Development Through Epistemicide: The Case of Indigo

Introduction

‘While cotton prices may have been stabilising in recent times, it is the indigo dye that has been pinching denim makers’ pockets’ (Business Standard, 9 June 2012). Thus began a newspaper’s reportage about how an escalation in the prices of indigo dye was hurting the denim industry. The denim ‘industry imports indigo dye to the tune of 7,000 tonnes or over ₹2,000 crore ($42 million) per annum wherein one tonne of indigo is required for manufacturing 100,000 meters of denim fabric’ (Business Standard, 9 June 2012). The industry being mostly dependent on imports of the dye from China has experienced a rise in input costs leading to the production of denim becoming expensive (Business Standard, 9 June 2012).

India’s textile industry is an extremely diverse sector comprising the hand-woven textiles at one end with technology-driven power mills lying at the other end of the spectrum. The industry depends heavily on the indigo dye as one of its primary dyeing agents. However, it must be mentioned at the very outset that it is the synthetic variant of indigo dye that commands such pre-eminence. Approximately ‘99 per cent of indigo dye used by the industry is imported in synthetic form while a meagre 1 per cent of natural dye is developed in India’ (Business Standard, 9 June 2012).

What might one infer from the above assertions? Two pertinent observations emerge: first, there is a discernible lack of self-sufficiency in the capability to manufacture synthetic indigo in India, which compels the country to depend mostly on foreign powers—in this case, China, followed by Europe and the USA for the resource. And, second, there is a conspicuous under-development of the production of the indigo dye through natural processes or agricultural indigo. Hence, the above issue may be read in the wider context of development politics in India. The present work seeks to problematise the issue by articulating a case of epistemicide or erasure of knowledge-practice with regard to the cultivation of agricultural indigo in the context of politics of development. But, how does the story of indigo cultivation become problematic for inquiring into the epistemological dimensions of India’s politics of development? Such an interrogation is not without merit and needs to be addressed before proceeding with the analysis.

‘Commercialisation of agriculture, which favours differentiation within the peasantry, capital accumulation and production for the market is considered to be a sign of progress towards capitalist agriculture’ (Bandopadhyay, 2015, p. 125). The case of indigo dye is synonymous with the commercialisation of agriculture, thereby, being emblematic of the politics of development. Moreover, development also entails the capacity of human beings to control their environment by putting into practice the laws of nature or science (Rodney, 1973). The genealogy of the indigo dye illuminates that very reality. Inherent to that very trajectory lie tendencies of epistemicide and marginalisation of a particular knowledge-practice.

Consequently, I seek to argue that development carries within itself possibilities of epistemicide at times coerced and on other occasions due to voluntary inaction or neglect. In order to vindicate such a thesis, I attempt to strive to engage the genealogy of the indigo dye in India in two distinct temporal spaces—one colonial and the other post-colonial. The case of the indigo dye proves to be instructive because it evinces how a knowledge-practice has been excluded due to both coercion and voluntary neglect.

The case of indigo is essentially instructive of a specific politics of knowledge: epistemicide occurs as a type of knowledge-practice subordinates another, for example, synthetic indigo subordinates natural indigo. To this effect, two characteristic features may be highlighted with regard to the case of indigo. First, epistemological subjugation in the colonial era proves to be a consequence of a specific historical ethos: mercantilist ambitions. Second, what becomes apparent in the post-colonial era is that epistemicide occurs because certain indigenous knowledge-practices fail to comply with the dominant vision of development leading to their competitive disadvantage in the world market. Such a politics of epistemicide is exacerbated due to voluntary policy neglect by a sovereign state. As a result, such epistemologies and their practitioners are compelled to survive precariously on the margins of a developing society.

Epistemicide under Colonialism

‘Indigo was the quintessential blue dye in the era when dyes were extracted from plants and minerals’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 1). The extractive knowledge of the dye by the natural process existed historically. ‘Knowledge of indigo as a source of blue dye would have been widespread wherever the plant grew. After all, the leaves of indigo yielded the colour in small quantities on mere pressing or squeezing’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 1).

Much before the knowledge of indigo production became widespread and mechanised, tied down to large-scale commercial activities, the art of indigo cultivation was a localised and specialised activity. Climate played a very important factor in its cultivation. It was a plant of the tropics and early historiography traces its roots back to the Indian subcontinent. ‘The last two millennia of indigo’s economic history are neatly encapsulated in its names’ (Balfour-Paul, 1998, p. 11). With its roots in the Greek word indikon or indicum in Latin, the word refers to a substance from India. Asia, particularly the Indian subcontinent, emerged as a major centre for procurement of the indigo dye. Indigo plantation efforts moved from the Caribbean to the heartland of North America and finally materialised in India, especially in Bengal (Kumar, 2012, p. 2).

