An account of the trip to rehabilitated villages near Dantewada – Part 1: The visit to Munder

November 24, 2009

By Siddhartha Mitra, Sanhati

This travelogue was written in October 2009, following a visit to rehabilitated villages near Dantewada, Chhattisgarh. The first part is on a visit to the village of Munder. The account will be continued in the next update.

“Spots”, I said.

I meant stains, but I said spots. Easier to understand.

“Chai se,” he said impassively (From tea). Evidently, he did not think much of them. And thankfully he did not prefix his reply with a “Sir”.

“Yeh chai se?”, I stared at him, incredulously.(These, from tea?)

Without arguing any further, he took the bed-sheets away; presumably to change them.

I had just checked into my room in the Madhuban Hotel, the only hotel to stay in Dantewada. It was late into the evening when I had arrived at the hotel. We had driven into Dantewada in the afternoon from Jeypore, a city a little over a 100 km away, where we had stopped in the night. On reaching Dantewada, I had directly headed to the Vanvasi Chetana Ashram (VCA), the Gandhian institution which was doing social work with the indigenous people in the area. This was now essentially the converted home of Himanshu Verma, who people usually referred to as Himanshuji, and his family. The 17 year old VCA premises had been turned to rubble a few months ago, and the makeshift tents and newly roofed courtyard outside Himanshuji’s house was the new premises of the VCA.

Soon after, I had headed down to Munder, a nearby Gondi village which had been rehabilitated a year ago. The villagers had fled the rapages of the Salwa Judum a few years ago, but had returned last year. After coming back to the VCA in the evening, I had had dinner with Himanshuji and his wife Veena, and declining their generous offer to stay at their place, I had checked in at the hotel. The next day I was planning on going to Lingagiri to see another rehabilitated village. This was 150 km from Dantewada; Kopa Kunjam, a VCA employee who had accompanied me to Munder, had said that we needed to start early, and that he would pick me up at 6:30 next morning.

Coming into the room I had noticed the stained bedsheets. This was what I had brought to the attention of the young man who I assumed was responsible for the room service. The person soon returned, and presented a new set of sheets. They were spotted as well, but with a different pattern.

It was starting to look more like a Rorschach test. There seemed little point in arguing over this any longer. I resigned myself to sleeping on what was there. Having spread the new sheets out over the bed, the person left.

That is Hotel Madhuban for you. Where you will end up staying if you are plan on staying in a hotel in Dantewada.

At least a place to stay. A bed, a roof, even with a fan. A lot better than staying in the forests or under a tarpaulin sheet propped by poles, where tens of thousands in the region are having to spend this same night. Why should I complain?

And in any case, the spots were hardly what kept me awake.

The mosquitoes did.

Despite having the room surrounded by mosquito nets, the droves descended en masse as I put off the lights. Even the ceiling fan turned at full speed did little to check them. After a couple of fruitless hours spent in trying to sleep while killing as many of these as I could, I decided to give up the attempt to sleep, and switched on the light. Sitting up on the bed, I opened the book “Red Sun”, which Himashuji had given to me.

“Don’t let them see you with the book tomorrow when you are traveling”, he had jokingly warned me when I had borrowed the book from him to read during the night. “Oh no”, I had assured him. In today’s political climate, any discussion of the topic of Naxalism brands you as a potential Naxalite and a suspect. Even this book by the Delhi based journalist Sudeep Chakravarti, which was just a historical account of the evolution of the Naxal movement, could raise eyebrows in some circles if you were to be seen with it. And when travelling in the affected region, it just might not be a good idea to such things around.

Red Sun

It was an interesting read. The book traced the origins of the Naxalite movement, and where things stood at the time of the publication of the book, which was in 2007. Both the Prime Minister of India and the Home Minister have recently branded this movement as the greatest security threat that the India faces today. The very first chapter happened to be on Chhatisgarh, and in particular on Dantewada, which was the very epicenter of the violence.

The Naxalite movement had originated in the 60’s. It was an armed movement which drew its strength from the poor and the dispossessed in the country, though many intellectuals who felt strongly about the poor and the landless also participated in it. The aim of the movement was the liberation of these helpless people by forcibly taking the land from those who had it, and also kill the “class enemies” if required. The movement had started in Naxalbari in the state of West Bengal (hence the name), but then had spread to some other states like Andhra Pradesh and Punjab. But the movement had quickly become violent, and after the first few years, the Naxalite movement was brutally crushed. In Bengal, many Naxals had been tortured and killed, including many members of the intelligentsia who had participated in it.

