[This is the English version of an original Bangla interview of the author which has been translated into English by the interviewer herself. The interview foregrounds many glaring issues that continue to haunt the minds of the marginal communities and their authors across the globe and attempts to give voice to the subaltern concerns over agency and participation, inclusion into the mainstream, individual as well as collective rights and socio- political and cultural recognition. The aim of the interview has been to bring to the limelight the uphill task an author undertakes when he chooses to write on Dalit/oppressed experience. It tries to break the long-established silence over issues of socio-cultural suppression stemming from the society’s neatly charted out mode of upholding the social hierarchy by bringing into play casteism, gender stereotyping, class consciousness, the economic and academic/intellectual divide etc. Though ideas of ‘purity’, ‘authenticity’ and ‘ownership’ have been long contested in the superiority/inferiority discourse on language and its use, we have not yet been able to recognize and accept wholeheartedly the “in-between” space in society. Postcolonial discourses have opened up new vista for exploration of the “postcolonial” space and experience of people, just as discourses on power- control-authority and gender inequality have lauded endeavours of “speaking up” or subaltern studies have attempted to free the intellectual space of Puritanism. But the interview makes us wonder to what extent these theoretical assumptions and discourses have actually been applied to improve or add meaning/value to the everyday struggle for existence of these marginal people — the fishermen, crab-catchers, honey-collectors or the boatmen of this vast delta region of the Sundarbans. To what extent are we, living our sheltered urban life in the midst of modern scientific amenities, are aware of the trials and tribulations of lives outside our known orbit. Have we really been able to ‘decolonise’ our minds? This interview makes us hear and see the intricacy, complexity, helplessness and simple beauty of a life lived close to nature ‘red in tooth and claw’.]
Baisali : It gives immense pleasure to me to be able to discuss with you some of your thoughts and perceptions, your views, opinions and aspirations on the Sundarbans, a place and a people indeed close to your heart, as your fiction amply testifies. Your birth, growing up, even a large part of your student life was spent at the tide country of the Sundarbans. Even in the later years when you were into service, you were intrinsically connected to the common everyday life of these areas. How far, would you say, has this ambience contributed to the development of the creative spirit in you?
Niranjan : I grew up in this land of rivers and forests. Since adolescence I have known this land with its rivers, creeks and inlets, embankments and mangrove forests like the palm of my own hand. Though my job took me to Kolkata I never failed to visit home once in a while, at least once or twice every month. I never lost the thread of warm intimacy that I shared with the fishermen, the honey-gatherers, the soothsayers or the crab-hunters of the area. This helpless, downtrodden, exploited population, the intricately woven network of rivers, canals, tributaries and the evergreen mangrove forests of geoa, garan and garjan trees stretched to the far end of the horizon, were an unfailing inspiration when I took up writing.
Baisali : Your fiction narrativizes the unequal struggle of a haplessly destitute people with adverse circumstances and a hostile nature of the Sundarbans. As a sensitive author and a native of the region what is the extent of your commitment to this community/communities? To what extent, do you think, the mainstream Bengali literature reflects this concern? Or to re- phrase my query, would you say that the struggles and sufferings of these marginalised communities of fisher men, honey gatherers or shrimp catchers have found an adequate representation in the arena of mainstream Bengali literature? 
Niranjan  : As a sensitive author I always considered it to be my sacred duty to foreground the sufferings of the poverty-stricken marginal men of the Sundarbans.
Mainstream Bengali literature has largely been sympathetic to the livelihood and culture of this peripheral population. May be a handful of authors failed to understand their struggle for existence or their suffering. But the majority of the mainstream authors, albeit a little late, nevertheless realised that fiction is not merely the story of the upper echelons of the society. In the feast of literature the narrative on the Dalit life can also be presented with propriety. Marathi, Tamil, Telugu, Kannad, Malayalam and Gujarati subaltern, or to be more precise, Dalit literature have attained new heights and opened up new vista of human sensibility. Marathi litterateur Arjun Dangle is in the forefront of this Dalit movement. In the field of Bengali literature Padmanadir Majhi (The Boatman of Padma), by Manik Bandyopadhyay, Ganga by Samaresh Basu, Titas Ekti Nadir Nam (A River Called Titas) by Adwaita Mallabarman have, through their extensive portrayal of the subaltern struggle for existence, have earned a niche for the marginal people in the mainstream literature. A new realisation has dawned which proclaims that the Dalit life story can no longer be overlooked or suppressed.
