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.
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