After that the Naxal movement had receded into the vast forested tract of Eastern India that stretched from the state of Bihar in the North through the states of Orissa, Jharkhand, Chhatisgarh and Andhra Pradesh in the South. Though the movement still claimed to fight for the poor and the oppressed, it had become somewhat fragmented, and in different pockets of the forest, the Naxalites had local agenda like control of the business of forest produce. For the large part, they had the support of the indigenous people and people of low caste who mostly inhabited these areas, although there were incidents of coercion and violence when the people resisted the Naxalites.

The affected region was a portion of the country that the Indian government had essentially forgotten about for fifty years since India gained independence. Dalits, people of a low caste, and tribals, the indigenous people, make up 25% of India’s population but have very little acceptance in mainstream India. While Dalits had some representation, the tribals practically have none.

Once in a while, the government, would try to flush out the Naxalites from the forest. At one point, they had even armed and funded civilians in the state Andhra Pradesh to form a group called the Greyhound for this purpose. The group had had some limited success, but the overall Naxalites base still remained mostly un-eroded.

But in the last few years there had been a tremendous upsurge in violence, and the Naxalite movement had become very strong; an estimated 50,000 armed Naxals were supposed to be present in forested areas in Eastern India.

Years of governmental neglect and apathy for the poor had brought things to this end. And it was coupled with the displacement due to development projects, that was adversely affecting people in the region. The different Naxal groups had started to come together, with a renewed focus of trying to redress the wrong that had been done to the poor.

In the book, the first chapter vividly described the author’s experiences in Dantewada, which was the new focal centre of the violence. One of the main reasons of this upsurge here was the activities of the Salwa Judum, which was the state of Chhattisgarhs’s support for a movement which was similar to the Greyhound movement which was just mentioned. The violence in the last few years had caused the displacement of over 300,000 people from over 64 villages; of these, 40,000 lived in displacement camps, and the rest were unaccounted for. Some of these camps, which had horrific conditions, were operated by the Salwa Judum.

The author recounted his experiences in the Salwa Judum camps, about his meetings with the local police and the Salwa Judum Special Police Officer’s, who were the specially ranked civilians given arms and a license to kill.

Salwa Judum, the terror that has come to stalk the region today. Instead of destroying he Naxal base, it had made that movement even stronger. There were daylight killings by both sides, attacks on the police and military camps by the Naxalites, who also sometimes blew up vehicles by IED’s. Some roads had become extremely dangerous to travel in.

“Only the most desperate take the road from Dantewada westward to Bijapur”, wrote Sudeep Chukravarti.

The very road on which we were going to travel in tomorrow. Most desperate? Yes, I was desperate from the attacks of the mosquitoes. Enough to break a coffee cup or two. But not that kind of desperate.

The author went on to describe how several vehicles, mostly carrying military personnel, but sometimes carrying ordinary civilians, had been blown up using IED’s by Naxalites along this road. Though the Naxalites had later issued apologies when civilians had been killed, obviously such words were not enough to bring back the dead.

I tested my weight on the spring bed, by moving around a bit. Us and the bike. Would we be heavy enough to trigger an IED, which might just happened to be there, even if it was not meant for us?

Who knows? I was not able to convince myself either way.

Somehow I felt little enthusiasm in reading the book any longer. I closed it and kept it aside. Turning off the lights, I decided to give sleep another attempt.

But my mind was not going to go to rest. The things I had seen today kept coming back into my head.

Munder. The Gond village of Munder. The place I had to gone in the afternoon. The terror in that apparent oasis of calm.

The day in the Gond village of Munder

We had decided to take the car, as Kopa had assured us that a car could go most of the way. Though that did not turn out to be true. The initial parts of the road was motorable, as it was packed stones and mud. The fresh rains had unveiled the beauty of the surrounding landscape. The lush greenery of the tropical forests The clear rivultes swarmed across and below the road, to disappear into the thick undergrowth. After a little while, we passed through some dense forests, before emerging into an area which was moslty farmland.

And in the background, like an ominous sign, loomed mountains of Bailaidila.

