The dreaded world ‘Junglemahal’ ( Part 2)

"We are fighting for our 'right to Speak' ": Manoj Mahato, the elusive PCPA spokesperson

Twenty five year old Manoj has a tattoo in his left arms. Imprinted in English it says P+ M. I stare at it with undue interest and he shyly declares, “It is something very personal”.

“Your girlfriend”, I quiz and he nods gleefully.

Manoj is supposedly said to be the armed member of the Maoist squad in Jangalmahal. But officially he is the spokesperson for the PCPA ie the People’s Committee against Police atrocities popularly known as the ‘Jan Sadharan Committee’in the jangalmahal.

He came like a bandit in his Bajaj Pulsar…face covered to meet us. In a red colored bike a dark skinned youngster in bright yellow T shirt, he appeared to be the perfect blend of modern day rebel. A gold plated Titan watch flashed on his right wrist while a golden bracelet on his left, he was greeted by his comrade in strange signals.

Manoj Mahato had come to speak for the tribals of Jangal mahal in a small mud plastered hut in midst of bamboo forests in Pathri village some thirty kilometers from Midnapur town. A small table fan was switched on for us as we waited for him on that hot afternoon after four days of the Gyaneshwari express disaster.

We had crossed a football ground to reach this hut. His two comarades had guided us there. I tried to find out from them if it was Manoj’s residence.

It was of Lakhim Mahato of Pathri village, a small time farmer owning nine bighas of land. He had with two daughters and a son who was hauled up by the police from the Barisal high school hostel last year until his mother with other women of the locality had gheraoed the local police station and freed the guys allegedly having Maoists links. This story was time and again told to us by our hosts with accusations that the media termed them as lady Maoists.

Manoj asked me to show my identity proof before he settled down for the interaction. I had none. I had left it in the car some two kilometers away.

I asked my cameraman. “Can you hand over your ID proof”. He had his. He showed them. Manoj taunted, “Government of West Bengal”, Press card. It was his state accreditation card. A small some twelve year old then took out a mobile phone to take our photos. We obediently obliged.

“We want to be over sure about you all”, “you do not have a problem”, he asked.

I nodded.

Manoj sat in a plastic chair given to us outside the room.

I begin by asking him “Why are you all so suspicious about people?”

“Why should’nt we”, “whoso ever comes here comes with a purpose”. “You could be police agents”, he clarified. “Mind you, the police camouflaged as journalists had actually caught hold of our general secretary Chhatradhar Mahato’

“But still we do not mind”, he continued “We want our right to speak”.

“You have got so” “as any of us”, I was reasoning.

“Do you know people come here to catch us, term us Maoists and try us under your law”.

“What do you mean?” “Is the PCPA out of the purview of the Indian law”, I thought he was unreasonable.

“No you use the state’s law according to your own benefits”. “Presently the CPIM is doing that along with the state police”, “The centre is doing that according to their own needs”, it was Manoj.

“Why is the joint operation being held here? To kill the tribals who are questioning the legality and the authority of the police operation,” he continued.

“No, not at all but that is the government’s decision. And anyway the people here started this war. You questioned the presence of law in this area”, I was answering his defiance.

“We are not Maoists or whatever you call them. I am talking for the PCPA. We want tribal rights, nothing short of that. Tribals rights to speak , live and live on their own terms’.

“But there is a law. Why would you not allow people to enter this place? Why has junglemahal become the dreaded area these days?

“Because we would not let anyone come here. Our people want to live in peace. We do not want any more exploitation”, “We have been exploited for generations”.

“I want to give an example. The police came to Barisal school hostel, picked up boys of class eight or nine and termed them Maoists. Your media showed Maoists have been caught in Lalgarh. And then if the mothers of the accused go to the thana to protest and get back their children it is like Maoists women have attacked the thana to get back their comrades”.

“You blame Bapi Mahato for the Gyaneshwari attack”, “We have never attacked common people. Bapi was booked by the CID caught and kept in jail and released on bail because the police could not even file a chargesheet against him. Now you have another case and you are terming him Maoists and an accused in the Gyaneshwari case”. He was speaking for the tribals.

“But why is he running away and in this manner no problem will be sorted out. You ‘ll have to lay your arms first, then try and come to the mainstream’, I was arguing with him.

He appeared dismissive. “We have our way of life. We are neither rich nor educated that we shall be able to compete with the government”.

Manoj Mahato does not appear to have a political acumen to defend his acts but is defiant in his words. Talking in local Bangla he had passion in his words and some people from around the village stood in awe listening to him.

