Orwell’s Animal Farm revisited

Wearing Orwellian glasses to view the world, I see a sprawling forest where hundreds of animals from far and wide live side by side, denied the right to chase and kill. Representation Pic/istock

I often re-read classics and reimagine them in the context of the 21st century. The texts invariably undergo a dramatic change. I decide to undertake the same exercise with George Orwell's Animal Farm, in which, if you remember, the animals rebel against their master, for he was exploiting their labour to produce, and sell, surplus food. The master was chased out of the farm, but, ultimately, a ruling class among animals emerged and betrayed the revolution.

In this era of brutal Capitalism and AI threatening labour redundancy, I wear Orwellian glasses to view the world. I see a sprawling artificial forest, where its owner has brought hundreds of animals from far and wide. They don't hunt or forage for food, for their meals are prepared and served at the temperature they prefer. They fear not the poacher's bullet. They worry not about their illnesses or wounds, for the forest's state-of-the art hospital is there to treat them. There couldn't be a better simulacrum of human-animal intimacy.

Yet the animals become alienated because the luxurious lifestyle they are condemned to live has rendered hollow that slogan, "From each according to his ability, to each according to his need." That's because the ability of each has been reduced to standing on four legs and making itself visible to visitors. No longer the thrill of the chase to kill.

Their alienation turns into discontent because of the raven, a descendant of the one who had lived through the rebellion on Animal Farm eight decades ago. He flies in and out of the artificial forest, bringing news to the animals about the outside world, with the journalist's severe neutrality. One day, the raven disabuses them of the notion that their owner has gathered them to nurse the ill and the injured, or save them from extinction. "You are here because of the owner's whims," the raven caws. On another occasion, the raven informs, "Wildlife activists claim some of you were brought here by violating rules."

At the raven's disclosure, the forest echoes with the chant that the sheep would bleat, 80 years ago, on Animal Farm, "Four legs good, two legs bad, four legs good, two legs bad."

Oldie, the elephant, the forest's first inmate, decides to smother the simmering rebellion. He narrates how he was brought there with a uro-genital tumour, which would have urine flowing back into his body. "My kidney was failing. The forest's hospital spent lakhs of rupees to remove the tumour," Oldie says, going on to vividly describe the swanky ICUs at the hospital. He, then, trumpets, "This is Development, for which the price to pay is your freedom. Let's meet to fathom our discontent."

At the meeting, the orangutan initiates the discussion with a question: "Why does the owner love me?" The crocodile coughs, "Why doesn't he hate me?" A two-headed snake hisses, "Why am I loved, not feared?" The American flamingo preens, "Am I loved just for my beauty?"

The raven, sitting on a tree, proffers, "A wise man once said people love animals because they don't talk back." Quick to get the point, the African chimp hoots, "We don't hold protest marches, crib or criticise."

Disinterested in the meeting, the Spix's macaw begins to sing, "I want to return to Brazil, I'm endangered…" On the macaw's seventh refrain, the raven shrieks, "Stop it. India let you in without labelling you Bangladeshi."

It's just the opening Oldie was looking for. "Humans sweat for two square meals. And here, we…" But he's interrupted by the African cheetah, who growls, "I am so bored eating buff meat, day after day." The tiger says it's irritating to be always on display, to never deny visitors the sight of his majesty. "I broke down on seeing my cub bottle-fed," the hybrid lioness laments.

A friend of Oldie reminisces about how his herd would raid sugarcane fields during their hundreds of kilometres of trek through the real forest. Oldie stops his friend short, "They give you ladoos here, don't they? Besides, freedom for health, that's not a bad bargain." Glancing at the raven, Oldie asks, "Is medical care free for humans?"

Averse to concealing facts for ideological reasons, the raven says, "The forest-owner's hospital for humans charges R2000 on the first visit." As they lapse into silence, the raven supplies an unsolicited fact: "Businesses sack staff in order to make their ventures more profitable."

Oldie trumpets, "Don't worry, you will never be expelled from here."

The orangutan screeches and screeches until he has everyone's attention: "Can't we align with the suffering human souls to fight for our liberation?" For an answer, they gaze at the raven, who says, "Humans are too obsessed with caste and religion to think of their own liberation, let alone yours."

"False consciousness," Oldie says with a wink, promptly coining a new slogan: "Four legs healthy, two legs slaves." As the morning glow lights up the sky, the animals adopt a resolution - "All humans are equal, but most are less equal than animals in captivity." Thus, the tumult in the artificial forest subsides, with the animals, in the manner of humans, reconciling to their fate.

The writer is a senior journalist and author of Bhima Koregaon: Challenging Caste
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