It is at this historical juncture that the question of epistemicide emerges in terms of indigo cultivation in India. ‘For a century and a half Bengal indigo was the object of major efforts to give it a modern form driven by changes in the worlds of knowledge, science and trade. The Bengal plantations also turned out to be the last major holdout against the expanding sway of synthetic indigo’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 4). Moreover, ‘the rise of Bengal as the leading producer of indigo in the 19th century’ was facilitated by the ‘global template of the British Empire’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 53).

Bengal did not monopolise the production of indigo prior to its conquest by the East India Company. Indian indigo was largely produced in ‘Gujarat, Rajasthan and the Coromandel Coast’ until ‘the first half of the 17th century’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 55). Indigo plantations took flight in eastern India around 1778, when the East India Company’s government ‘offered advances to ten pioneer planters trying to grow indigo in Lower Bengal by using West Indian methods’ (Bandopadhyay, 2015, p. 125). Till 1829, the planters did not have any right to buy land and had to persuade ‘the local peasants to accept advances to produce indigo in their lands’ (Bandopadhyay, 2015, p. 125). It must also be noted that the production of indigo was primarily determined with ‘an eye on the needs of the remittance trade, rather than the requirements of English textile manufacturers’ (Bandopadhyay, 2015, p. 125).

The British colonisers promoted the cultivation of indigo primarily to augment their own trade interests. ‘Its officials made a deliberate effort to promote the cultivation of indigo in Bengal, and the institutional space created by the mercantile company Raj facilitated the expansion of indigo manufacturing’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 53). Export of indigo to Britain grew exponentially between the years of 1786 and 1810 from well below half a million pounds to approximately six million pounds (Macpherson, 1812, p. 415). Thus, the roots of epistemicide with regard to cultivating indigo through natural processes may be traced back to the mercantilist ambitions of the colonial indigo planters.

The cultivation of the indigo dye in the Indian subcontinent evinced a certain politics of knowledge as well. Although colonial indigo plantations had to take into consideration and grow along with the indigenous ways of cultivating indigo, the European planters essentially imposed the plantation system for its cultivation. Such kind of an imposition from above could be interpreted as preference for a particular form of knowledge-practice over another. In this way, progress proliferated by modern science and technology came to encroach upon traditional epistemological practices. ‘Progress was construed as the expansion of European civilization, which epitomized human domination of nature’ (Deb, 2009, p. 23).

Cultivation of cash crops such as opium, silk and indigo signified ‘a major change in the peasant economy during colonial rule’ (Chaudhuri, 2008, p. 404). The colonial period evinced a ‘shift of demand from manufactured goods to agricultural raw materials, mostly intended for Great Britain, then undergoing rapid industrialisation’ (Chaudhuri, 2008, p. 405). Moreover, the cultivation of indigo along with other cash crops like opium and silk was distinctive in nature. The changeover to a specific form of plantation—farming of the crop—was dictated by outsiders in the production process. ‘Indigo remained throughout European planters’ enterprise’ (Chaudhuri, 2008, p. 406).

But, why was indigo so sought after in the middle of the 19th century? It may be noted that even before indigo plantations emerged in Bengal, ‘indigo had been gradually replacing the main rival dyeing agent, wood’ (Chaudhuri, 2008, p. 411). For Binay Bhushan Chaudhuri, however, indigo’s growth in Bengal ‘was primarily due to its increasing demand from the growing British textile industry’ (Chaudhuri, 2008, p. 411). The East India Company was in the search for a substitute export-commodity for its cotton goods whose market in England had started to shrink by then, and they found it in indigo (Chaudhuri, 2008).

The cultivation of indigo witnessed severe fluctuations as well as major setbacks due to both political-economic and socio-political reasons. The depression experienced by the British economy in 1826 and, ‘thereafter the crash of the leading agency houses in Bengal’ between 1830 and 1835 struck the ‘market of indigo’ as well as other commodities, which were destined for London (Chaudhuri, 2008, p. 412). Restrictions regarding the limit of European landholdings initially prevented the colonial planters from directly cultivating indigo. As most of it was still with the small peasants, the Europeans had to depend on them for acquiring the dye. Such dependence engendered contractual relationships between peasants and colonial planters.

But, since 1835, with the introduction of planters’ right to ‘the ownership of landed estates’, European planters could forego their dependence on the ‘local landlords for access to land for their cultivation’ (Chaudhuri, 2008, p. 412). It exacerbated the antithetical relationship between the planters and the peasants. ‘The peasant was forced to grow indigo on the best land he had whether or not he wanted to devote his land and labour to more paying crops like rice’ (Chandra, Mukherjee, Mukherjee, Mahajan, & Panikkar, 1989, p. 51). Peasants cultivating indigo were also cheated of their dues by the planters and were often physically coerced to accept advances so that they were able ‘to go on cultivating indigo’ (Chandra et al., 1989, p. 51).