I ask him, “how old are you”?

He laughs, “twenty-five”, “quite old for us”.

“So now ….what?”

“We ll fight till our last”.

I ask, “tell me are you with Mamata Banerjee”, “she supported the PCPA once.”

“She does not have courage and just wants political mileage”, “she tried to disatance herself from us last time she was in Jhargram”. “We have served her purpose”.

I see the airtel dish antenna above the mud hut. Manoj asks one of his comrades to leave us till the road. I was leaving when I heard Manoj boasting to his comrades around, “ Police amader pichone. Kono din ekhane attack korte pare kinto amader ke eeii ladaii lorhte hobe”, (Police is after us. They can attack us any day. But don’t worry we ll have to fight this war).

The dreaded world ‘Jangalmahal’ ( Part 1)

Bandits of Jangalmahal…..

Jangalmahal is a dreaded region these days. Some eight kilometers away from the dreaded Jangalmahal, Gyaneshwari Express got derailed and hit by the goods train on the fateful dark night of the 28th of May. Until now hundred fifty innocent passengers on their way to Mumbai have lost their lives. Two hundred and fifty others are still battling for life in various hospitals in Kolkata.

But the ones who are being held responsible of human intervention so as to derail the train and kill innocents are located some eight kilometers away from Rajabandh in the jungles of Jangalmahal (the forest castle) comprising the forest area of three districts Bankura, Purulia and West Midnapur. They are the Maoists as being termed by the home ministry and so do all of us living out of the purview of ‘Jangalmahal’ perceive.

It is a great opportunity for us journalists trying to get in touch with the Maoists of Jangalmahal. For they are the ones most wanted and we are the ones wanting them for their great untold inconclusive story… about one part of our country that has turned dismissive towards the other.

But it is usually them who get in touch with us. A sudden sms from unknown quarters can throw up adrenalin in our stomachs because it has supposedly come from the most wanted ones these days.

Just the next day when all of us cried hoarse about how brutal are these ‘maoists terrorists’ in the Jangalmahal, a sms from someone unknown said in Bangala, ‘Jhargram ghotnar aamra ninda kori. Amader lodai sadharan manusher jonno ie we condemn the jhargram incident. We do not kill common people. We fight for them.

‘Perpetrators of violence’ and looking for a dignity and acceptability in the Indian democracy…..I thought that day until on the 1st of June I traveled to Midnapur hospital to take stock and file stories on the dead.

But then it is four days after the tragedy. The victims no more make news. We are now on the hunt for the perpetrators. I try to get in touch with the PCPA members as they are the ones who are being cornered for the crime. The Maoists seem to have a frontal organization as the ‘PCPA’ (People’s Committee against Police atrocities), who are supposedly said to be behind the deed.

No one seemed to answer the calls on the available numbers. My contact in Midnapur tells me that with all these no one would want to talk to the press. I tried one last time in a number of ‘Manoj Mahato’, the young PCPC tribal spokesperson.

“Where are you?” was the question after my initial introduction.

“At the Midnapur hospital but I would want to know your side of the story”, I replied.

“Our side”, “what do you mean, how can you even connect us to the train mishap”.

“But… please meet me and tell all this. Everyone is talking about your party as the frontal organization of the elusive Maoists.”

“Who is talking except you all” was the terse reply.

What do you mean except you all, everyone in the country, I persisted.

“No not us. We are also in this country”, it was Manoj, the tough guy.

“Who are the ‘us”, I question.

“I mean.. We, tribals fighting for our cause. We.. the people of Junglemahal. But you would not take our side of the story”, “as if we are people of the different world”.

“I want to meet you”, I was persisting.

“Ok, come to the Kulsibhanga high school and give me a ring”.

“How far is that”?

“It is in the Junglemahal and some twenty five kilometers from where you are standing”.

“I shall come just now”, I said before disconnecting.

I ask my contact to actually follow us on to ‘Kulshibhanga.

“Rather you follow us. Your car can be a problem. You come behind us”, he was supportive.

We started following. After we passed some twenty kilometers, I again called up to confirm our meeting. He gave me another mobile number and asked to ring up once I reach Kulshibhanga high school. “Somebody will be waiting for you”.

I was enthusiastic. Really did not expect such a meeting with the ‘bete noire’ of the outside world.