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Picture 1. The Distant hills of Bailadila

Bailadila, literally translated as the ‘Hump of the Ox’, has a mountain with peaks that look like the humps that have given it the name. This beautiful mountain range, draped with the dense forests which are part of the Dandakaranya forest, has for so many years cradled the Gondi tribes who live on its slopes or in the foothills. The hills have fed many rivers and rivulets that descend from it, and is teeming with wildlife which are hunted by the local Gondi’s for food, and has many different kinds of flora and fauna, including rare medicinal herbs.

But the hill have today become the biggest curse to the people living around it.

The curse of Bailadila

For Bailadila was no ordinary mountain range. The deposits of iron ore present in it are considered to be among the best in the world. Spread across 14 deposits, this range houses a total of 3,000 million tonnes of iron ore, of which 1,200 million tonnes are classified as ‘high-grade’.Mining official from the NMDC say that Bailadila is a name to reckon with in the world iron-ore market because of its high-grade iron ore. The hard, lumpy ore at the mining complex here has 66 percent iron content, without any sulphur and other deleterious material, excellent physical properties that make it ideal for manufacturing steel.

And it also happens fo be moslty populated by Gondi’s, who are indigenous people living in India’s Eastern forests. Bastar, the district in which Bailadila is present had a tribal population of 70%, a density which is among the highest among tribal populations in India.

The iron ore from Bailadila has been used by Gondi’s for generations, in the making of their beautiful metal craftwork.

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Picture 2. Gond metal artwork

Today the largest mining companies in India have set their sights on the precious ore.

The area had been mined for decades, but it still has plenty of ore left, enough to last 30-40 years of mining. With collapse of the Indian government run National Mineral Development Commission (NMDC) in the late 90’s, prospects for private mining companies have brightened.

And lured by lucrative proposals made by the Chhatisgarh government which was formed in 2000, those companies arrived in droves. In June 2005, Tata Steel signed a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) with the government of Chhattisgarh. Tata Steel projects to set up a plant costing 10 thousand crore rupees (2 billion $), with a capacity of two million tonnes in the first stage, which will eventually go up to three million tonnes. Just a month later, in July 2005, the Chhattisgarh government signed an agreement with the Essar group, under which the corporate would set up a steel plant with a capacity of 1.6 million tonnes in the first stage and another 1.6 million tonnes afterwards.

Most of the iron ore would be washed and sent down by a pipeline to Visakhapattanam, and then half of it would be shipped to Japan. This would not even provide any meaningful employment to the people who would be directly displaced; the only employment would be working in the mines, as there would be no factories that would be established that could employ more people and also improve the local infrastructure. The 267 km long pipe-line that already exists from Bailadila to Visakhapattanam for this purpose is supposed to be the second largest such pipeline in the world. Of course, washing the ore has its environmental consequences. The coppery red colour of the Shankhini and Dankhini rivers flowing through Bastar is testament to the environmental cost such mining operations entail.

But environmental considerations were not the greatest concern for mining conglomerates in the region. For as long as Naxalites were active in the region, and as long as the villagers who happen to be present the land that the mining firms needed did not move from their ancestral lands, the mining operations could not proceed.

According to the law of the land, the area could be given away to the mining companies only after consent was obtained from the villagers who were to be directly displaced. Faced with growing unhappiness among the farmers, and the prospect of such a consent being denied, the state quickly moved in. The hearing for Tata Steel’s proposed land-use action turned to a farce, with the Salwa Judum threatening the villagers when they met, and then the Dantewada police setting up road-blocks preventing the villagers from visiting the site of the public hearing. Under these conditions, the voice of the villagers was barely audible in the public hearings.

But the Naxalite problem was something different altogether. There were two ways by which Naxalites could be cleared out of the region. One, of course was the long-term developmental process that would eradicate poverty which was also the aim of this movement ; the other was the “Vietnam solution”, where all the villagers and tribals could be herded into designated camps, and an intense armed operation, based on both ground and aerial strikes, be used to flush out the Naxalites from the forests. With the MoU’s breathing down their necks, the Chhatisgarh state government chose the latter.

So was born the Salwa Judum [3] (translated to “purification hunt” in Gondi, the language to the Gond tribals), the armed vigilante group intended to fight the Naxalites. Most of the Judum members were local tribals and dalits, though the leaders of the movement were local city based traders and businessmen who were most affected by the Naxalite control of the forest produce. Soon after, it was formed, roving members of the Judum, accompanied by the military and the local police, went around emptying villages, and herding people into camps. Of course, villagers did not want to leave their ancestral land, but then they were given little option.

