A CBT PUBLICATION

An Earthquake

Loveleen Kacker

An Earthquake

By Loveleen Kacker
Illustrated by Surendra Suman

Children's Book Trust, New Delhi

The other title by the author published

by CBT is Hunt For The Jewels.

EDITED BV NAVIN MENON AND NINI GURUNG

Text typeset in 1 2 / 1 6 pt. Palatino
by CBT 2001
ISBN 81-7011-909-X
Published by Children's Book Trust, and
printed at its Indraprastha Press, Nehru House,
4 Bahadur Shah Zafar Marg, New Delhi.

The sahibs
"A small-sized postage stamp would be a little
more effective substitute for clothing of many of these
weird people/' snapped Tom Boggs, staring at the
three tribal youths. The latter lounged against the saja
tree and watched with much interest the two white
men clean their guns.
"True," said Colonel Asquith, carefully cleaning the
barrel of his gun with a long stick around which had
been wrapped a rag soaked in oil. "But," he pointed
at the youths to emphasize his view, "rings and beads
they must have. Look at him, for God's sake! Look at
the perfect bushel of brass rings the fellow has in his
ears! Fascinating!"
Of the three tribals, two squatted on the dust and
stared at the Englishmen with deep interest. Even

from far, the broad-cheeked, thick-lipped, triangular

faces looked amazing. The two were dark bronze in
colour, thin but raw-boned; their chests and limbs
were bare of hair. The third, who was standing and
chewing on a blade of grass, was taller, and slimmer.
He was practically nude with a tiny strip of cloth
strung to cover that had the habit of swaying
sideways when he moved. The youth was supremely
unconcerned.
"Look at them! Savages!" grunted Boggs.
"They are not too bad, Boggs," murmured Asquith.
"And look at the fellow standing. Look at his eyes.
Handsome fellow."
"Handsome? Him?"
"Look at the jungle, Tom," said Asquith. "Have you
ever seen such a forest? It is superb."
"What I do not like about this jungle is the lack of
game," Boggs continued to complain. "I came all the
way from England to shoot tigers in India, and here
I am in the middle of nowhere, chasing buffaloes!
It is a woman's sport," he snorted.
Asquith sighed. Tom Boggs was his brother-in-law,
the only one and a great favourite of his wife, Penny
There was no choice but to tolerate his boorish ways.
"I suppose buffaloes and tigers are not in the same
category Tracking a buffalo is not an easy job and it
requires a great deal of finesse."
Boggs snorted hard through his nostrils, an act that
brought the tribal youths three steps closer. The white
man was most peculiar, they thought, watching the

swollen face of the feringhee that was tomato-red in

colour. And why was he trying to spit through his
nose? Sukma, a tribal belonging to the bison-horn Maria
tribe, spat efficiently in the dust and then looked at
Boggs as if to tell him that is how he could do it.
"Savages!" yelled Boggs, springing from his chair
and seizing his gun which lay on the table. He
galloped to Sukma who was sitting in the dust. He
pointed his gun in the centre of the youth's chest and
shouted, "You apologize for your manners!"
Seconds ticked by as the white man's bloodshot
eyes poured venom on Sukma who stood deathly still,
frozen almost in an attitude of fatalistic acceptance.
He was going to die, thought Sukma, before he was
even married. He let his head hang between his knees
and his fingers traced patterns in the dust. His heart
was hammering in his chest. He did not want to die.
"It is no use, Tom," said Asquith wearily. "The gun
is empty. Besides, they spit all the time. It is not bad
manners for them."
Boggs threw down the gun in disgust. He rubbed
his eyes and said, "Okay, Asquith, let us go and chase
the buffaloes. I am tired of eating chicken and pork.
I could do with some beef."
"Sukma," Asquith called the Maria who was his
personal boy and for whom the colonel had much
affection, "go with the scouts and look for the herds
again."
It was hot and dry, so dry that even in the thick
jungles of Bastar the ground beneath the huge teak