We reached Kushibhanga High school after traveling the deserted main road and then the ‘brickdust’ lanes. I waited impatiently outside the locked school gate that seemed deserted in this summer heat. An abandoned kiosk outside the school building had a ‘open chulha’ or mud oven, that was appeared not to be in use for months. The mobile signal did not work and I did not know how to approach my hosts.

I tried to cross the road and try to knock in the double storied mud hut neatly plastered by mud.

No one appeared. A small child peeped out and just asked us to wait.

We waited impatiently for someone to approach us. Then we see a motorbike a Bajaj Pulsar, driven by two guys with their face wrapped in the local cotton towel.

He comes in and says, “ Only didi ( that’s me) can go with us in the bike”.

I decline, “ I am a TV journalist, I need my team along with me”.

They decline, : You said you wanted to come and see us”.

After much persuasion and their insinuations they agreed. One of them by the name of ‘Kalia Mahato,’ accompanied us in our white car. He had a just healed injury on the left cheek. He was traveling with us while another bike with two new youths followed us.

“ What happened on your face. It looks like an injury’, I started the conversation

“You journalists read too much,” nothing…remember ..we live in jungles and not in cities, These wounds are common”. He said in chaste hindi very unusual from tribals of Midnapur.

“Where are you from?” “You speak good hindi”, I again tried to keep the conversation going.

“I am from the Jangalmahal, but I have worked for ten years in Jharkhand. So the hindi….”

“But now I have come back and want to live here,” was the terse reply.

We were going through kuchha mud roads. There were deep pits and thick bamboo forests and seemed the dead end, with bamboos and leaves blocking the road.

“Can the car go”, the driver asked.

“Yes yes, your tires would be better after these running in these roads”, he tried to joke.

“These are mere leaves felled on the way to prevent the police to enter the villages”.

“But have you all done this:, “and Why?” “Why do you want to stop the police from coming here”.

“What for the police should come here”? “ You believe someone will come and catch us, fire at us and we will allow them to enter here”.

“No, I mean the police is the law enforcing body”, I tried to reason.

“But in Jangalmahal ‘the common people are the law enforcing body”.

“How can you say that. If this be the situation there would be anarchy in the country”.

“Where is the peace?” “P would come here , term us bandits, catch us , torture us and we let them come here easily” and hand over our independence to them”.

“What ll you do?”

“We shall fight till our last… and we are doing that”.

“And you ll stop anybody from entering this region”.

“Yes, all those who think people of Jangalmahal are terrorists and are killing people”.

“If you send forces to fight us what do you expect us to do”, he was emotional.

“ But it is the people here who started this by breaking the law. You cant take law in your hands”.

“This is not your land. You come here for a purpose. You want the trains to ply through this region But you do not do anything for people who are dying of hunger, thirst and even common facilities”.

“I agree there is less development. But you still drive a pulsar here…… So I cannot believe that there is hunger and thirst for food”.

“Ok ok you can drive a car and if we drive a pulsar we become equally rich. Do you know we drive pulsar bought from Midnapur town because there are no roads no or other means of communication. Most people here have not even seen Midnapur and Jhargram town”.

“Most people think here that we have to save our people and our land…You have to understand. The law has to be for the people and not against the people”.

“If your law allows you to kill us and target the tribals here and make them fugitives why do you think people will abide by that”.

“So you justify that you all not allow outsiders or law enforcing bodies to come here”, I again ask him tricky question.

“Do you know the basic income of people here. We do not have high aspirations. We just want to be alive to live here and shall do whatever it takes to keep our identity intact”..

“The police are sent by the government to take away our land, culture and lives….”

“Why do you all think so … The police is here to keep the law of the land”..

“Do you know the police catches young boys as their guard while crossing the Jangal mahal. They themselves live in fear here”, “ How’ ll they save”.

“But do you think the Maoists ll save you?”

He is disturbed. “You mean all those who fight for us and our rights become Maoists” “If fighting for once rights is becoming Maoists then let us be them”, “we do not mind”…

He said with contempt in this tone. We had reached a small football ground in midst of thick bamboo forest. A few mud houses were visible across the bamboos. Mud houses where women sat and counted the ‘Sal’ leaves and dried them in the heat.

No men were seen. We were terribly thirsty. I took out the bottle of mineral water to take a sip. A young girl ran inside to bring a bucket and pull water from the nearby open mud well. “The PCPA had dug it for the villagers”, my host added. “She had almost fallen”, I thought as she stood with legs stretched on the well to pull water more than twenty five feet down. I tried to peep as well. But could see little …..It was deep very deep within.