The Judum had come four years ago to Munder. Soon after, the villagers had fled. Now, with the violence subsiding, and with the Supreme Court issuing a notice to the state government that the displaced villagers be rehabilitated, the villagers had returned last year.

A conversation with Kopa on the Salwa Judum

We had parked the car, and were walking the final couple of miles through the muddy path. We talked as we skirted the water filled pools in the slushy road heading towards Munder.

To ye Salwa Judum kaise shuru huwa?” I asked Kopa. (So how did the Salwa Judum begin?)

Yeh to pahle se hi tha. Pahle kuch log Naxal log ka against tha, our jhagra hota tha. Who log ekatte hone se Naxal unko maar deta tha. Yeh to bohut saalo se chalu tha”, he replied. (Oh, this was there from before. Sometimes, people would oppose the Naxals. Sometimes they would get together, there would be violence and people would get killed. This was going on for a long time.)

“Abhi ye sarkar ko laaga humse isme se kuch faida ho sakta hai. To usine yeh logoko bandook de diya, military ka madat diya. Phir who log gaon pe gaon jaake jala diya.”, Kopa said. (Now the government felt that they could benefit from this situation. So they armed the people who opposed the Naxals with guns, and gave them the military support. And the Judum then went on the rampage and burnt villages after villages.)

One wonders, why the sudden empathy for the tribals who were opposing the Naxals? Unless one can see it in perspective, of the new mining interests?

But did these villagers know about this?

Aur jo log Judum me giya, unka ghar ko saab gaon chorke sahar chala giya. Uska dada, uska bhai bahan, sab log”. (And those who joined the Judum, all their family also had to leave the village. Their parents, brothers, sisters, relatives. They were not welcome in the villages any more.)

There had been a rift present in tribal people. And Salwa Judum had exposed it. The society had now been split along the fault lines. You were either with the Judum, or a Naxalite. There was no middle ground left any longer.

Soon, we came across some roofless broken down mud huts. A few more showers, and the muddy walls would be dissolved altogether and be gone. These were the Salwa Judum camps that the villagers were living in before just returning to the village.

It was mind-boggling to imagine how anyone could live there. Though, as Kopa assured me, these huts had roofs before, the villagers took them away when they had finally returned to the village.

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Who tin ka chaat upyog karte the”, he told me. (They had been using tin roofs in these huts.) Traditionally, villagers in India use straw to thatch their roofs.

Pehle jab gaon wale bhaag gaye the, tab who log kahin dur mein ek camp mein gaye the. Gaon lautne ka pehle who log yeh camp mein aya, kyon ki yeh gaon ki paas tha,” he commented. (When the villagers first ran away, they had gone to a camp far away. Now, just before returning, they had come to this nearby camp.)

On the right there were some more ruins. And, to my surprise, there was a house that had a roof, and it appeared that people were living in it.

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I asked Kopa about this. “Uska ghar kheti ka paas ho sakta hai, usi liye rah giya”, was his response. (This person’s land might be near this house, that is why he did not move back into the village).

Was that so? Or was it that this person was no longer welcome?

Entering the village

Just before the village, we came across some people Kopa knew. He was a Gondi himself, and he appeared to be related to these people. The clash of cultures was obvious. There was Kopa, with a T-shirt and pants, wearing a watch. And there were his people, bare-feet, in the traditional dress. They were delighted to see him, and did not hide their feelings. I did not understand Gondi, but I could see how their language expressed their delight, while Kopa’s response, like that of most city-folks, was more subdued.

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Picture 6. Kopa meeting the villagers from Munder

They promised to call all the people of the village so that I could meet them.

We had almost reached the village. A few steps later, we came across a deserted building on the right, sporting the peace symbol on its side. There was no sign that said that this was the school. I knew that was so from what Kopa told me. Some cows were grazing nearby, and as if on cue, they all headed to the school, as if the school bell had just sounded.

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Picture 7. The deserted village school in Munder

The children were playing in the forest on the other side of the road.