The suppression by the plantation system—representing a scientific mode of production—on the indigenous ways of cultivating the natural dye yielded a form of violence, which was not only physical in nature but also had epistemological ramifications. Indigo was cultivated in two major forms: ryot and zerat (Chaudhuri, 2008). According to the ryot system, ‘the unit of indigo cultivation was the small peasant’s land’, through which the peasants had to provide all means of production and bear the risk of production in lieu of advances from the planters (Chaudhuri, 2008, p. 455). In the zerat system, however, peasants became wage labourers attached to the lands owned by the planters (Chaudhuri, 2008). Such lands were largely appropriated from peasants, and thus peasants as a class in themselves ‘ceased to exist’ (Chaudhuri, 2008, p. 455).

Of the two, the ryot system due to its cost-effectiveness was more prevalent as the entire burden of cultivation was borne not by the planters but the peasants. The peasant cultivator, moreover, did not have any choice regarding the selection of land for growing indigo; it was decided by the planter (Chaudhuri, 2008). Even the processes involved in the cultivation of indigo such as the crushing of clods, the smoothening of ground, removal of stalks were not left to the cultivators’ decision-making but were dictated upon them by planters (Chaudhuri, 2008). The coercion became all-encompassing when the Indigo Planters’ Association in Calcutta persuaded the government to promulgate a law that would ‘make a breach of contract to cultivate indigo punishable summarily by a magistrate’ (Kling, 1966, pp. 125–126). The Act XI of 1860 made ‘an impossible system obligatory’ (Bhattacharya, 1977, p. 15). Thus, it may be argued that the politico-legal coercion, which was brought about by the colonial government to further the economic interests of the colonial planters, also had significant epistemological implications.

Blair B. Kling (1966) captures ‘the political and social problems posed by what was essentially a forced cultivation of an export crop’ (Chaudhuri, 1968, pp. 170–171). The faltering background economic structure that facilitated indigo enterprise also had a major role to play in fuelling an adversarial relationship between the planters and the cultivators. ‘In the decade before 1859 indigo accounted for only 10 per cent of the total exports of Bengal’ (Kling, 1966, p. 25). Such a decline compelled the enactment of the draconian indigo contract laws so as to increase the production of indigo. Such antagonism was also ‘inextricably linked to the subsistence concerns of the indigo cultivator’ (Ghildiyal, 2010, p. 71).

Indigo, as an example of forced cultivation, highlights the coercive nature of the entire system—political, economic, legal and social. However, such characterisation would remain incomplete without illuminating the epistemological coercion inherent to the genealogy of indigo cultivation. That coercion is instantiated by a very specific politics of epistemicide: the suppression of indigenous knowledge-practices by that of modern science and technology.

Consolidation of Western supremacy was fundamentally premised upon the epistemological privilege that had been granted to modern science since the 17th century (Santos et al., 2008, p. xix). Technological changes since the mid-19th century ‘had enhanced the productive capacity of textile manufacturing in key European nations’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 143). The quantum of textile production increased manifold, and the processes had become more cost-effective (Kumar, 2012, p. 143). However, innovation in the manufacture of dye-stuff had lagged behind, which in turn created the need for developing a factory-bred variant of the dye premised upon the knowledge of industrial chemistry (Beer, 1959, p. 3).

As a response to the demand, a synthetic variant of indigo dye was created in Germany in 1897. It was not an isolated development but was part of the changeover to artificial dyes that had commenced since the 1830s and 1840s (Kumar, 2012, p. 144). The emergence of synthetic indigo emblematised the burgeoning of a ‘new science-based industry’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 130). It was the synthetic indigo which would ultimately ‘destroy the colonial indigo industry on the Indian subcontinent’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 130). To surmise Balfour-Paul, replacing an organic manufacturing process ‘which brings wealth into poor districts’ with ‘some fixed and unalterable process might…be of doubtful advantage’ (Balfour-Paul, 1998, p. 81).

The predominance of agricultural indigo was dependent on ‘choices made by dyers and printers as mass consumers’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 145). It enjoyed market hegemony because of its ‘resistance to acid, alkali, water and sunlight’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 146). Such inherent qualities allowed to stave off competition from other blue dyes such as woad, ultramarine blue or the Prussian blue (Kumar, 2012, p. 146). However, the equation gradually changed with the emergence of the synthetic variant of the indigo dye towards the final few years of the 19th century.

The synthetic variant was able to respond to such needs and preferences by being responsive to customer tastes (Kumar, 2012, p. 146). Synthetic indigo dye’s edge over its agricultural counterpart was not primarily due to its constitutive elements, but because of the operational nature of the market. It was anticipated that the cost of production of the synthetic indigo would become lesser than that of agricultural indigo in India in due course. Successful commercialisation of the synthetic indigo paved the downfall for its natural variant (Kumar, 2012, p. 153).

