EXPERIENCE
In naxal heartland
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SHUBHRANSHU CHOUDHARY goes deep into naxal territory. His story.
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SHUBHRANSHU CHOUDHARY
Jungle domain -- crossing difficult terrain.
FOR the years that I was in Raipur, Hari would turn up every day at 8 a.m. sharp on his battered bicycle to read Mao to me. Although I insisted I could hear him best with my eyes half shut, I think he knew that I was asleep most of the time. It must have been obvious that I was not really persuaded. He tried anyway, until I finally left Raipur.
We lost touch for 15 years. Some days ago, Hari called all of a sudden, and it wasn't surprising to know that he was naxalite now. I readily accepted his invitation to visit "his area".
I was sceptical though of the outcome. I have tried to cover this story many times. Mystery surrounds these areas which are unreachable by modern means of transport. Reports of peoples' support for what is a violent movement have not been easy to accept.
It is difficult to go "inside". There is no direct two-way communication. The first hint of success is hearing a voice on the telephone. This is a person far removed from the leadership. He does not even know the final destination. He just has a message, asking me to report to a location in Delhi where I would be contacted further. I meet a person and he promises to give me a date and a location for the State contact. Our team plans to reach a major city where we hope to meet an "outside" contact, who is in periodic contact with the main group. He will connect us to the final and real contact who will walk with us.
Something usually goes wrong somewhere. Once I spent a week in a small hotel in Vijayawada, along with a television crew hoping that someone would turn up. No one did. Later we found out that police activity had heightened without warning and so our man could not make it. Another time we could link up, but it was the rainy season and consequent flooding. We waited for three days and then decided to return.
The meeting
The meeting was finally fixed for between 1 p.m. and 1.15 p.m. at a chai shop, in Bilaspur in Chhattisgarh from where we would be "passed on to" the next contact and then our ultimate destination. I was there as promised. But there was no Hari. The next time slot was between 2 p.m. and 2.15 p.m. As an outsider I was too conspicuous. I decided to go for a haircut at the roadside saloon from where I could also keep an eye on the shop. An hour later, and after a brutally short crop, there was still no one. I went back to my very special hair care place, this time for a beard trimming session. Thankfully Hari turned up at 3 p.m. I was running short of excuses and hair.
"We cannot stay here for long," he said. Although he was late today, Hari was otherwise the same. He asked me what I thought of his movement now. "I doubt your future," I told him. He smiled. "Go `inside' and see for yourself." Then he gave me the details, to reach a specific place after dark the next day, from where his colleagues would take us "inside" to meet the leaders of his movement.
"Dadas have just left after waiting for two days for you," we were told when we reached meeting point number two at night. We were advised to rest there the night and try the third possible meeting point the next day. The least suspicious time for movement of unknown vehicles is early morning, so we started at 3 a.m. Driving through jungle roads for three hours, we reached a village to find the remnants of a fire started by the dadas.
Were we going to make it this time? The villagers could sense our desperation and were very helpful.
In a couple of hours they returned with Kranti, one of the dadas, carrying a country made pistol and wearing a lungi. He would guide us to our original contact.
"This is not my original name," Kranti told us. "This is a name given by the party".
The first dalam
In memory of the martyrs of the Bhumkal revolution of 1910.
Our vehicle was sent back. We started our journey on foot. We passed villages with no signs of electricity or motorable roads, led by a man with a gun and an Epson colour printer.
En route we talked to a few villagers. The crop was alright this year. Were the dadas better than the Government? One old man was clearly for the government because "they can do something for us, but we don't see any government here. So I suppose dadas are better", he said, working with his whole family outside his tribal house.
After walking for half a day, we met up with our first "Naxalite dalam", led by "commander" Kalpana, a tribal girl. They had camped outside the village. Half burnt logs were still scattered around as it was very cold last night. There was the trademark plastic sheeting on the floor. We were greeted with tea and saw a boy comrade assisting girl comrades in preparing lunch. In the make shift kitchen, it was a meal ofrice and sabzi; sabzi without oil I was told. Utensils were lent by the villagers. Everyone was in a military-style uniform, guns rested against the trees.
Did too much chilli indicate close links with the movement with Andhra Pradesh? "All the comrades in my dalam are local tribals," said Kalpana. I was impressed to see that the drinking water was boiled. "We only drink boiled water. We decided this in 1992 after many comrades fell ill," she said.
After lunch, Lakshman joined Kranti to lead us further. Kranti was in a proper military outfit with a .303 gun. We passed through many villages. No one was bothered about the guns, not even the children.
We met many groups walking like us to the rally. No one knew where the rally actually was. Groups landed at one village, found a local contact who told them to go to another village where the next destination was revealed. Sometimes there are other groups waiting and they joined up.
In the evening we reached a village where we would be staying on a farm just outside a village. This village didn't have basic amenities and the nearest road was five hours away. Now we were safe, we were told. We could understand. The police needs the roads.
As dinner was cooking, Kranti and Lakshman told us why they had joined the party. They saw it as the only solution for their problems. "We want our rights and equality," they said. Villagers helping them cook the dinner told us they needed a school and a pond. This village had also contributed a didi to the party and they were proud of it.
