminence. His short story collection Bichhotiya (1974), is perhaps the very best ever written in Bhojpuri.”

According to Choubey, a lot of new writing in Bhojpuri is about the history of its literature, and a lot of the post-liberalisation novels are laced with nostalgia, for the village that isn’t anymore.  

Brjabhushan Mishra, the critic and author, said  Bhojpuri literature cannot leave the village. “It is the language of the people, after all. But we cannot confine Bhojpuri literature to the village alone. This is literature that actively engages with issues of cities, of women, of lives of labour, and also issues that are universal in nature,” he said. “I would like to mention here the novel Sushmita Sanyal ki Diary, (Harendra Kumar, 2007), which deals with themes like live-in relationships and relationships outside of marriage.” 

The creation of Hindi as the national language was an important intellectual and cultural project of the freedom struggle in north India.

Mishra said that while Bhojpuri literature is often looked at through the lens of indenture, migration, the left-behind woman, it is not the complete picture. “In the same period where works on these themes were being written, there was prose and poetry that dealt with the issues of farmers, on Dalit issues, and the environment. One of the less studied aspects of Bhojpuri literature is its role during the Emergency—there were a lot of works, and it is an area begging for research,” said Mishra.

***

Many writers and activists for Bhojouri feel that the interaction with Hindi, in the long run, hasn’t been particularly beneficial for their language. A section of the Hindi intelligentsia, from the late 19th century onwards, aided the British Raj’s need for a uniform medium of instruction, and went about making Hindi the official language of courts and curriculum. 

“When the process of making Hindi was initiated, many Bhojpuri speakers started working for Hindi. Because it [Hindi] has been connected to the freedom struggle, the Bhojpuri speakers of eastern UP supported it. However, the disillusionment with the Hindi intelligentsia was starting to be clear by the 1940-50s, the newly-minted professors of Hindi looked down upon other languages, including Bhojpuri,” said Mishra. “A narrative was created that Bhojpuri is derived from Hindi, that is a boli not a bhasha, which is of course completely incorrect.”

The creation of Hindi as the national language was an important intellectual and cultural project of the freedom struggle in north India. Part of it was aimed at the Muslims, Kayasthas and other elites of the land, who enjoyed patronage in state affairs due to their felicity with Urdu, Arabic and Persian, all languages of court and administration. Scholars like Alok Rai and Francesa Orisini have shown how the Hindi project was aided by the British, how it was purged of its Hindustani roots, and eventually attempts were made to replace the bolis that made up Hindustani with Sanskrit words. The mushrooming of journals and magazines, out of Banaras, and Allahabad in the early 20th century greatly contributed to it. 

Along with Hindi, there was also a battle being fought for the script—Nastaliq, Kaithi or Nagari? It was called Devnagari, a script handed down from the Gods itself, the script of Sanskrit that contained India’s civilisational knowledge. There was a frenzy of coining Sanskrit words for their Urdu or Persian counterparts, of imposing a vocabulary that was neither spoken nor written. A sterile language, devoid of the grease of human cultural interactions, was how Hindi was initially conceived.

In Bihar, this process of removing ‘foreign’ words from languages didn’t happen. Bhojpuri, Maithili, Bajika, etc., all remain enriched by words from Urdu, Persian, English, Mundari and other tongues. 

A language exists because its speakers and writers do. It exists because for its people, it is in its words and metaphors that the world makes sense.

Prabhat Singh, an editor and writer based in Bareilly, calls this process both pre- and post-Independence, as “politics in the name of language”. “While I grew up in a household where we spoke Hindustani, it is a language that is spoken by the people, and it is also the language of poetry. For me, what I speak and write is Hindi, and it is the same as Hindustani. This is the language in which I can best express myself, and it includes words from other bolis and bhashas,” he said. When Singh had sent one of his manuscripts to the publisher, he received a request to change the few words pointed by the editor to Hindi. “I couldn’t quite understand what the aim of that was. I used words that are the part of a living language that people spoke. But it wasn’t ‘Hindi’ enough.”

Singh cites the example of the popular Radheyshyam Ramayan, authored by Radheyshyam Kathavachak, which across its four versions between 1939 and 1969 went closer and closer to “shudh” or pure Hindi. The Arabic and Persion of the first edition kept getting pruned. “If a popular version of the Ramayan was written in Hindi-Urdu, what reason would any one have to hate either language?” he said.

***

A mini-revival of sorts is underway in Bhojpuri as more and more older works are being disseminated. There are now undergraduate, graduate and doctoral programmes in Bhojpuri  being offered in a few universities in Bihar. 

The demand for official recognition remains, but that is still a hostage to politics that Bhojpuri activists haven’t been able to crack yet. A language, however, is more than a mention on a list. It exists because its speakers and writers do. It exists because for its people, it is in its words and metaphors that the world makes sense, that dreams come true, that despair is truly felt. It exists because it is under the care of its people.