put to the civilian use for which it had been invented. Field studies showed that it swiftly destroyed an
extensive range of plant-eating insects, and thus immediately increased agricultural yield. Experiments carried out in New
York and Wisconsin revealed that the yield from potato fields treated with DDT shot up by 60 percent. The euphoria that greeted
these gratifying results subsided when scientists discovered that DDT also contaminated the earth, mammals, birds, fish and
even people. It was soon declared illegal in most Western countries. In Europe and the United States, legislation was introduced
to oblige pesticide manufacturers to respect the increasingly draconian protection and safety standards. Under pressure from
an impatient agricultural industry, they geared their research to finding products that would reconcile the destruction of
insects with a level of toxicity tolerable to humanity and its environment. An extraordinary adventure was about to begin.
3
A Neighborhood Called Orya Bustee
A fter the fifty-nine hours in the colorful congestion of an Indian train, the exiles from Mudilapa at last reached their journey’s
end: Bhopal. In the months that followed India’s independence, this prestigious city had been made the capital of Madhya Pradesh,
a state a little larger than California and situated at the geographical heart of the country. Padmini Nadar and her family
had marveled continuously on the beauty of the countryside they traversed, especially as they drew nearer to the city. Wasn’t
it in these deep, mysterious forests that the god Rama and the Pandava brothers of Hindu mythology had taken refuge, and that
Rudyard Kipling had set
The Jungle Book
? And wasn’t it true that tigers and elephants still roamed the jungle? A few miles before their destination the railway had
run past the famous caves of Bhimbekta, the walls of which were decorated with prehistoric aboriginal rock paintings.
The station where the immigrants from Orissa got off was one of those caravanserais swirling with noise, activity and smells,
typical of India’s large railway terminals. It had been built the century before. Not even the most colorful festival in Adivasi
folklore could have given Padmini or her family an inkling of the celebrations staged in that station on November 18, 1884,
its inauguration day. A British colonial administrator had proposed linking the ancient princely city to British India’s rail
network after a terrible drought had caused tens of thousands of local people to die of starvation, deprived of aid for want
of communication lines. History has largely overlooked the name of the flamboyant Henry Daly who was responsible for giving
Bhopal the most valuable asset an Indian town could then receive from its colonizers. A retinue of britannic excellencies
in braided uniforms studded with medals and all the local dignitaries in ceremonial costumes had come running at the invitation
of the begum, a slight woman hidden beneath the folds of a
burkah
, * who ruled over the sultanate of Bhopal. The festivities went on for three days and three nights. Along railway tracks decked
out with triumphal arches in the red, white and blue of the British empire, crowds of local people had gathered to greet the
arrival of the first seven carriages decorated with marigolds. On the platform stood a double file of mounted lancers, companies
of turbaned sepoys and the musicians of the royal brass band. Alas, there was no radio or television in those days to immortalize
the speeches exchanged by the representative of Victoria, “Empress of her subjects over the seas,” and the sovereign who presided
over this small corner of British India. “I offer up a thousand thanks to the all-powerful God who has granted that Bhopal
enjoy the signal protection of Her Imperial Majesty so that the brilliance of Western science may shine forth upon our land
…” the Begum Shah