Agricultural indigo contained ‘moisture, mineral matter and indigo gluten’ along with indigotin and indirubin, and, the latter two were considered to be the main required elements for dyeing (Kumar, 2012, p. 159). The synthetic variant of indigo was designed with the primary requisites and was bereft of the other elements, thereafter, branded as impurities. The argument created in favour of the synthetic was that the buyers should only pay for the required elements and not for the other impurities. Such a perspective generated quantitative testing of the elements present in the natural variant of the indigo dye. Apart from being more cost-effective than the agricultural indigo, the synthetic variant of the indigo dye imparted a brighter colour to clothing (Kumar, 2012). Modern science justified by the abovementioned lines of reasoning thus triumphed over an indigenous knowledge-practice.

The political economy of the international dye market changed with the arrival of the synthetic variant of indigo dye as price of the dye sharply declined. Compelled by such transformations, indigo planters in India sought to make their production processes more scientific in order to compete with the synthetic variant. Whereas many planters left the trade, those who remained sought to ‘organise experiments within laboratories and agricultural experiment stations…to improve the yield and quality of the natural dye’ (Kumar, 2012, p. 178).

With the sole objective being that of increasing the quality and yield of the natural variant of the indigo, colonial planters started to ‘exploit science’ (Kumar, 2004, p. 89). Planters who visited England attended public meetings on science in order to become ‘exposed to the debates in the professional organisations about the state of research on indigo’ (Kumar, 2004, p. 89). Upon their return to India, they ‘canvassed support for setting up laboratories to benefit the plantations’ (Kumar, 2004, p. 89). For instance, new methods of oxidation were invented ‘by passing air currents in deep vats using air compressors and blowers’, thereby, replacing the process of manual beating (Kumar, 2012, p. 182).

Therefore, it may be inferred that the genealogy of the indigo dye in the colonial times reflect a gradual actuation of a politics of epistemicide with regard to the organic processes of cultivating agricultural indigo. The epistemicide in question was a result of systemic pressures—primarily fuelled by mercantilist ambitions of the colonial planters. The politics of epistemicide was reified by the political economic framework which operated in the background, for example, the credit system that enabled the sustenance of indigo plantations in colonial Bengal. Such economic relationships were even supported by colonial legislation.

Mercantilist ambitions found resonance in the spirit of modern science and technology necessitated by the imperatives of the international market. The creation of an artificial product—the synthetic variant of the indigo exemplifies the same. Colonial planters, backed by the colonial regime, responded to such developments by either attempting to develop new scientific methods or replicating the existing ones so that they could apply them to the indigo cultivation process.

The case of the indigo dye, used as a representative example, is by no means a unique one. The critique of the politics of epistemicide may also be levelled against other crops such as silk. For instance, the colonial government did seek to improve raw silk by importing ‘superior kinds of mulberry plants’ and introducing ‘improved methods of winding of silk’ (Chaudhuri, 2008, p. 411)

Therefore, it may be argued that the politics of epistemicide pertaining to the case of indigo cultivation represents a violence emanating from the colonial-mercantilist ethos of the 19th and early 20th centuries. But, would such an analysis hold true for sovereign times as well? How does the politics of epistemicide play out in the post-colonial period with regard to the case of the indigo dye in India?

Epistemicide under Sovereign Times

‘With the death of Yellappa, the last of a family of great indigo dyers in Andhra Pradesh, a way of life has faded away’ (Visvanathan, The Hindu, 25 November 2014). Who was Yellappa? And, what does his demise symbolise? Yellappa of Uravakonda village of Andhra Pradesh was a dyer of the natural variant of the indigo dye. He represented the tradition of extracting the indigo dye through natural processes and was a repository of indigenous knowledge-practices. The death of Yellappa evinces the death of a sustainable form of knowledge-practice, one which showcases a harmonious existence with nature.

Ironically, the response meted out by the Indian state and its society to such a development proves to be noteworthy. ‘A genius dies in India and the news is met with silence’ (Visvanathan, The Hindu, 25 November 2014). Such silence is indicative of their absence from the dominant discourse of the society such as the discourse on development as well as popular imagination. The absence then implies a disavowal of such knowledge-practices for essentially failing to aid the very strategies and goals of India’s paradigm of development. Moreover, it also emblematises an ever-widening interregnum between practices proliferated by modern science and esoteric indigenous knowledge-practices. The genealogy of the indigo dye captures this in no uncertain terms: ever since the synthetic variant of the indigo dye was produced, its natural counterpart has been relegated into oblivion. Such an epistemological hierarchy is reified by the fact that modern science does not leave any scope for evaluation of scientists and their practices by non-scientists, ‘particularly by those rooted in the little cultures of India’ (Nandy, 1988).