Baisali : As we all know the socio-economic infrastructure of the Sundarbans is heavily dependent on the unique natural environment of the region—its forests, water bodies, marshes and wetland. How, according to you, is the holistic development of such a region with a huge biodiversity and an equal propensity to natural calamity possible?
Niranjan: The roads and the transport network of the Sundarbans today have improved to a great extent in comparison with the ’60s and the ’70s. Many isolated islands can still be connected to the main land through bridges. The islands are now connected to the power grid. But frequent devastating cyclonic storms like Aila, Bulbul and very recently Amphan continue to ravage the river embankments and cause severe damage to the farmland. Poverty had driven a lot of people from these islands to migrate and seek jobs elsewhere. They had to retrace their steps now with so much of difficulty during the lockdown. A number of poor villagers lose their lives every year to tigers in the mangrove forests of the Sundarbans while fishing, catching crabs or collecting honey. Creating better opportunity in tourism and agriculture in the arable farmland area of the Sundarbans, connecting the local people to government and non-government enterprises and generating alternative job opportunities for the poor villagers can to some extent improve the socio-economic condition of the people of this region.
Baisali : You have minutely and meticulously depicted in your writings the details of the folk culture and tradition these places uphold — the folk deities and their worship rituals, age- old lore, oratory, mantras, traditional choric songs and folk performances. Could you please talk at length and elaborate on how you developed your initial interest in the subject that led to later study and research?
Niranjan : Being a native of the Sundarbans I grew up witnessing the local people worshipping at the sacred seats— at thaans and dargas— of the folk deities Banbibi, Dakshinrai, Alimadar, Barkhan Gaji, Shahjanguli and Manik Pir. The local people regularly pray and make offerings at these places of worship. I had heard that these gods and goddesses appear in the dreams of the soothsayers and the honey-collectors to instruct them. From the astrologers, soothsayers and witch doctors of the region I learnt about a plethora of charms and mantras to ward off the wild beasts of land and water. I even collected these mantras to the extent possible. In those days we used to follow with avid interest the ancient lore, choric and occasional songs, folk theatre and performances, recitation of long melodious narratives in praise of the deities. I particularly took interest in Bonbibir Johuranama by Munshi Mohammad Khater, Raimangal Kavya by Krishnaram, Gajikalu Champavati by Abdur Rahim, the folk-play on the life of Dukhe, bhasan of goddess Manasa, the palagan at gajon, balaki, balagan and the like. I even collected these books. I grew up watching the rituals that the wives of the fishermen and the honey-collectors performed before their husbands sailed off to the forests. It led to my writing of research-based articles on the subject. The fisher-people, honey-collectors, crab-hunters who people my fiction, their life and livelihood, rituals and customs, the magic charms all are real, quite from my own personal experiences and not necessarily the figments of my imagination. These are part and parcel of the life of the Sundarbans.
Baisali : In this context, I would like to ask you something from your personal experience. Do you think that the age-old folk tradition and culture of the Sundarbans run the risk of turning extinct or being forgotten with the advent of technology-dependent urban culture of today? If yes, then how much aware are the local people and, particularly, the present generation of young men and women of the region about this threat? How positive, do you feel, is the role of the local administration and the various social welfare groups and organisations to protect and preserve the endangered socio-cultural ambience of the Sundarbans?
Niranjan : Yes, the ancient culture and tradition of the fisher people and the soothsayers of the Sundarbans are endangered and almost on the verge of extinction. The present generation of the region, unfortunately, takes little interest in the subject. This might soon lead to a complete wiping out of the complex threads of tradition in the area and consequently its contribution to society. I do believe that the government and the non- government organisations, the social welfare groups can significantly contribute to this field and work in tandem for the preservation and uplift of the people and their tradition/culture in this region.
