After months of persuading the Indian government, MS Swaminathan succeeded in bringing Norman Borlaug, the American agronomist behind the high-yield, short-stem wheat ideal for Indian fields, on a 25-day visit to assess how his “miracle seeds” could boost the country’s agriculture in March, 1963. Seeds were sown at IARI (Indian Agricultural Research Institute)-controlled plots at Indore, New Delhi, Ludhiana, Pant Nagar (now Uttarakhand), and Pusa in Bihar. Improvised fertilisers and irrigation flourished the crop growth further, and yielded around three times of the usual produce.
Convincing Indian farmers to use the hybrid seeds was a hassle. Despite failing all attempts to convince the Indian farmers on taking up the hybrid seeds, MS Swaminathan was still undeterred and determined. “He knew he had to keep on trying so he took to visiting the farmers even on Sundays and public holidays. He would often be accompanied by his wife and three young daughters, who were fascinated by the Persian Wheel and village life. Over the last month, these excursions had turned into weekly Sunday picnics for the family,” Priyambada Jayakumar, his niece, writes in her book, MS Swaminathan: The Man Who Fed India (HarperCollins).
Finally — in November 1964 — Swaminathan’s efforts bore fruit when, on a fine Sunday, a farmer near Delhi’s Jaunti village agreed to use the hybrid seed, impressed by the scientist’s consistent dedication. In 1968, two years after the launch of the 1966 high-yielding varieties programme, India saw wheat output surge from 12 to 17 million tonnes — a leap that Swaminathan referred to as “revolutionary, not evolutionary.” The revolution was later named ‘The Green Revolution’, which also goes with ‘The Wheat Revolution’.
A scientist, and more
According to Jayakumar, almost every piece of writing on Swaminathan has focused on his role in India’s Green Revolution that rescued India from the brink of famine in the 1960s. But there are barely any books that look into the scientist’s life closely, from personal perspectives.
“My book is the only one that looks at him from a human lens,” the author adds. “MS Swaminathan was my paternal uncle. I grew up meeting him and seeing a completely different side of him — not as the renowned agricultural scientist or a colossus of Indian science who, in my view, changed the country’s destiny. He was just a family member to me.”
Additionally, while noting Swaminathan’s achievements, Jayakumar says that besides being a scientist, he was also a diplomat, a feminist, and an ecological crusader.
Swaminathan helped a number of countries — from Cambodia to sub-Saharan Africa — revive their agricultural fortunes. He served as the first Asian Director-General of the International Rice Research Institute (IRRI) in the Philippines, worked with the UN and global conservation bodies like the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), and even held roles in international think tanks such as the Pugwash Conferences on Science and World Affairs.
Personal details
Jayakumar’s book took two years to complete — one for research and another for writing. Her primary sources included personal conversations with Swaminathan, archival material from the National Centre for Biological Sciences in Bengaluru, and interviews with people he was associated with — farmers, journalists, colleagues, among others.
The making of Swaminathan
While speaking with TMS, the author said that during her research, she stumbled upon various little-known and fascinating stories from Swaminathan’s life.
As a child, Swaminathan had met Gandhi when the Mahatma stayed at their home in Kumbakonam, Tamil Nadu. Swaminathan’s father, the author adds, was a doctor who treated both Brahmins and Dalits, and had faced social backlash for his egalitarian ways.
“His [Swaminathan’s] Gandhian values were shaped early,” she adds. “He learned about service, humility, and the idea of trusteeship; that you only keep what you need and give away the rest.”
After finishing high school, Swaminathan’s mother told him that the family had a flourishing hospital that needed to be looked after, so he chose to study medicine. But the Bengal famine of 1942–43 brought about a profound change of heart in the young man.
Jayakumar notes her conversation with Swaminathan: “He told me that when he saw pictures of people dying of hunger, he couldn’t bear it. Gandhi’s words — ‘For the poor, God is bread’ — haunted him. He said that he vowed in his head that he would definitely do something about it.”
Swaminathan, she recalls, also encouraged her to take an interest in politics. “He said that he couldn’t understand why men and women didn’t see politics as a viable career, given the potential to do good, and he was always very supportive of me.”
Jayakumar hopes that her book will inspire young Indians to learn about Swaminathan’s life. “His [Swaminathan’s] story is one of hope, of never giving up, of believing that science and compassion can go hand in hand,” she says.