Since India produces large quantities of denim, the industry has to depend on the synthetic variant of the indigo dye. The synthetic variant comprises a ‘chemical agent called mordant to increase the number of clothes produced in less time’ (Cammarota, The Borgen Project, 12 April 2019). And, most companies use mordant with aluminium and chromium, and such substances of the synthetic indigo dye possess severe consequences for the ecosystem where it is being used. ‘Factory waste water can poison rivers, killing plants, animals and poisoning drinking water for the people of India’ (Cammarota, The Borgen Project, 12 April 2019). Along with degrading the ecosystem and facilitating the politics of epistemicide, synthetic dyes also possess serious health concerns.

The process of extracting the natural variant of the indigo dye governed by indigenous knowledge-practices proved to be a time-consuming and gradual process. The dye does not actually exist in nature by itself, and several steps need to be followed for it to be extracted. True Blue or Neeli Raag (2018), a documentary film on indigo dyeing by Swati Dandekar, has captured the traditional processes of extracting the indigo dye. At first, ‘bundles of small green leaves are tossed into large cement tanks filled with water’ and are left to be soaked (Menon, Firstpost, 24 April 2019). Come next morning, ‘the tank is bright bubbly blue’ (Menon, Firstpost, 24 April 2019). Thereafter, the ‘indigo infused water is then transferred to an aeration tank’ (Menon, Firstpost, 24 April 2019). The colour ‘emerges only when it comes into contact with oxygen’ (Menon, Firstpost, 24 April 2019). The liquid is then ‘boiled down and dried and cut into small pieces much like soap-cakes’ (Menon, Firstpost, 24 April 2019). Unable to keep up with the competitive demands of the textile industry, the practices involved in the production of the natural variant of the indigo dye are now mostly confined to rural pockets in different parts of the country.

The art of dyeing the natural variant of the indigo dye is esoteric. It requires direct physical involvement by its practitioner with regard to the different stages of its cultivation and processing. The indigo dyers are required to use their sensory functions such as touch and smell to determine the various stages of the dye-making process. The entire process is labour-intensive and requires dexterous craftsmanship. ‘Salim, one of the later dyers, explained that the colour indigo is not extracted; it has to be coaxed. You cannot force a vat to reveal its secrets’ (Visvanathan, The Hindu, 25 November 2014).

The knowledge-practice, which governs the art of indigo dyeing, is transmitted through a master–apprentice relationship from one generation to another. Bounded by a very specific epistemological tradition it gives rise to a home-based, subsistence economy. ‘My grandfather did this work, then my father-in-law, my husband and now my sons’, remarks an indigo dyer underscoring how the knowledge-practice is kept alive by passing it down from one generation to another. Furthermore, epistemological diversity exists with regards to its practices in different parts of the country. Padmini Balaram, the noted designer and biographer of the indigo dye, argues that ‘in places like Manipur, Assam or Nagaland people weave their textiles for indigo, they also use brocades. Every tribe has a different technique and design, some just dye plain textiles and embroider on it for decoration’ (Chattopadhyay, The Indian Express, 29 November 2018).

There are certain inherent positives about agricultural indigo. Unlike the synthetic variant, its production process is eco-friendly and sustainable. Balaram even asserts that compared to the synthetic dye, the organic variant has more longevity and does not fade with time (Samal, The Voice of Fashion, 3 December 2018). However, confronted with severe livelihood crises, such practitioners end up giving up on their occupation. For Balaram, the ‘problem is that all the skills are in the hands of people who have not studied at all, so they had to listen to the middlemen, who made profits and the craftspeople remained poor’ (Samal, The Voice of Fashion, 3 December 2018). The village economy is negatively impacted by such developments, especially in terms of generating employment.

Efforts by people like Balaram and Uzramma Bilgrami to conserve indigenous knowledge-practices and to provide institutional platforms so that practitioners of such epistemologies can spread their traditions and stand out amidst a political economy that is biased against epistemological-practices of the localised cultures of India. ¹ Dastkar Andhra, with which Bilgrami is associated, has attempted to reconnect the handloom sector with processes of natural dyeing. Such endeavours may be best understood as articulations for an alternative paradigm of development, one which is conscious of local knowledge-practices, social and environmental sustainability as well as economic productivity and viability.

Dye-making through traditional processes, such as the cultivation of agricultural indigo, is located in a political-economic space that is diametrically opposite to that of neoliberal practices of development, and thereby, remains largely ignored. Moreover, due to the imperatives of such a paradigm of development, the handloom sector has been continually ‘denied of public funds’ (Reddy, 2015, p. 24). Budgetary allocations since 1997–1998 reveal that ‘funding has not kept up with costs of productions and inflationary increases during the period’ (Reddy, 2015 p. 24). Whereas, ‘tax-breaks, subsidies and incentives’ have been provided to the ‘modern, automated Indian textile industry’; the handloom and its allied enterprises have been largely ignored (Reddy, 2015, p. 24).