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Pictures 8 & 9. The children of Munder, playing instead of attending school

“Judum yeha pein school kholne ko nehi diya. Who bola kya camp mein bachche log school mein jayega. To school bandh hai,” was the reason he gave. (The Judum did not let us open the school here. They said that the children need to go to school in the camps)

Salwa Judum was not just an attempt of clearing out the villages and putting them into camps. It was also an attempt to create a new order. Though 60% of India’s people are farmers , indigenous people and agricultural labourers, they contribute only 26% to India’s GDP. In the new order, having people living in cities and having them work in different industries, including mining, would be made more economic sense. Was this also the intent of the state, when they sponsored the Salwa Judum?

Apart from having livestock and farming, villagers also depend on several institutions like schools, the Anganwadi and the Gram Panchayat, the village council. The Judum had tried to re-establish these institutions in the camps. And the Judum were not very keen that the life in the villages return to normal after the in villagers returned, though they could no longer check the rehabilitation process as the Supreme Court had ordered that it happens.

Or was there some other reason why the school could not function?

Almost the next building over was the building of the school teacher. His was a large building, and someone, possibly his son, was doing some carpentry in the front-yard.

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Picture 10. The school teacher of Munder

I asked him about the closed school. “Is me bohut kuch hai, aap lautne ka samay aayein, hum batayenge”, he mysteriously replied. (There is a lot to this. Come again when you are returning from the village, I will tell you more about it.)

Was the re-opening of the school not happening just because of coercion by the Judum? Or was there actual conflict of interest in which the school teacher was not certain which side he should take?

Soon we after leaving here, we reached the actual village.

A time-machine

It was as if I had walked into a time-machine and gone back in time thousands of years ago. And this within 20 km of an Indian city.

The houses were traditional village houses, made of mud and thatched by straws. I noticed a wicker basket containing some mushrooms and small dried fish. There were some rabbit traps lying around, and an elderly woman cooking something using a log fire. In all, a simple but clean village home.

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Picture 11. Woman cooking meal, Gondi village, Munder

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Picture 12. Villagers in Munder. The headman is second from the left

Soon, some villagers, including the headman, were assembled in the patio of the house. We were past noon, and the shadow of the mountain in the distance was creeping towards the village.

Kopa acted as my translator for my conversation with the villagers. I first asked the headman to give an account of what had happened.

The FIR of the “Naxalites” killed by the Salwa Judum in Munder

“Ek din Judum aaya. Woh log koi aadmi ko maar diya. Hum usko dapna kiya, aur bhaag giya”. (One day the Judum came. They killed some people. We buried them, and fled.)

Just like that. Living, breathing people turned to lifeless pieces of meat in a matter of minutes.

“Ketne log maare giya? Kaun the who log?” I asked, (How many had died? Who were they?)

He started to give the names. And I asked Kopa to write them down in a small notepad I was carrying.

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Picture 13. My FIR of the “Naxalites” killed by the Salwa Judum in Munder

Badhak
Challu
Panchak

Humans that had been hacked to pieces in broad daylight. Turned to debris and swept away, leaving hardly a mark behind. At best there might be some stones piled in their memory in some field. Gondi commemoration sites could sometimes be elaborate, but I doubt if these villagers got anything ornate set up in their memory.

The list continued, but there was no more paper to write the name in.

“In logon ka naam mein police report ya FIR file kiya gaya?” I asked, hoping against hope. (Was there any police report or First Information report (FIR) filed in their names?)
The headman gave me a blank look.

Are you out of your mind?

A few days earlier, the Tansen Kahyap (25), the elder son of the local member of parliament (MP) Baliram Kahyap, had been shot and killed by the Maoists in his ancestral village as he was leaving the temple after offering prayers. His brother had also been shot, but had survived, though grievously injured.

The Indian media had risen in a body to report the brutal killings. It made the front page of most major newspapers. Practically the same news report was carried in all the papers. Many of the reports, including the one published in the Times of India, also mentioned that Baliram Kashyap and his family members had openly supported the Salwa Judum, and that the “Salwa Judum aims to flush out the Maoists from Bastar where the Leftists radicals have held sway since the late 1980s.”

Does the media still not get it? Earlier in the year, the Supreme Court of India had declared that the Salwa Judum was illegal, and even the Chattisgarh state government by its own admission had said that the Judum had committed violence and many human rights abuses. The monster it had helped create was now beyond control. If anything, Salwa Judum had made the Naxalite movement much stronger. The results were for all to see.

Other accounts indicated that the killers of Tansen Kashyap had fled the scene on bicycles. This was right in the middle of the day, in a public area in the village. The village roads in India are not great, and it is difficult to imagine how people can make a quick getaway on bicycles – unless nobody decided to give them chase. They might as well have made their escape on foot.