At the camp
A dip in the cold river next morning shocked us awake. We started walking again, stopping only to eat. We would be meeting the commander today. But the walk just never ended. We crossed a river and it was almost dark. We were there at last. Someone would take permission and we were soon greeted by all the comrades standing in a row. This was a bigger team of around 35 boys and girls in military fatigues. Their guns were more sophisticated.
"Commander" Kosa is the secretary for the State. Middle aged and from Andhra Pradesh, he has been working for the party for the last 25 years. He hoped to surround Delhi one day with his Red Army, he told me in his gentle voice. Kosa was in his trademark military cap and Bata shoes, surrounded by gunmen. "We started in 1980 and have reached up to the formation of a people's guerrilla army. We hope to turn it into a regular army soon. We knew that the talks with the Andhra Pradesh Government would be a failure but we gave it a try. There is no other way but of Mao, which can help the poor of the world." He told me that they have no free zones as in Nepal.
There were solar lamps in the camp. Young cadres, some as young as 16, were struggling with bamboo pens to write posters for tomorrow's rally.
"Many boys and girls want to join us but we don't take them before they are 16," "comrade" Satish told us. He is an engineering graduate and in charge of technical matters. One of his colleagues was recovering from malaria under the care of "comrade" Anita who is from the health wing. "We have a group of doctors who train us," she told me. Anita is from Gadchiroli in Maharashtra.
"Commander" Kosa was not against roads but would not allow them to be laid as they would be used by the police to finish off the struggle. "You have so many roads in your Delhi then why do you have so many poor there? Do roads help the poor?" he asked me. "We will also make roads but after we win the war."
Dinner was ready and we had a choice between roti, rice and chicken. Over dinner we discussed the attack on former Andhra Pradesh Chief Minister Chandrababu Naidu. "We regret the mistake of not firing after blowing up the vehicle. We misjudged the explosive quantity. RDX would have helped," we were told by one of the cadres who spoke impeccable English.
It was pitch dark. We heard the sound of drums and people singing. "Comrades" claimed that 10,000 people were walking in the hills to join the rally. I was sceptical. We were given magazines printed six months ago with details of the rally. How could mobilisation of this scale escape notice? "There were efforts to leak information out. We found 11 informers a few days ago and 3,000 villagers passed judgment. It was two ko nikal diya," Kosa told me in his simple manner. It's clear. They killed two and pardoned the rest.
"Why don't you contest the elections?"
"The whole system has got so rotten that it needs to be smashed first before it can be worked upon once again." It's the end of all discussion, but one of them told me that Naidu's losing the general election was of help.
After breakfast, we set off on the last lap. The rally was at the location where the British killed 10 tribals in 1910 to crush their revolt. After crossing a high hill we reached. There was a huge memorial painted in red in the memory of martyrs of the Bhumkal revolution of 1910. "Commander" Pandu explained that these incidents were not part of recorded history and that they were trying to record the oral history of the region. Today's rally was a part of the same process. "We want to make people feel proud of their history," he told me.
Pandu was in-charge of today's arrangements. He is the son of a washerman from Hyderabad and working in Maad area for the past 20 years. There was a huge stage in front of the memorial and red flags all around.
We could hear the drums. The hills started reverberating with slogans. The assembly was quite near the promised 10,000. The participants had arrived in tribal attire and with huge drums, bow and arrows. First they marched to the tree where the massacre of 1910 took place, then a dance drama was staged by the party cultural troupe narrated the story of 1910.
Where was the police? One of the "commanders" told me that the only way the "enemy" could reach was by air. A few Indian Navy helicopters had been spotted after an incident in Koraput but no one was worried as PGA comrades were guarding the place.
It was a sea of humanity.
After sunset, each group lit its own fire to cook a meal. The party continued much after we slept in the local school. Though we did not understand much of what was told to them by the leaders or narrated in the plays, the harmony was evident.
Mysteriously, everybody was gone by the time we awoke next morning.
We were taken around to see development work in the area. The local government school had three teachers on its rolls but only one was present that day. Although teachers are appointed they don't turn up. But news of the dadas' participation had got to them and the school had been functioning normally since January 26.
We were told that the party had dug many ponds at a cost of Rs. 1,000, unlike a government one dug at a cost of Rs. 13 lakhs.
The way back
"Commander" Phulbati was our guide on the way back. She and her dalam look after 35 villages, and girls are her focus. Today 60 per cent of party commanders and 40 per cent of cadres in the region are girls. She and her four childhood friends always dreamt of joining the party and waited till they could take up guns. "Party has shown me the path to fight the oppression," she told me. She has learnt to read and write and wants to make sure everyone who joins the party does the same.
After walking another day we were handed back to Kalpana, whom we met on our way in. She had been guarding the route to the rally all these days.
We took a shorter route back to the road. Two of her comrades went to check if the way was clear. "What do you think of our movement," she asked me. I'd be mad to make little of a turnout of 10,000 people out of a population of 30,000. It did show the work done among the people in the last 25 years.
"But I still feel you have no future. It is just a matter of time before the Government of India gets its act together. Probably you are not a threat to them as yet," I told her.
Kalpana smiled and pointing to the sky said, "Lal Salaam, we must meet again."
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