and saja trees was drying. For the Englishmen, it was

the best time to be in the jungle in spite of the heat.
For, the mosquitoes had died, the rivers were passable
and water holes were dry which meant that the
animals were forced to move out of the protection of
the forest. Still here in Bastar (now in Chhatisgarh)
the grass was high and a small panther could inch
along, stomach to the ground, totally invisible to the
human eye. It was the panther you needed to keep a
watch for here, and not tigers.
"Big buffalo herd, sir!" Sukma came running into
the camp.
"Where?"
"At the bend of the river! They are wallowing in
the mud."
The Englishmen jumped up and raced after Sukma
and came upon the most extraordinary sight of fifty
or more big, black buffaloes, their huge, wallowing
bodies squelching luxuriously in the liquid mud, on
the banks of the Indravati river. Their ritual bathing
was accompanied by profound blowing and puffing
that informed everyone for at least two miles around
in their proximity
"Which one, Asquith?" asked Boggs, gun to the
shoulder with the deadly barrels aimed at the centre
of the herd. "By God, that one is a beauty," he pointed
at the tremendous length of the horns of a great bull
in the centre. "I can have those horns up on the wall
of my Hartfordshire home to be the centre of every
envious eye in the town."

"No! Leave them alone," said Asquith, slapping the

gun down. "There is no fun in shooting sitting ducks."
Unhappy, but obedient for once, Boggs gave up the
idea of so easily acquiring his first pair of bison horns
and the two set off once again looking for more
challenging game. They were on the edge of the
Abujhmar country, the most primitive and isolated
of the tribal areas of the Central Provinces. Very few
Englishmen had penetrated into the jungles; as for
the Indians, that is, the non-tribal Indians, they knew
even less about the tribals of Bastar, leave alone those
of the Abujhmar mountains. They did not want to
know about the tribals and continued to look upon
them as savages, skilled in herbs, seeking human
victims to sacrifice to their gods and potent
practitioners of magic and witchcraft.
The Indravati river began in Orissa and flowed
across the centre of Bastar. Its waters were swelled
by the two rivers, the Gudra and the Nei Bheret that
drained the tangle of wild mountains and jungles of
Abujhmar. It was a beautiful and mighty river, less
revered than the Ganga of the North maybe, but more
majestic in some ways specially where it fell in many
falls over cliffs and mountains. The Englishmen
followed the river upstream keeping a sharp lookout
for buffaloes. It was a hot, arduous march, penetrating
the thick jungle, struggling through a country devoid
of any but the wildest of tracks, where often even the
way had to be cleared through the thick, green
undergrowth. Scores of coolies carried the camp kit

uncomplainingly and every night they set up camp

for the Englishmenraising the tents, setting up the
chairs and the cots and heating water for their toilet.
Sukma took care of everything for Asquith
including his shaving and ironing of clothes. One
thing that Sukma refused to do was change the style
of his own clothing. He wore only a loin cloth most
of the time. At times he would wear a dirty turban on
his head and strut around like a peacock. However,
the turban did not last too long on his headhe could
not bear the weight of it.

The hunt
On the eighth day, amidst shoulder-high green
grass when Boggs was thrashing around, all hot and
irritable, up sprang a fine bull bison right in front of
him. Squealing up in excitement and fear, he managed
to lift his gun and fire. The bull moaned, threw up its
head and ran off at a tangent. The w o u n d e d ,
frightened animal ran for at least four hours till they
finally found him fallen but alive. It took a shot from
Asquith's big, single barrel to finish him.
"Cut off the horns and tail," Asquith ordered the
tribals, "and give it to Boggs sahib."
In the next ten days they got two cows, two deer
and three more bull buffaloes. The mutilated corpses
littered the jungle, being watched by the hill Maria
tribals who badly needed the food but were scared of

