Explorer

Between Landmines

Travelling a new landscape is made much more interesting when one can get up close with the people who dot it. It was my first up-close with those living in Bastar and Dantewada in Chhattisgarh that left me amused, irritated, shocked and shaken; and exactly in this sequence as my journey proceeded through the hinterland. Circa 2005. Then working with The Hindustan Times, I had a few years of reporting from the naxal belt behind me. So I was very excited when the Rambhau Mhalgi Prabodhini asked me to be part of the five-member team to study the 'Salva Judum.' Salva Judum,' literally means 'Peace March' in Gondi. It was then a 'jan' militia consisting of local tribal youth which had been mobilised and deployed as part of the anti-insurgency operations against naxalite violence in Chhattisgarh. This militia received full support and training from the Chhattisgarh state government. The Bastar and Dantewada districts of today's Chhattisgarh were part of the erstwhile princely kingdom of Bastar. Our five-member study group was to be further aided by two more employees of the Prabodhini and we divided ourselves into three teams. My team for the next 15 days comprised Keshav Upadhyay (then Prabodhini employee and later spokesperson of the BJP) and me. For me, a large part of this terrain was new. As our car proceeded, I virtually drank in the lush green wilderness, the shades of green deeper than anywhere else I had seen. Impromptu water bodies spoke of nature's abundance. Kilometres and kilometres went past before one could spot modern garbage. The air left one with a sense of robust oxygen. It was impossible for the mind to fathom how something so scenic could double up as a violent battlefield. As I mused on these lines, I could not but help noticing that on both sides of the road, there were felled trees lining the route. The jungle cover spread behind them. I idly spoke aloud this observation. What the driver replied gave me my first insight into the deceptive tranquility of this terrain. He said, "most of the roads we are now taking are packed at several places underneath with land mines. Whenever the naxalites plan to ambush or blast a vehicle, they just get some villagers from near-by to pull a felled portion of the tree from the side onto the road. The vehicle has no option but to halt. The moment it does so, felled trees behind it are also quickly pulled onto the road. Thus the vehicle in just a few moments finds itself in a spot where it can neither proceed nor reverse. One click, and the land mine goes off." Keshav and me were barely chewing this piece of information, when our car came to a sudden halt. And right before us were tree logs blocking the way. Standing around were men and women in village garb saying something. I cannot even describe the tumult of my feelings. Keshav and me both got out of the car in a hurry. The driver, probably guessing what we thought, was more leisurely. He told us that these villagers wanted money and would allow our vehicles to go past only when we paid them. He said that it was a done thing in the hinterland that villagers gathered on the road leading past their village and did not allow any vehicle to go unless it paid them. Keshav hurriedly dived into his pocket and we paid meager Rs 10/- that the driver directed us to. Suddenly, the whole gathering of villagers which comprised quite a few women was all smiles. They quickly pulled the logs away and stacked them on the side of the road. They then waved at us bidding us good-bye as though we were some loved relatives. I was amused. This was late afternoon. After sometime, as we passed another village, the same scene was enacted all over again. This time the gathering was friendly since the beginning. They stopped us but the women circled the logs on the road, singing loudly a chorus which was very litling. Alongwith this, they did a small tribal jig. It seemed like jolly good fun but the underlying message was loud. No passage till payment. It was irritating to shell out another Rs 20/ - The next time more into the hinterland, the poverty became more obvious. It had become dark and then came the shocker. Keshav and me were also impatient for relative safety. Just then, another tree pulled out onto the road stopped us. This time there were only two men. Both carrying sharp weapons. Both in a semi-drugged state. There was nothing friendly about them. In front of those weapons, the deserted road and the surrounding jungles now in shadows, we seemed and felt very vulnerable. But just another Rs. 20/- did the trick. Later for several years as I kept going back, I came to accept this 'hafta' giving. When the naxals had no use of the felled trees, the villagers made free use of them like this. At that time we were out to report the 'Salva Judum.' But this, I felt, was the real story. It stayed Unreported though. A tenner could satisfy a whole group of villagers! But my mind remained whirring with questions. How many vehicles could possibly pass through their domain in a day? What was the extent of their poverty? How much was each family's share in this scanty collection? Is this how a large part of India lives? Is not village after village standing on the brink of criminality?  Is not this the crux of what led to naxalism in the first place?Who is right - the naxals or the ruling dispensation? I had no answers to these questions. But one unhappy answer I certainly found - neither the naxals nor the rulers had managed to change the fate of people they purportedly fight for! (Sarita Kaushik is Senior Special Correspondent working with ABP News)
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