Himanshu Khagta Alldrina Nonglamin’s mine is one of hundreds of brand new pits near Meghalaya’s border with Bangladesh.
NONGTALANG, India — “Bomb, bomb, bomb!”
shouted the miner, and his warning echoed off the walls of the
decapitated hillock. Seconds later, an explosion sliced off yet another
chunk of limestone, which crumbled into a pile somewhere near where the
center of the hill used to be.
The mine’s owner, Alldrina Nonglamin, 40,
barely noticed the explosion. On that morning in early January, she wore
her bed slippers and a sarong tied over her shoulder as she surveyed
the pile of rock that had once underlaid her orange and betel nut
garden, her former source of income.
Proudly showing off the mounds of ammonium
nitrate she uses as an explosive, she said, “I want to finish the hill
quickly so I can level the land and build a big house. It might take 20
years, but maybe less also.”
Ms. Nonglamin is one of the many new mine
owners in the Jaintia Hills of Meghalaya State who were surprised to
find out that the pile of rocks they were living on might as well be
made of cash. In the last few years, her village of Nongtalang, like so
many other communities across this hilly northeastern state, has become
home to an increasing number of family-owned limestone mines, whose
owners are seeking wealth unheard of in a region accustomed to
subsistence farming.
Hundreds of limestone mines now line the 60
kilometers, or 40 miles, of highway that lead through this region toward
the border with Bangladesh.
Ms. Nonglamin took loans of more than
$150,000 to purchase mining equipment after seeing the profits her
neighbors were unearthing. In just one year, she has paid back more than
half of the initial loan.
Himanshu Khagta Alldrina Nonglamin, 40, a mine owner in Nongtalang in the Jaintia Hills of Meghalaya.
“My earnings are now 100 times better, and
the loans are easily paid. My kids go to private school in the city. I’m
a businesswoman with more than 100 employees, when before I was a
farmer and sometimes a tailor,” she said.
With so many villagers rushing to mine the
hills, small-scale miners are now extracting more rock per year all
together than massive multinational corporations would in a smaller
network of bigger mines, environmental activists say, and with little to
none of the regulations those big companies are normally subjected to.
Just under 1,000 trucks of the low-grade rock
are exported from the small mines to Bangladesh daily, where the
world’s largest cement manufacturer, the French company Lafarge, buys
most of it, processes it and churns out the fine cement powder that is
ultimately transformed into the building blocks of that country’s
infrastructural development.
Very few in this village of 2,000 resist the
lure of mining in these hills, but those who do say runoff from the
mines often goes straight into rivers that provide drinking water.
Helpme Mohrmen, a local Unitarian minister who has organized poorly
attended local protests and traveled to Delhi to speak to distant
advocacy groups, refers to himself as “The Lone Ranger.”
Himanshu Khagta Helpme H. Mohrmen, who refers to himself as the “Lone Ranger” in the fight against mining in the Jaintia Hills in Meghalaya.
“Our people have always had a deep reverence
for nature,” Mr. Mohrmen said. “We give our rivers personalities. We
call the animals our brothers and sisters. Each plant carries some
meaning. I cannot understand why we have gone about killing our rivers
for this mining, but now no one will join me because they don’t want to
fight against their clan members.”
Tribal society in this part of Meghalaya is
structured around clans, which often form political blocs and share
economic interests. Those who open mines often employ fellow clan
members, or at least spread the wealth earned through mining in the form
of lavish gifts and parties. Clans also traditionally have viewed land
as communal among members.
“There is this idea that we, as tribals, have
inherited our land and have the right to do as we want with it,” Mr.
Mohrmen said. “But no one can own a river.”
Nongtalang is Mr. Mohrmen’s home village, but
he can count his allies there on one hand. One is Brightstar Pohsnem,
26, an elementary school teacher and the president of the one-year-old
Nongtalang People’s Unity Movement, which has about a dozen members.
They contend that the village can survive on farming alone and that the
mines are not sustainable.
“In this village, we get our water straight
from the river,” Mr. Pohsnem said. “As soon as the mining started, the
water became undrinkable. Now they say they have stopped mining near the
river, but they have buried the headwaters of the streams already.
Maybe with the money they make from mining, they can buy clean water,
but that is not a solution.”
Workers in the mine can earn as much as 3,000
rupees a day, or $50, all year round. That is on par with what they
could earn on a market day selling oranges or betel nuts if they are
lucky, but markets are held only once a week and only during the harvest
period.
Mr. Pohsnem said villagers constantly lobbied
him to recognize the value of mining. “People offer to buy me coffees,
clothes or to go on picnics with their mining money,” he said. “But I
know that is just how they became interested in mining, because of all
those things you can get with money. They are not thinking properly
about what they are doing.”
Yet the immediate benefits of the newfound
wealth abound. Dolly Khonglah, a mine owner who also heads the Meghalaya
International Exporters Chamber of Commerce, was able to fly her son to
an upscale, private hospital owned by the Apollo Hospitals group in New
Delhi, where he underwent a liver transplant.
“We have been interior-type people, so we are happy to see changes,” she said during an interview at the hospital.
“The limestone is a blessing of the land. Ten
years ago, we couldn’t even go to Shillong,” she said, referring to
Meghalaya’s capital. “Now we can come to Apollo.”
As the new prosperity brings advantages like
access to better health care and a higher standard of living, even Mr.
Pohsnem’s closest kin have questioned his stance. “My best friends from
school and my neighbors have stopped talking to me,” he said. “They
don’t understand why I am against mining.”
Looking at the floor in his small home, Mr.
Pohsnem said that his feelings about mining boiled down to a fundamental
difference in how he saw the future of his village. He does not imagine
that the wealth, or the rock itself, is sustainable.
“We used to have deer and bears around here,
but even the squirrels ran away after the mining. If they cannot drink
the water, then how can we?” he asked. “It’s no use fighting — better
that we buy a place elsewhere where there’s no mining.”
He laughed, mostly to himself. “The sad thing is that the mine owners are the only ones who have the money to do that.”
Both Ms. Khonglah and Ms. Nonglamin dream of
passing on their mines to their children, but when Ms. Nonglamin was
reminded that she had earlier said there might be only 20 more years of
rock left, she said, “I cannot imagine that day. I haven’t thought about
it.”
Ms. Khonglah admitted, “It is true. The rock may not last.”
Max Bearak is a freelance journalist based in New Delhi. Follow him on Twitter @maxbearak.
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