An Untold Story: Face-to-face with Naxalism

It was a chilling January morning, chilling by Mumbai standards, which is usually like a steam boiler all throughout the year. I walked on the dry leaves strewn across the pathway. Panvel’s temperature is, by rule, a few degrees lower than Mumbai. It’s more open, has fresher air, and provides you with a blast of greenery. I was in Nere, a village located about seven kilometers off the main-road. It is a typical village- with kaccha roads leading you to farms, smell of cow dung filling your nostrils, golden-yellow hay-sack piling up every lane, and tanned labourers going about their daily routine in the bright sun.

Amidst all this, under a tree, stood a man who would have otherwise melted into the surroundings had I not heard him say “Naxalites”. A twiglike figure with hunched shoulders and curly hair soaked in oil, he resembled one of those geeky students who are invariably anxious about their upcoming engineering exams.

It would turn out much later that I was wrong.

I went ahead to get a better look. He was in his late twenties. He wore rimmed glasses which he kept pressing between the bridge of his nose. His black almond-shaped eyes reflected innocence and his thin lips spoke cautiously, pronouncing every word with deliberate slowness.

I was informed that he was the guy who would drop me at Panvel station. A little flashback—I had come to Nere with my college to participate in a community service program. Since I had to leave early, I was supposed to take a lift from someone and reach Panvel station. It turned out that this lean man was my helper for the same.

I decided I wanted to get pally with him. I introduced myself and so did he. He was assisting the local doctor who treated leprosy patients in Nere. “Bingo,” I thought. So he is indeed a geek.

I asked, “Did I hear you saying something about Naxals?”

See here’s the thing, the word “Naxals” has always intrigued me. So I could not control my urge to question him!

“Yes. I’m from Bilaspur, Chhattisgarh.”

“Hey, I’m from its neighbouring state, M.P.! I live in Indore!”

He smiled. “There is quite a difference between the both. I belong to a Naxal-hit area.”

I knew he was right.  The word ‘Naxals’ derives from ‘Naxalbari’, a village in West Bengal from where the Communists Party of India (Marxist) first began their violent uprising. Unfortunately this movement did not limit itself to just that village, it spread like a forest fire. Now it covers Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, Orissa, Andhra Pradesh, Maharashtra, Jharkhand, Bihar and Uttar Pradesh. I have always felt sorry for locals living in that area. I mentioned that fact to him.

“But I had a secure life in Bilaspur,” he said.

That shocked me. Bilaspur is the epicenter for naksalvadi (Naxal) activities. I got even more inquisitive. I asked whether Naxals never bothered them or killed locals as portrayed by the government and media alike. He shook his head, as if out of habit. “Many people have asked me that question,” he said. “Come let’s talk while I’m driving, you have to reach Panvel right?”

I nodded. And we left on his Pulsar—with him driving slowly to facilitate conversation and me clutching the back steel-handle tightly. (PS: I don’t trust men riding bikes!)

On that half-hour ride, he introduced me to the world of Naxals. I unlearned whatever I knew before. Naxals originated when landlords suppressed farmers and forcefully took their land away. It first began as a movement to safeguard their rights. Later, Communist leader Charu Majumdar entered the political arena to get a better hold over government. He even wrote “Historic Eight Documents” which laid down the ideologies of Naxals. Their struggle continued intensively from 1967 to 1975 after which it dwindled due to several causes.

“You know my father told me that Naxals helped in improving the infrastructure of our area,” he said. “They not only taught new farming techniques but even brought development to regions where the government failed to reach us.”

I was amazed. I had heard a little bit about Naxal development, but I had always discarded it as a myth.

“But why do they kill locals now?”

“You’ll be surprised to know. But there’s a conspiracy theory. In the 1970’s the ruling Congress party deployed spies in the Naxal group. There were several elements that started misusing Naxal ideologies and killed tribals. My family believes that the government dumped allegations on Naxals so that they could justify counter-attack on them. It was a pre-conceived plan that Congress played.”

My jaw dropped. I could feel goose-bumps now. He continued to explain how his father was himself a government employee but the Naxals never harmed him. It was incorrect that Naxals killed locals. They just fought for their rights. But when the government used unfair techniques, the Naxals retaliated back with murders and loots. It was then that they lost their aim and started indulging in violence.

“So what is the scene now?” I asked.

“Now, Naxals do not involve themselves in any developmental project.” Even with the wind thrumming strongly in my ears, I could detect a hint of sadness in his tone. He explained that the government paid many villagers to spy on Naxals and transfer information. Since then, Naxals have stopped helping villagers. Now they have grown into a bunch of angry men ready to take revenge. They neither trust anyone nor are they willing to help locals. They feel betrayed and are unsure of everyone. That’s why they have limited themselves to jungles and isolated patches. What began as a fight for the helpless turned into a violent aimless struggle.

He left Bilaspur after completing his graduation in Medical Science. He feels his family is still safe there because he knows that Naxals won’t kill anyone without any cause. The man sitting right in front of me was working hard in Mumbai so that he could earn and go back to Bilaspur to start a hospital. He wanted to get better medical aid for his city. And neither the government nor the Naxals will help him in that.

We reached my destination—Panvel station. I got down, thanked him for the lift and the story that he had told me. He smiled. I realized this man was everything but a geek. He’s about to start his own hospital, how cool is that!

I waved good bye and left. When I had caught my train and was reflecting back about my meeting I realized something. I spent 45 minutes with this man and we did’nt even know each other’s name!

Damn!

But at least, I learnt something more about the dreaded Naxals. That is-- Don’t dread them, help them.