Born in 1941 in undivided India, 75-year-old Mohammed Mansur Ali Mian recounts the number of times he has had a taste of freedom: in 1947, when India gained independence from the British; and in 1971, when Bangladesh emerged as a new nation. At Poatur Kuthir village in north Bengal’s Cooch Behar district, Mian raises a third finger to count what he considers another decisive day of freedom: 6 June 2015, the day Prime Ministers Narendra Modi and Sheikh Hasina of India and Bangladesh, respectively, signed a historic Land Boundary Agreement (LBA) in Dhaka, settling a six-decade-old land dispute between the two countries.

Poatur Kuthir is one such Bangladeshi village in India’s Cooch Behar district, which has the largest concentration of such enclaves. All these years, Poatur Kuthir, like other enclaves, has survived without healthcare facilities, roads, schools, colleges and electricity; officially, most enclave residents have Bangladeshi land deeds, which also work as identity documents, but these don’t allow them to enter India or use its facilities. These are people who fell between the cracks of history and were left to fend for themselves.

The complexity of their situation—compounded by their non-status as stateless people uncared for by either government—has meant that most villagers in these enclaves have been living in fear, forced sometimes to don false identities or lie blatantly.

Hossain’s father, 105-year-old Mohammed Azgar Ali, reportedly the oldest surviving enclave dweller in Cooch Behar, has lived through a personal history of fluid nationality and identity—he was born in East Bengal in undivided India, shifting then to the Cooch Behar enclave, where he has lived since. Born an Indian, Ali, by a twist of history and geopolitics, became an East Pakistan citizen post-1947, before 1971 imposed Bangladeshi citizenship status on him.

Ali is now largely disconnected from the shifting historical realities, but he was among those who celebrated the announcement on 6 June by raising the tricolour and distributing sweets.

“Over the decades, I had only vaguely heard of (Jawaharlal) Nehru, (Mahatma) Gandhi, (Muhammad Ali) Jinnah and Mujibur Rahman. Our only concern was that we could not step out of our enclave without being persecuted in India," says the centurion, his feeble voice suddenly warming up at the likelihood of change. “I hope that for the remaining years I have, I’ll be able to live a free man."

Independent documentary film-maker Debanjan Sengupta has been following the story of the Bangladeshi enclave dwellers since 2008. He will wrap up the shoot of his documentary film, Border Within Border, after the exchange. Sengupta thinks the aggression from surrounding Indian villages is an outcome of social power structures, not communal politics. “Like most Bangladeshi enclaves, even the surrounding Indian villagers are Muslim-dominated. The Indian villagers are poor but maybe as Indians they derive sadistic pleasure from the plight of people who are even more powerless than them."

On the dark, rainy night of 6 June—even while Moshaldanga celebrated—miscreants torched an enclave-dweller’s home, “for no apparent reason other than blatant jealousy at our victory", says Abedin. Across the impassable swampy field, Abedin points out three lathi-wielding Indian policemen investigating the incident at the ravaged house—the first time, villagers say, that an incident of arson is being investigated according to Indian law. In 2000, another such night of violence reportedly saw nearly 50 homes of enclave dwellers being set on fire after Indians from surrounding villages objected to a Muslim boy and a Hindu girl conducting their courtship within the enclave—their romance taking advantage of the freedom these zones offered.

The LBA provides enclave dwellers the right to choose their nationality—Bangladeshi enclave dwellers in India can opt to relocate to the neighbouring country, while Indian enclave dwellers in Bangladesh can opt to stay back or move to India through a government-sanctioned rehabilitation process. While there are no reported instances of any enclave dweller in Cooch Behar wanting to relocate to Bangladesh, 1,000-2,000 Indian enclave dwellers in Bangladesh are reportedly eager to relocate to India.

“On both sides, it is felt that India has better economic prospects. Religious concerns are thus not as important a factor. It is also true that even though they feel exploited, the Bangladeshi enclave dwellers have grown a sense of nationality towards India," says Mukul Chakraborty, who is currently doing a doctorate from the University of Burdwan on the social exclusion of India-Bangladeshi enclaves.

Instances of Bangladeshi enclave dwellers being arrested for entering Indian territory abound. Villagers cite one instance where some of them were arrested and shuttled between Indian and Bangladeshi jails, with both countries refusing to take responsibility. Villagers also talk of people dying without access to critical medical care in the enclaves.

Sen Gupta galvanized the villagers to march in protest. “From 20 people in the initial days, thousands of enclave dwellers now turn up for protest marches. The movement has remained above partisanship and has only highlighted the pitiful human condition of these people," says Sen Gupta.

In Cooch Behar, two strategic moves were key to the roll-out of Sen Gupta’s plans to bring the humanitarian crisis into greater public focus. In 2010, he was able to help enclave dweller Asma Bibi get to a state-run government hospital in Cooch Behar to deliver her child. Usually, pregnant women, fearing arrest, would be forced to deliver at home with the help of midwives or risk fake identities to get to hospitals. Bibi’s was reportedly the first case where the woman’s identity was disclosed. It led to a widespread public debate on nationality, birthright and inheritance against the backdrop of a long-standing humanitarian crisis.

In 2011, during the West Bengal assembly elections, Sen Gupta and his organization propped up a candidate from the Poatur Kuthir enclave. Moyamona Khatun was again an example of ambivalent national identities— an Indian citizen from a neighbouring village who forfeited her rights after marrying an enclave resident. While she enjoyed the benefits of schooling and was addicted to Bengali soaps on television at her parents’ home, at Poatur Kuthir, Khatun suddenly entered a dark world without any of these privileges.

Like her, Asma Bibi’s bright-eyed, five-year-old son Jehad has been hailed as the face of resistance—and hope—since the 6 June accord. “Encouraged by Sen Gupta and his organization, I opted to deliver with my own identity at an Indian hospital. I couldn’t bear to take on a false identity or have an Indian national identifying himself falsely as my husband," says Bibi, as Jehad, in a red T-shirt, watches curiously. He was named by Sen Gupta’s organization, the name representing their struggle. “The police threatened me with two months’ jail. But I had the backing of thousands and was determined to have a better, more secure future," says Bibi.

In the case of Samsul Haque Mian, a rural medical practitioner (RMP) and a resident of Poatur Kuthir, the borders have collapsed occasionally in the face of medical emergencies. When he started out as an RMP, he faced opposition from RMPs in Indian villages. But once he built up a reputation, he was welcomed into the homes of Indian patients. “It is only when tragedy strikes that people bond together," he says, as we walk down a small path leading to the enclave. The path to Poatur Kuthir was constructed by an Indian businessman who wanted access to a waterbody where he cultivates fish; he is gracious enough to let everybody use it.

In their hard-fought struggle, Mian, the septuagenarian, contemplates the ensuing change against the backdrop of an unforgettable personal tragedy: On the night of 14 April 1966, dacoits raided his home and shot his father. Since he was bleeding profusely, there was no option but to take him to a Cooch Behar government hospital where, once his identity was disclosed, he was arrested and kept for 18 days. “I have lived in India and breathed its air. Now, I’ll be happy to die in India as an Indian and also forget what we’ve been through," says Mian. “That will be the true measure of freedom."

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