the feringhees. They would wait for the Englishmen

to leave the jungle to go for the flesh.
"It is so peaceful here," grunted Boggs, as he
accepted the plate of food from the cook. "I only wish
you would train your fellows to cook. What is this
red stuff?"
"It is Mughlai. Like a steak but better."
"But why is it red? And so overdone?"
"Eat Tom," said Asquith a little wearily. "You are
not in Hartfordshire, you know."
"I know that well." He eyed the chapattis with
distaste. "1 could do with some bread."
Asquith ate steadily and with enjoyment. His cook,
Abdul, came from Lucknow, and that is why they
were eating Mughlai food in the middle of nowhere.
He appreciated that fact even if Tom did not.
And Abdul made the best coffee. Coffee with a dash
of brandy, the blazing stars overhead and the
brooding, dark, almost menacing jungle around
himAsquith asked for nothing more. The forest
echoed the deep hoot of the owl. Three occasional
rustlings in the under-growth could be heard. Was it a
panther? A python? Here was peace of a kind he had
never felt before.
"You know, Tom," said Asquith. "the shikar
(hunting) of buffaloes is not that easy a sport. Let me
tell you a story about an old Indian named Jenkins...
"Jenkins had gone out one morning on the tracks
of a big bull which he had hit the previous evening.
Armed with a heavy black powder rifle, probably an

10

eight-bore, he came upon the bull lying down in an

open glade. He approached perilously close to finish
it off, and was charged! The bull was said to have
chased him to a tree, around which the unfortunate
man dodged and, on every side of it, attempted to
seize his pursuer's spreading horns. In such an
unequal strife the two opponents did not struggle
long. The sportsman was easily tossed aside and then
gored. When the bull finally left, the poor man and
his retainers rushed to his rescue, and their master
was beyond aid. He ejaculated one word, 'water' and
was dead before their eyes."
"I bet you made that up to scare me," said Tom
Boggs.
"No, I did not. Ask Sukma," Asquith indicated the
youth, who sat beside the dying embers of the fire
chewing a thick wad of tobacco. "The story is true.
Of course, such stories shock even the keen shikari
(hunter), and a narrow escape might teach him greater
caution, but these rarely deter him from embarking
on a shikar."
"What about you?" asked Boggs curiously. "Have
you had a personal, narrow escape?"
"Yes."
"Tell me."
"I got mauled by a tiger so badly that I got scared
off the jungle itself." Leaning forward, Asquith stirred
the fire. Apart from some red-orange flying embers
the fire remained dead. "Sukma, go, get some wood
for the fire. Can you not see the fire is dead?" Asquith

11

helped Sukma to arrange the logs of firewood before

he spoke again.
Boggs, who had forgotten his question, was startled
back from sleep. Asquith said, "The jungle exercises
a compelling fascination for me, and I am in love with
my rifle. I live for the smell of gun oil and so, as time
healed the scars both mental and physical, I was once
again drawn to the solitude of the Bastar jungle. You
know, Tom, when I went into the jungle for the first
time after recovering from the attack, I was afraid of
every rustle in the bushes. I would start sweating at
the harsh sounds of the wild beasts. I loved it at the
same time and soon the incident became jungle lore."
"But what happened?"
"I will tell you some day," said Asquith, rubbing
his left shoulder. "Not today. I am not in a mood."
"Come on," said Boggs, "I want to know and I am
not ready to sleep yet. It is lovely outside." Tom
jiggled Asquith's arm in impatience.
"Okay, it was not Abujhmar," Asquith indicated the
jungle around him. "It was a still, thick jungle and
tribal country up north. More, the tendu patta (leaf of
the ebony tree) area, you know." Asquith looked at
Boggs. "You do know tendu patta, do you not? The
leaf that is used to roll the tobacco and make bidis,
the Indian cigarettes. Well, I was there in the jungle
and we had set up a camp and were relaxing.
Suddenly, out of the blue, there was the most
deafening and frightening roar, and a tiger, that had
slinked silently upon us, leaped onto my back. Both

12

its front paws with the huge curving nails dug into
my left shoulder. The shock, the pain and the smell
of that animal is something that I will never forget. It
is the stuff of my nightmares." Asquith stopped and
involuntarily looked over his shoulders in fear.
"What happened," squeaked Tom Boggs.
"We managed to kill it, but not before it killed one
man, apart from mauling me. It was a sick, old
maneater. It had been hounded out of villages and
forests because it was picking up stray animals and
children herding cattle." Asquith shook his head and
smiled wryly, "It was a mean devil, and how it stank!
We tried to skin it, but gave up for the stink."
Boggs leaned forward and touched Asquith's
shoulder. "Is the wound still painful?" Asquith
shrugged off Tom's hand.
"Do you not want to go back to England?" asked
Boggs with persistence. Though insensitive and quite
self-centred, Boggs had begun to realize that the love,
which his brother-in-law had for the jungle and the
tribals, went much beyond the call of duty.
"To tell you the truth, wet, cold England holds no
attraction for me. I want to be buried here, in Bastar."
Asquith lay back and locked his hands behind his
head and smiled dreamily up at the dark night sky.
How could he explain to a boor-like Boggs that he
was in love, in love with a country and its people?
Even Penny did not understand it. Poor Penny, so
pale, so colourless and so English!
How did it happen that the English bred people

