With apologies to Graham Greene, our farm story has no beginning or end: When I tell you of our adventures, I arbitrarily choose that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead. This story is about the government survey of our land.
When the broker first showed us the land, he walked around waving his arms and pointing into the distance, saying the farm we were planning to buy stretched from far yonder to that point in the far distance. As I have mentioned in my previous posts, the farm at that time was a messy tract of dry shrubs, huge rocks and scraggly bushes that hid a handful of massive trees. “From that tree to this bush” made absolutely no sense, and we had no way to ascertain our boundaries. But, as you also know, we bought it anyway and have just celebrated our first farm anniversary.
We did, of course, get a private surveyor to mark out our boundaries but stopped short of fencing the land as various neighbours contested the verdict of the private Surveyor and insisted they would only accept the boundaries set by a Government Surveyor.
In simple terms, let me try and explain why a land survey is so vital. Remember that you are not buying an apartment with a parking space in a building. These are easily identifiable, and the position, area, and dimensions of the apartment and garage are easy to see. We are talking of God’s good earth here. Imagine for a moment an 8-seater round dining table. Now imagine that you have bought a part of the dining table the size of a table mat. The table mat is described in your sale deed. However, where exactly on the dining table is the table mat placed? And what if the mat is not a rectangle but an odd amoeba shape? You need a survey to tell you not just where your land is but the exact shape and define the boundaries you share with your neighbours.
A side note here, it’s not mandatory to get a government survey, and most people do not bother with it and prefer to come to some sort of ‘understanding’ with their neighbours on fencing and boundaries. Since we had no such ‘understanding’ and no intention of living with a vague idea of the actual land we had bought, we started applying for a government survey. Easier said than done, I assure you! Application forms on A4 paper, notarized affidavits, identity proof, address proof, property documents, NOC (no objection certificate) from the village head (?), title document, 7/12 (yes, there it is again!!), etc. After this was collected, we had to pin down the head survey officer, who was never in his office and gave us the run around for several months. By the time we caught up with him, the rains had started, and we were told to begin the process post-monsoon.
In despair, we decided to start planting in areas not under dispute. And plant we did! We planted trees, we sowed black rice (albeit a tiny amount in a small space), and we grew vegetables. But we were still unsure how far our land extended. The neighbours left us in peace, and we watched (in envy, I must admit) as they sowed and harvested an abundance of paddy in areas we thought were actually ours.
In late September (post-monsoon), we restarted our attempt to apply for a government survey and were again faced with an elusive officer and an endless demand for documents. When we finally did manage to put in our application, we were told there were over thirty surveys queued up before us. So we waited, and waited, and waited some more. S, our farm consultant who was liaising with the survey officer, suggested we meet the officer in charge of surveys to expedite the process. So we did. And then waited some more. Finally, the stars aligned, and I received a call saying our survey date was set for the 18th of February 2022. That’s eleven months from the day we registered our farm sale deed! Notices were sent to all the adjoining landowners that there would be a survey and that they should remain present.
We left for the farm bright and early on the appointed day, accompanied by our favourite Sardarni, who hadn’t yet visited the farm. The government surveyor arrived right on time, carrying a tripod, a laser distance meter, a plane table set, an 18-inch ruler [scale], several large sheets of paper, an extensive plan showing the various survey numbers or “Gats” located around our “Gat”, a box full of pins, two rigid plastic rectangles covered with a red reflective surface and a sack of white powdered chalk. All rather mysterious and seemingly rudimentary.
The Surveyor was a brisk young man who immediately got to work. He assigned jobs to various hangers-about, lifted his tripod and marched off. The process was fascinating and thoroughly incomprehensible.
The first job was to place chalk mounds on the “corners” in the plot. These corners corresponded to what looked like corners on the plan of our land. He then set up his easel on a tripod in the centre of the land and pinned a blank sheet of paper on the easel on which he placed a pin indicating where he was located. Two helpers were commandeered – the Imp and a sidekick. They were told to get two long poles, on the top of which were tied the two reflective plastic panels. Systematically, though completely inscrutably, these two were dispatched to different parts of the land from where they held up the poles. The Surveyor would then peer thru his laser distance finder, and when correctly aimed, he could see the laser reflecting from the plastic reflecting panels. Then, he would use his scale and start connecting the dots. This went on for several hours in the hot sun, accompanied by several villagers, hangers-on, and droppers-in.
The motley group peered into our vegetable patch and seemed amazed that we were attempting to grow vegetables on this land. They examined our drip system. A few popped into our toolshed, stood under the fan, and took a short break from the blazing sun. Another man looked at every tree we had planted, followed closely by a small black goat who behaved more like a dog than a goat!
At some stage, an elderly man worked himself up into a lather and shouted that his grandfather had owned all this land and had mistakenly sold it over 20 years ago. He claimed loudly to all in earshot that he should be compensated for the wrong in the past. After he shouted for about half an hour, he lost steam and rejoined the group trailing in the wake of the Surveyor.
A few hours into the survey, we had yet another unpleasant encounter with the Farm Fiend! He marched in and tried to insinuate that the survey officer was drawing boundaries favouring us because we had bribed him. But, before he could rile up the villagers and get any momentum going, the Surveyor calmly explained to all present that we had paid the official fees to the Survey Office and that he hadn’t received a penny from us. He went on to say it was his policy not to accept anything, not even a cup of tea from the people whose land he was surveying. After completing his survey, if anyone had any objections, they could register a complaint in the Survey Office within 15 days. Another officer would be sent to make sure there were no errors. Having said that, he calmly lifted his tripod and marched off to another point on the farm. Serious hat tip to him for his calmness, sincerity and work ethic. Farm Fiend hung around for another half hour, making an absolute nuisance of himself and stomped off when he realised no one was giving him the time of day. It was too hot for Farm Fiend’s machinations, and the motley crew found it far more pleasant to crawl into the shade provided by the trunk of our car rather than listen to the Fiend’s conspiracy theories.
A part of the farm had what seemed to be a natural boundary made of tall cactus. We had always assumed that this was, in fact, our boundary. To our surprise, this was not a boundary. Our land extended far beyond, and joy, we even had large areas for potential paddy.
Once all the plotting was done, we peered down at the easel and saw a plan remarkably similar to the plan (shape) given to us by the broker. Now, the sack of chalk became vital. The Surveyor walked along the periphery instructing the helpers to place chalk mounds on the land. These chalk markings were the boundaries. Poles were quickly put on each marking, and fencing could come up.
We had our boundaries defined and finally knew what we had bought eleven long months ago.
The Surveyor wrote a note saying a survey had been conducted, that it was attended by all the neighbours, and there were no objections. He got this signed by five witnesses, and as efficiently as he had arrived, he packed up his tripod and zoomed off into the horizon. Not a single penny changed hands. And true to his word, he did not accept any tea or refreshments.
Now that the drama for the day was over, the neighbours, hangers-on and passers-by crowded into the cool shade of our toolshed and helped themselves to a mound of vada pav cleverly organised by M&S
Favourite Sardarni spent her day clicking some pictures of the proceedings, chatting with the Imp’s wife and was taken on a tour of the neighbouring properties.
I have to admit I still have no idea how this survey was done. I saw it happening; I participated and even signed the note. But I am not any the wiser. For one, everything was done manually. We are just 130 km from Mumbai, but no GPS equipment was used; forget about drones! I shudder to think what would happen when this Surveyor and others like him retire. How will their skill and knowledge be passed on?
But in the end, we have our boundaries defined and know precisely from which tree to which bush our land extends. Now, onto fencing!
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