An overview of the budgetary allocations proves to be as follows. The handloom sector was allocated ₹203.5 crore in 1997–1998, which decreased to ₹151.6 crore in 1998–1999 (Reddy, 2015). It was a meagre ₹138.30 crore in 1999–2000 (Reddy, 2015). In the relatively more recent past, the budgetary allocations for the handloom sector stood at ₹620.51 crore (Reddy, 2015). In 2015–2016, the handloom sector, which employs more than one crore people, received ‘a paltry ₹446.60 crore’ (Reddy, 17 April 2015). The union budget of 2018–2019 saw an allocation of only ₹386.09 crore to the handloom industry (Kulsreshtha, The Economic Times, 1 February 2018).

What does the above data reveal? It betrays a blatant absence of an inclusive robust policy from the Indian state towards such sectors that stand apart from practices of neoliberal development. It evinces the state’s bias against the non-mechanised and non-automated spheres of the textile industry. The differential treatment by the Indian state becomes starker when policy support for modern science and technology is perused. The Ministry of Technology received ₹6,275 crore, the Department of Space received ₹5,216 crore and the Department of Energy received ₹5,280 crore for the financial year 2013–2014 (The Hindu, 1 March 2013).

However, the handloom sector in general contributes significantly to the economy of the country. Apart from having a yearly turn of about ₹60,000 crore, handloom products generate ‘a market demand of ₹100,000 crore per year’ (Reddy, 2015, p. 24). Exports from the handloom sector ‘have reached ₹4,000 crore per year’ (Reddy, 2015, p. 24). Moreover, about ‘three crore people are dependent on the handloom sector’ (Reddy, 2015, p. 24). At a time, when concerns regarding carbon emissions and climate change have captured the global imagination, the handloom sector proves to be an ‘eco-friendly production industry, which has the required technological capacities within the country’ (Reddy, 2015, p. 24). The enterprise of natural dyeing is intimately connected with home-based units, which does not require dependence on heavy technology. The agricultural indigo dye, thus, finds itself located in the handloom sector primarily because of the way in which it is cultivated.

Natural dyeing ‘is largely home-based, with labour inputs from the entire family’ (Niranjana, 2007, p. 8). They prove to be primarily rural in nature, with their production framework widely dispersed across villages. This gives rise to problems of accessibility. A considerable gap exists ‘between the nature of the largely rural dispersed production base and the urban market’ (Niranjana, 2007, p. 8). Inaccessibility to markets compels consumers (herein, producers of clothing lines) to depend on artificial products like the synthetic variant of the indigo dye.

According to Y.C. Gupta, the chief executive officer, LNJ Denim and secretary-cum-treasurer for Denim Mills Association, the industry on an average imports around 7,000 tonnes of indigo dye per annum, which equals to over ₹2,000 crore of expenditure (Umarji, Business Standard, 9 June 2012). Over-dependence on international markets leaves the industry vulnerable to the vagaries of fluctuation in prices and devaluation of currencies. ‘While government removed exemption on additional import duty, the rupee depreciation also added further woes as far as the indigo dye was concerned’ (Umarji, Business Standard, 9 June 2012).

However, since the indigo dye remains indispensable for denim makers, the only solution left to the industry so as to negotiate with the vicissitudes of international market is that they bear the price rise and pass it on to the consumers at large. Hence, the lack of viable alternate sources of the indigo dye, for example, its natural variant, has wider economic consequences such as a price rise in the context of the international market. The very minor presence of alternative sources of the indigo dye curtails self-sufficiency, not only of the dye-making sector in particular but also more generally the handloom sector.

Therefore, it would be pertinent to raise the following interrogation at this juncture: how does the politics of epistemicide play out in the post-colonial context of India pertaining to the case of the indigo dye? Does it resemble its colonial counterpart? Epistemicide with regard to the natural variant of the indigo dye in the post-colonial context proves to be the result of the very vision of development that has animated India. Inaction and neglect, in terms of proper policies on the part of the Indian state, have exacerbated the politics of epistemicide pertaining to indigo. The policy of neglect is manifested by the visible paucity of financial support that is extended towards the handloom sector, in which the practice of cultivating agricultural indigo is located, as well as certain other structural impediments.

Although critics might deride the potential inherent in traditional ways of producing the indigo dye, with proper policy interventions, the untapped potential of the natural indigo dye can eventually prove to be a boon for the handloom sector in the long run. Increased financial support by the state ought to be a necessary first step along with a definite plan of action. It would enable the effectuation of a more eco-friendly and sustainable industry—a dire need of the hour considering the pressing concerns raised by climate change. Furthermore, being a labour-intensive knowledge-practice, financial support to the cultivation of agricultural indigo, in particular, could ensure increased employment opportunities for people who are already conversant with the requisite knowledge-practice. It would not only enable increased production of the agricultural variant of the dye but also cater to the dye-related demands from the handloom sector as well.