13

compelled almost by a missionary zeal to improve

the world, yet were so insular in their thinking that
they accepted nothing of the country they had
adopted, not the language, not the food, not the
clothing, not even the beauties of the country. They
just kept harping on a dream back home that existed
only in their imagination.

East versus West

After a whole month in the jungle, the Englishmen
reached Jagdalpur, headquarters of Bastar. There, in
the Circuit House, they spread with pride all their
prizes which now included the skin of a small, jet-black
panther, the most dangerous animal in the jungle. It was
Asquith who had actually bagged the animal but he
let his brother-in-law take credit for it. Boggs could
not stop bragging about his catch. They sat over
drinks with their trophies spread on the table in front
of them. The panther had been slinking along in the
undergrowth, belly to the ground and eyes fixed on
Daisy, Asquith's yellow bitch, when Tom saw it. He
could not shoot it. It was Asquith's bullet that hit the
animal beneath the left ear and killed it. Boggs kept
poking at the panther's skin with Asquith's baton.
He could not wait to mount the skin.
"Boy, I am glad to have some ice in my drink," said
Asquith, shaking his glass close to his ear and smiling
as the ice clinked musically.

14

"A relief from the incessant chatter of the monkeys

and the cry of the peacock," Boggs poked one thick
finger at the bison horns. His florid face was red
with the skin peeling in places. Unlike his almost
ascetic looking brother-in-law, Tom Boggs was
grossly overweight with a huge belly hanging over
his belt and powerful thick arms. Where the skin
was exposed it was flaming red in colour and
wherever covered it was a pasty, dirty white in colour.
His head was bald and the skin behind his head
fell in four folds before extending over his back. His
body was supported on the slenderest legs that you
saw on anyone.
"I am going to keep the panther in the hallway,"
said Boggs, putting a finger inside the grotesquely
open mouth of the animal and feeling its teeth.
"It would not show against the panelled backdrop
so well," said Asquith. "Best you put it in the
bedroom, tail up and face down."
"The missus will get nightmares with the creature
staring at her all night," laughed Tom. He could not
wait to see his wife's reaction to the ferocious looking
animal. What a story it would make. His great
grandchildren would be relating it too!
"Sahib!" A bearer came in silently and stood with
eyes fixed to the ground. "Sahib, Panda Baijnath sahib
has come."
"Monkeys," said Boggs, jumping at the sound of
the bearer's voice. He had not heard him come in.
"Why do they not cough or do something?"

15

"Go, send him in," cried Asquith. "And tell Abdul,

Panda sahib will be here for dinner."
"A native! For dinner! You must be joking," said
Boggs.
"Actually I am not," said Asquith, again wincing
at Boggs' form of address. "He is the Diwan (prime
minister) of Bastar, you know."
"Still, a native," Tom sputtered, unable to believe
what he was hearing. "And you the king's representative."
"Shh, he is here. Do come in, Panda sahib. How do
you do? Will you have a drink?"
"Oh, no. I am a Hindu."
"So you are. What about a glass of nimbu pani
(lime juice)? Abdul makes the most fascinating
nimbu pani."
"Thank you." Panda Baijnath nodded courteously
and folded his hands in greeting Boggs.
"My brother-in-law," said Asquith, waving at
Boggs.
"You do not drink, eh?" Boggs offered by way of a
reply to Panda sahib's greeting. "But your entire
Bastar population drink beer and toddy, and what
have you?"
Panda Baijnath placed his knees together like a
prudish woman and pursed his lips before speaking,
"They are not Hindus." Panda Baijnath was a thin,
short man with compelling eyes. He habitually
dressed in a dhoti and kurta of Kosa silk. His skin
was copper-coloured, his face clean shaven and his
forehead high. Panda Baijnath was a scholar and a