It was not just a murder, it was a public execution. Done in full view of people who possibly clapped and cheered. So when the killers had wanted to get away, they only had to make the least effort of doing so. Salwa Judum had spread terror. If you were of them, and there was no military to protect you when you were in a village, you can seriously risk your life.

Now guess how many newspapers carried report of Challu’s death? Five? Two? One?

How about none?

Yes, you are right! So many important things had happened that day. Aamir had just softened his stand on Shahrukh, and the war between the great Bollywood stars was settling down. The Sensex, India’s stock market index, had just broken records. And there was talk of sending a mission to the moon. Maybe India would host the next IPL 20/20 cricket match.

The news of Challu’s death was simply not as important. It might have been reported in the inside pages of some newspapers that a few Naxals had been killed in some village near Dantewada. Maybe. And such Naxals do not have any names. It was an encounter with the military, for the military always went with the Judum hordes when they went on the rampage.

How can a police report be filed? For whom? A dead terrorist? Not a chance. No crime was never committed. A FIR for an enemy of the state?

So here is the official FIR. Perhaps the only time these names will be written down on a piece of paper. My report on a sheet in my notepad. I could not devote a any more paper to it. And it was a small notepad anyway, so only a few names could be written.

Looking at the names sent shivers down my spine. These were dead people, very much like the ones I am talking to. People hacked to death not too long ago and not too far away. Perhaps on a day just like this.

Challu! Challu, did you think life was all fun and games? That you could get by picking mushrooms, making artifacts, and singing songs? Do you know how the brave sons of the MP’s gave their lives to keep India shining? If you could not directly help us getting to the moon, you could at least help us dig out the minerals that we need to make the rockets and spaceships. We are a team. You should have known better. Or your ancestors should have, they should have moved to cities long ago. Change has come. Either you are for progress, or you are against it. If you are for progress, you are part of the team that is building the shining road to economic glory, even if you had to work sixteen hours every day in a mine or in a construction site; if you are against it, you are an enemy of the state. You die.

Challu, you just were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Sorry.

The headman had stopped giving the names. There was little more to say.

I hesitantly asked him question, so, was there any Naxalite support in the village before this happened?

I knew that I might have touched a nerve. But they were quick and unhesitant in responding. Oh yes, a villager answered, there were some people who had given rice to the Naxals.

Some people? I doubt. It is very likely that everybody in the village knew about such incidents. Anyway, who would you blame? Who would think of saying no to Naxal troops who would have come with their guns? What did the villagers have to protect themselves? Rabbit traps? Fish nets? And why not help the Naxalites? The only time the villagers had a connection with the state was during the time of the elections. A villager there described me how during elections the police would come and truck all of them away, and take them to polling booths, so that they would cast votes. After all, the democratic process was still alive. And the Naxals were the only people who would promise the villagers anything and maybe even try to fight for their sake.

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Picture 16. Child whose father had been murdered by the Judum, Munder

So yes, there was support. And one would be truly hard-pressed to find a village in the entire belt where there was no support for the Naxalites. Maybe even among most villages outside the Naxalite belt.

And now it is very likely that to a man, everyone in the village whole-heartedly supported the Naxalites. A few people had been killed, but the rest were very much around. And then there were the children of the dead, who were the innocent victims of the carnage. When they grew up, any guesses as to who they would support?

We had returned to Dantewada as the sun was setting, and Kopa had left after letting me know that we would need to start very early the next day, no later than 6:30 in the morning, for the visit to Lingagiri.

Ullu. Challu. Bandhak. People who were not worth counting. And who had no idea why they had to die, for what cause.

To be continued in next update: The visit to Lingagiri

3 Comments »

3 Responses to “An account of the trip to rehabilitated villages near Dantewada – Part 1: The visit to Munder”

  1. piyush Says:
    December 8th, 2009 at 11:50

    Keep the horror stories coming .. we would comment & read , read & comment ..

    Piyush

  2. Zeb Azam Says:
    April 22nd, 2010 at 04:01

    A meaningful write-up and an eye opener. Keep writing to give the feel of the life and problems of people in such areas. Great job!!

  3. Priyanka Says:
    June 7th, 2011 at 20:37

    Sid Sir..

    Very well written..

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