Such a policy strategy would prove to be cost-effective, as it would not require training or skilling of labourers. Moreover, since practitioners are already endowed with the required skill-sets, they could also be tasked with the propagation of their epistemological tradition across different regions where it would be possible to cultivate agricultural indigo, thereby, also facilitating socio-economic progress of those regions. Additional investments could take the shape of establishing institutional spaces, which would impart the indigenous knowledge-practice (exemplified by the cultivation of agricultural indigo) through appropriate pedagogy in a formalised manner.

Last but not the least, taking a cue from Balaram’s diagnosis, referred to earlier, practitioners of traditional epistemologies must be oriented with the kind of education which would enable them to directly connect with potential consumers of their products such as information and communication technology. This in turn will require that people who base their livelihood upon indigenous epistemologies also have access to schools for their basic education in general. Such steps may at least retard the erasure of such esoteric knowledge-practices, while giving them a fillip for their wider perpetuation.

Developmental Democracy and the Politics of Epistemicide

The transition of India from being a colonised nation to a developmental democracy is marked by several significant discontinuities, the prime one being the attainment of sovereignty. However, the element of continuity that persists since the colonial period is the perpetuation of a politics of knowledge. It has resulted in the epistemicide of those knowledge-practices that fail to adhere to the dominant epistemological tradition. The genealogy of the agricultural indigo dye is representative of that very reality. Nevertheless, the specific templates of the politics of epistemicide in each of the temporal contexts prove to be distinct in nature.

In the 19th century, the politics of epistemicide proved to be a consequence of the mercantilist ethos of the colonial era. However, in the case of sovereign India, the politics of epistemicide in question proves to be a result of the vision of development reinforced by policy neglect from the state. Even if one could to explain the epistemicide in the colonial context as a result of absence of sovereignty, thereby, autonomy; how does one analyse the politics of epistemicide under conditions of sovereignty with regard to the case of the indigo dye?

A possible line of reasoning proves to be the following: the mercantilist ethos of the colonial era understood as economic aggrandisement, ironically, manifests itself as the imperatives of politics of development under conditions of sovereignty. And, the way in which development has been defined in sovereign India has exacerbated the colonial legacy of the politics of epistemicide. ‘The metaphor of development gave global hegemony to a purely Western genealogy of history, robbing peoples of different cultures of the opportunity to define the forms of their social life’ (Eseteva, 2010, p. 5).

Moored in the modernist vision of India’s first Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, development has been predominantly defined as economic growth. Such a vision was to be translated into reality through epistemological practices firmly governed by modern science and technology. National prosperity entailed effective combination of ‘technology, raw materials and capital’ out of which technology proves to be the most significant of the three, as it can ‘make up for a deficiency in national resources and reduce the demands on capital’ (Indian Science Policy Resolution, 1958). Ironically, however, modern science and technology have been ‘instrumental in suppressing other, non-scientific forms of knowledge’, thereby, ‘the subaltern social groups whose social practices were informed by such knowledges’ (Santos et al., 2008, p. xix). Consequently, those practices which ensure economic growth have been promoted and legitimised at the expense of certain other practices.

Furthermore, contemporary ramifications of the above vision have become part of the project of globalisation. Thus, development has come to be dictated by global economic imperatives. ‘Neoliberal globalisation corresponds to a new system of capital accumulation’ that has engendered an ‘extremely unequal distribution of the costs and opportunities’, which in turn has not only widened the inequalities between the rich and poor countries but also between the rich and the poor in the same country (Santos, 2008, p. vii).

Amartya Sen (1999, 2009) challenges such an understanding of development. ‘The assessment of development cannot be divorced from the lives that people can lead and the real freedom that they enjoy’ (Sen, 2010, p. 346). This is because development ultimately implies what a person is able to do and be: it is concerned with enhancing peoples’ lives and the freedoms they enjoy (Sen, 1999, p. 15). Consequently, development and democracy are viscerally connected. ‘If development is understood in a broader way, with a focus on human lives, then it becomes immediately clear that the relationship between development and democracy has to be seen partly in terms of their constitutive connection, rather than only through their external links’ (Sen, 2010, p. 346). In other words, development has to be democratic.

If development is ultimately about people’s lives and ought to be democratic, can theories and practices of development ignore the presence of epistemological diversity that is present in our society? If so, what would be their political consequence? The politics of epistemicide ‘evinced by the case the indigo dye under conditions of sovereignty’ captures an extremely unfair reality. Practitioners of non-dominant epistemological traditions are seen to inhabit spaces of marginality from which they are desperately trying to thwart-off their extinction.

Epistemological concerns possess significant implications for any politics of development. Anna Malavisi (2019) argues that the very definition of what constitutes development depends on knowledge. Consequently ‘decisions about development policies and programs are based on a certain knowledge; often the knowledge of some can be deemed to have a higher epistemic authority and, hence, credibility than the knowledge of others’ (Malavisi, 2019, p. 41). Such kinds of orientation could engender not only epistemological hierarchies but also political and economic ones as manifested by the case of the indigo dye.