16

thinker and, as Diwan, his entire energies were

directed towards schemes of tribal welfare.
"Did you have a good shikar? Ah, I see you did."
He indicated the trophies with his cane.
"Yes," said Asquith.
"No," said Boggs.
"Why is that, sir?" Panda addressed his question
to Boggs.
"No tigers."
"No tigers?"
"No tigers. Only buffaloes. It is the most boring
jungle that I have ever seen."
"If you shoot all the tigers, the jungle is bound to
become boring," cautioned Panda Baijnath.
Boggs stared at the old man. "But if you do not
shoot animals, what do you do with them?" He
glanced at Asquith as if to ask him whether this Indian
was crazy.
Panda Baijnath sighed and shook his head. His
orange-coloured turban was too big and heavy and
he was dying to scratch his scalp. It was not as though
he did not believe that the British were doing a good
job in India, but the tribals were different and they
had to be treated differently. While the rest of the
country was getting educated and railway lines were
being laid everywhere, the tribals of Bastar were
frightened of horses! They thought the horse was
a mythical creature capable of flying, sprouting wings
and flying. It was essential that both the British and
the non-tribal Indian should be made to understand

17

that the tribal world, its social norms, its laws, its
goals and way of life were all different.
"Here is your nimbu pani, Pandaji," said Asquith.

Resentment
Asquith, thin, tall, reminded Panda Baijnath of a
cadaver with his sunken cheeks and hollows at the
temples. His hands were so thin that you could see
the blue veins and almost count all bones and joints.
On his part Asquith liked and admired Panda Baijnath
very much. He wanted to be friends with him, and in
a certain way they were friends. Panda Baijnath was
so disapproving of the British though in a very
guarded way that Asquith was often irritated with
him. Asquith desperately wanted Panda Baijnath's
approval. But the high-caste, twice born Panda almost
seemed to hold his breath when any Englishman was
around. Even the bodies of flesh-eaters stank of decay!
"How is the road coming along?" Asquith asked,
leaning close to Panda Baijnath. Instinctively Baijnath
moved back.
"The one from Narainpur to Paralkote is complete,
but I want to build a road into Abujhmar."
"Abujhmar?" Asquith looked surprised. Even in
tribal areas, Abujhmar was the most remote,
backward and inaccessible.
"Why?" asked Boggs in a drunken slur.
Panda Baijnath gave him a pained look and then

18

turned towards Asquith. When he spoke, he had

dropped the subject of roads. "The problem seems to
be the opposition to the schools. I am not able to
convince the tribal people to send their boys and girls
to school."
"I know, I was in Dimrapal village and the village
medicine man, what do they call him?"
"The kasyeq gaita."
"Whatever. This medicine man thought that
education was the devil's work."
"That is the problem." Panda Baijnath slapped his
knees with his hands and, getting up, began pacing
the length of the living room. "They object to every
new measure! They are unhappy over the reservation
of the forest too. How can I explain to them that
their shifting cultivation is ruining the forest. At the
rate at which they are cutting the forest, it will be
destroyed in ten years. And then what will we do?"
"What do you mean?" asked Boggs.
"He means the railways," explained Asquith,
"British railways need timber."
"If the British railways need timber, let the forest
be destroyed." Tom Boggs' voice slurred over.
"What will the British railways do for timber once
the forests are destroyed?" asked Panda Baijnath.
"Never mind," Asquith waved at his brother-inlaw, "you must try the seekh kebabs, Tom. I have not
tasted better even in Lucknow."
"I think you understand very well what I mean,
Colonel sahib," said Panda Baijnath, watching the