Baisali Hui : As a researcher in the field of linguistics and language studies I am personally much intrigued by the extensive diversity and unique singularities of the languages and their dialects used in this region. I would request you to kindly enlighten us on this subject.
Niranjan Mondal : Out of one hundred and two (102) islands of the Sundarbans fifty four (54) were made habitable during the colonial rule in the 18 th century by clearing the wilderness. Lower caste people, especially of the sub-castes of Paundra, Namashudra, Bagdi, Kaibarta from places like Khulna, Satkhhira (now in Bangladesh) flocked to the nineteen (19) blocks of this arable area, lured by the low cost of land here. Migrant labourers of the Santhal, Munda and Oraon tribes were brought from Ranchi and Chhotonagpur plateau to these islands for forest felling. And a number of homeless people from the flood-hit regions of Medinipur also took shelter here. Naturally, they spoke different languages and dialects which differed distinctly from the dialect(s) of Bangla spoken at the islands of Patharpratima, Kakdwip, Namkhana or Mathurapur. Therefore, the language of the Sundarbans is basically an amalgam of a wide variety of languages and dialects of different origin. Even the colloquial language differs from place to place. My fiction bears the influence of the Hingalganj-Gosaba dialect. But a very different register that the fishermen and the honey-collectors use when they enter the jungles has been called the ‘jongla bhasa’(the tongue of the wilderness) by the historian-researcher of the Sundarbans, Satish Chandra Mitra. Some such words that I have used in my writing are – aksar, al, aur, ari, ala, kwi, kulopak, homeshastra, achchamite etc. Searching for these words I came across an interesting word ‘daowa’ in the sense of ‘paddy harvesting’. I was astonished to trace that same word to an 11 th century treatise called Shunya Purana by Ramai Pandit. If a research were initiated on the etymology and usage of the local words of this region, I am certain that many more such gems would be unearthed. Depending on the local variations in speech, the articulatory features/tendencies of the local language may be subcategorized into four segments – addition of speech sounds, elision of speech sounds, assimilation/transformation of speech sounds and complete phonemic transmutation of words/phrases. Let me cite some examples— 'Stree' (wife) & 'Istiree', ' 'Bhadra mash' (a Bengali month) & 'Bhaddor mash', 'jonyo' (for) &' junonji', 'mejda '(middle brother) & 'maida', 'foto' (photo) & 'fotok,' 'gowal' (cattle-shed) & 'gol', 'lekha ' (writing) & 'nekha', 'loksan' (loss) & 'loskan', 'sape-kata' (snake-bitten) & 'katigha', 'mondol er barir meye' (a girl from the Mondal household) &  'mololer jhi', 'emonbhabe ' (like this) & 'emobaye', 'mochha' (wiping) &  'ponchha', 'kalker' (yesterday’s) & 'unonogor din', 'hingsute' (jealous) & 'tingre', 'dour' (run)& 'nor' etc. They convey the chief trends of language used in the Sundarban area.
Baisali: My sincere thanks to you for giving me so much of time to unravel the mystery of the Sundarbans to our readers. I would request you to say a few words by way of your concluding remarks on the Sundarbans – its thriving aquatic life and rich biodiversity, the extensive mangrove forests, but most importantly, on the people residing here. On what note would you like this discussion to come to an end, especially as a representative of this land of rivers and forests, of struggle and never-to-be-defeated hopes and aspirations of the human heart?
Niranjan : As a son of the soil and a representative of this land of rivers and wild forest, I would like to reiterate that the Sundarbans, the world’s largest mangrove forest, has also developed an extensive and complex ecological chain, particularly with its incredible variety of flora and fauna. It is our sacred responsibility to maintain this ecosystem and preserve the biodiversity of this region. As for the people and their struggle for existence, the government and the voluntary welfare organisations need to come up with more and better projects to provide alternative sources of income to these people in the agriculture and tourism sectors. This, in turn, would make them self-reliant and minimise their dependence on the forest with hidden dangers. I would like to conclude by expressing my sincere gratitude to you for giving me this opportunity to talk about my life and my passion – my novels and short stories dealing with the marginalised Dalit population of the Sundarbans.