The way in which cultivators of the natural-variant of the indigo dye and cognate practitioners of such epistemologies conceive of their lives, such as their ‘relationship with nature, knowledge, historical experience, memory, time and space cannot be reduced to’ constructions of Eurocentric concepts and cultures (Santos et al., 2008, p. xx). These results in them being excluded from processes of authoritative allocation of values that determine the substance and procedures of policies of development. Such exclusion inevitably ensures their economic and political disempowerment. And, politico-economic disempowerment to that effect reifies the politics of epistemicide. Consequently, the following queries would be worth pondering: where are the voices of practitioners of the natural variant of indigo and practitioners of other such epistemological traditions in deliberations on the textile and the handloom sector in India? What accounts for their absence? Is it there a lack of status as bearers of scientific-expertise?

A dichotomy exists with regard to notions of technology and practice. If the former represents uniformity and universality, the latter refers to a broad based and inclusive activity (Pacey, 1983, p. 3). Such a dichotomy plays out in the case of indigo dye as well. That synthetic indigo enjoys a hegemonic presence over its natural variant is best captured by the supremacy of ‘specialist knowledge’ over ‘local forms of knowledge’ (Santos et al., 2008, p. xxxviii). Localised epistemological practices are accorded legitimacy ‘only when they serve the projects of capitalist modernity’ (Santos et al., 2008, p. xxxviii).

Yehuda Elkana argues that ‘the last few hundred years of our enormous success in developing science, technology and medicine’ has taught us ‘not to think dialectically; modern science and technology are anti-dialectical’ (Elkana, 2000). To this effect, the genealogy of the indigo dye shows how ‘a process designated as science was able to undermine an industry that was rooted in this country since time immemorial’ (Bilgrami, 2002). The anti-dialectical nature of modern science and technology, thereby, compels the epistemological subordinations of all such knowledge-practices that do not adhere to the rules established by modern science. The politics of epistemicide further implicates the economic, political and ultimately their social subordination. Ultimately, forces emanating from the overarching vision of development result in the disempowerment of people associated with such epistemological practices.

India’s transition from the colonial era to sovereign times is replete with historic milestones in terms of economic, political and societal transformations. However, the genealogy of the indigo dye undertaken here evinces an ironical continuity, though its manifestations in the two temporal contexts have been markedly different from each other. The continuity in question is that of perpetuation of the politics of knowledge which ensures that the politics of epistemicide perpetuates even with changing times. To this effect, the case of the indigo dye is not unique because many other instances of the politics of epistemicide exist, such as the relegation of natural brown sugar by factory-produced white sugar, the displacement of jute (a natural fibre) by plastic (a synthetic product).

Bilgrami (2002) suggests that ‘principles of natural dyeing as part of biodiversity and of cultural diversity, of peoples’ lives and activities are pathways to that harmonious future’. That being the case, can India’s democratic ethos, its institutions and principles of governance be really exonerated from being complicit in abetting the continuation of the politics of epistemicide? Can a paradigm of development, which fails to give due recognition to epistemological practices that do not comply with its overarching vision be really defined to be democratic?

Conclusion

The case of the indigo dye as elucidated in the essay reveals a specific form of subjugation—the subjugation that is witnessed transpires not just at the level of the economic, the political and the social, but most importantly it occurs at the epistemological plane. Thus, even after defeating the oppressive colonial apparatus pertaining to the cultivation of the indigo dye, the once subjugated are left with its most significant ancillary—the unquestionable epistemological privilege imputed to modern science. ‘Colonialism, we know, subjects, undermines, subordinates, and then replaces what it eliminates with its own exemplar’ (Alvarez, 2010, p. 244).

The epistemological domination that was fostered by a symbiotic relationship between science and colonialism is thereafter passed on to the post-colonial state by becoming the unquestionable means of nation-building. Development became the new visage of that epistemological domination. It ‘was merely modern science’s latest associate in the exercise of its political hegemony’ (Alvarez, 2010, p. 244).

The indigo dye shares a historic relationship with India. It has proved to be one of the tethers for India’s struggle for political independence and socio-economic justice. The revolt against the colonial indigo planters in Bengal immediately after the First War of Independence in 1857 and, thereafter, Mohandas K. Gandhi’s satyagraha in Champaran, Bihar against the forceful cultivation of indigo have often been identified as key moments in India’s fight against the coercion of colonialism.

However, if one were to prod beneath such a discourse around the indigo dye, the investigator would stumble upon an ironical reality. The genealogy of the indigo dye does not after all symbolise a complete emancipation, but one of the several moments of consolidation and perpetuation of the most primeval instinct of colonial violence—that of civilising the savage.