19

ease with which Tom Boggs' attention had been

diverted towards food. "I have to serve the imperial
interest of the British as well as that of the Raja of
Bastar. What about the interests of the people? What
about the interests of the poor tribals whom nobody
understands?"
"Panda sahib, I understand your worry very well.
Do you not think you are going too fast? I mean the
entire tribal area of the Central Provinces, including
Bastar and the Abujhmar mountains, has been so
isolated for years, ages in fact. The people of this area
are at least a hundred years behind the rest of the
country. They do not understand the value of what
you are trying to do. For them it is only an intrusion,
a totally uncalled for intrusion."
"Maybe. But are we to leave them exactly where
they are? A hundred years behind the rest of the
country which itself is a hundred years behind
England?" Panda sahib was sitting up straight, and
two spots of colour were on his pale cheeks.
"You cannot compare the tribals with Englishmen,"
came Boggs' drunken voice from the depths of
the chair.
"No, no, he does not mean that," said Asquith,
giving his brother-in-law a murderous look. "I am
afraid that if we meddle too much with the tribal way
of life, there might be trouble. On the other hand, we
do need the timber and the iron ore." Asquith used
his skeletal fingers to comb his hair. "You know what
I really feel, Pandaji?"

20

"What?"
"I feel that the Indians, whether the tribal or the
non-tribal, are more ready to accept the Englishman
as the harbinger of change than an Indian in that role.
They feel that the English are fair and dependable."
"Do they now?" Panda Baijnath's piercing eyes
bored into Asquith's. "Wonder what makes you
say that?"
"Sometimes I feel the tribals are not as stupid as
they appear. I feel a restlessness, an anger almost..."
He stopped speaking and shrugged his shoulders.
"What makes you say that, Asquith sahib?" asked
Panda Baijnath. Asquith flung up his hands but
refused to say anything more. Panda Baijnath
watched him for a while and then spoke, "You
know, Asquith sahib, my family has worked for the
Rajas of Bastar for generations and we know the
tribals even better than they know themselves. They
are the quietest, mildest people that you would
ever know."
"There is a resentment," Asquith spoke almost to
himself.
"The tribal does not understand what it means.
He is like a cow that has to be led!"
"I do hope that you are right, Pandaji. I am afraid.
No one can live forever with the feeling of illtreatment. Sooner or later the resentment is bound to
come out." He shook his head, looking worried. He
spoke again, almost as though he was speaking to
himself, "There is a resentment and I am afraid."

21

"Colonel sahib..." began Panda Baijnath.

"Let us not be so morbid. Let us have some dinner."
The Circuit House dining hall was splendidly
furnished with carpets, snowy white napery and
gleaming cutlery. There were mountains of food on
the table. Panda Baijnath stared with fastidious
distaste at the chicken, meat and beef dishes. He did
not even want to sit at the table leave alone eat at it.
"Panda sahib." A smiling bearer stood behind him.
"I am Pandit Hari Prasad. Abdul asked me to bring
your food." He placed before Panda Baijnath a silver
thali (plate on which food is served) containing a katori
(small metal bowl) of curd, dal, fried lady fingers and
chapattis. "Your honour will forgive the simple fare but
there was no time to prepare a more elaborate meal."
Panda Baijnath sat down and while the Englishmen
began eating, he prayed to the goddess thanking her
for the food.
Asquith was a sparse eater. He ate slowly and
seemed to spend a long time chewing his food.
"Pandaji, have you heard of Gunda Dhur?" asked
the colonel suddenly.
"Gunda Dhur? The rebel? Bagi?"
"Yes,"
"Is he a real man? I mean, is not Gunda Dhur a
story? The tribals make folklore around anything,
even a make-believe incident."
"So you think Gunda Dhur is not real?" Asquith's
pale grey, almost transparent eyes, stared at
Panda sahib.

22

"Do you think he is real?"

"Yes."
"Why?"
"I have seen him and heard him speak. He speaks
about tribal awakening and self-rule. A remarkably
learned man. I do not mean formal learning."
"Colonel sahib, you must be mistaken," Pandaji
spoke patronizingly. "For years there have been songs
about Gunda Dhur. Like Lingo Pen, the other tribal
hero, Gunda Dhur performs impossible feats. It
w7ould not be long before they deify him. You must
not take Gunda Dhur seriously."
"I hope you are right," Asquith repeated. "Why do
you not try some of the rice pudding that Abdul
makes? It is delicious."
"I do not eat sweets," said Pandaji. "I really should
be going now. Thanks for your hospitality."
Panda Baijnath bowed once again at his plate of
food thanking the goddess for letting him eat and
walked out of the Circuit House accompanied by the
colonel. In the porch, with one foot on the step of the
buggy, he turned back and spoke quietly, "Colonel
sahib, I get the feeling that you are worried. For your
sake I will make enquiries. If there is any trouble
afoot, I will know."
"Thank you. And you will tell me if you hear
anything?"
"No doubt.
"Namaskar."

23

Of culture
Kalandiya strode back to the village, his lean and
hard brown limbs moving with fluid grace. It was the
day of the new-eating festival and he had to have his
hair cut today. He found Domru, where the boys
always sat, to get their coiffures done.
The first-eating festival was an important agrarian
festival for the hill Marias. Among the hill Marias
shifting cultivation was the only form of agriculture
that they knew. The Bhum or the Earth is god and no
land is privately owned. The crops grow because of
the combined labours of the entire village. If one
person suffers, the entire village suffers. The hill
Maria practises penda or hill slope cultivation. For this
he fells and burns the forest growth on the steep hill
sides. After everything is burned and the fire has
cooled, the unburnt material and the ash is spread as
evenly as possible over the hill sides, the seeds are
broadcast in the ashes after the rains break. Once the
difficult task of firing and sowing is over, new houses
have to be built on the slopes and the entire village
shifts to the new site.
Quickly Kalandiya squatted in front of Domru with
his head between his knees while Domru caught the
long locks on top of Kalandiya's head with his left
hand and with the other he began to swiftly shave
the rest of Kalandiya's head.
After he was done, Kalandiya's head resembled in
appearance a hill-crest with a clearing all around for

24

penda cultivation and a grove of trees left standing

on the summit. Kalandiya touched the round patch
of hair on the crown that had been drawn back into a
top-knot and the rest shaved off by Domru. He wished
he had a mirror to study his looks. Most of the other
young men shaved their heads once a year but
Kalandiya was vain and, besides, it was the day of
the new-eating festival and all the girls would come
to dance in it.
Kalandiya's heart beat fast as he thought about
Jugho. She was old enough for the ghotul now and
would be seeking a ghotul husband very soon.
The ghotul is the village dormitory. It is an
institution that traces its origin back to Lingo Pen,
the fabled cult hero of the tribals, and all unmarried
boys and girls must be its members. All the boys and
girls are given different social duties in the ghotul and
they are taught all the things that will be useful for
them as responsible members of the tribe. The ghotul
touches every facet of the tribal's life. The boys are
taught all the aspects of cultivation; how to fire the
woods and spread the ash after the earlier ploughed
fields become fallow, they are taught hunting, fishing,
gathering honey, making liquor and so on. The girls
learn their duties. Both boys and girls are taught the
religious rites and their considerable mythology
which is all verbal. Every tribal boy and girl is
passionate about the ghotul and life inside it. Lingo's
most cherished memories are of life inside it and he
regrets forever having to leave the ghotul.

25

Lingo Pen, the legendary hero of the Gond tribals,

gave the tribals all the things they love, including
dance, 'music, and liquor. It was Lingo who gave the
girls the sweet voices, and made their songs strong
and true. It is Lingo who gives the feet of the boys
and girls, the special strength and grace to make them
dance tirelessly the whole night long.
It is Lingo who built the ghotul and laid down the
rules of discipline to be followed in the ghotul. The
first ghotul, where Lingo lived, was beautiful as the
horns of the bison, beautiful as a horse's throat. Its
central pillar was a python, the poles of the roof were
snakes and the cross poles were cobras. The bamboo
framework of the roof was covered with the peacock
feathers. The walls were cod-fish bones, the door was
made of crimson flowers and the floor was plastered
with the flour of urad pulse. And so for Lingo Pen
himself, his turban was like the white flower of the
gourd, his shirt shone in the sun, his clogs were made
of sandalwood and his belt was a snake. As he walked
he sparkled. Many legends and poems talk of Lingo
Pen and his relation with the ghotul.
Kalandiya's mouth went dry as he pictured Jugho
in his mind's eye. She was beautiful! Her skin was
the colour of wheat which he had seen in the bazaars
of Jagdalpur. She was always smiling and had the
longest, curliest hair in the village. Jugho was strong
with the strength of the oxen that the bison-horn
Marias used. Kalandiya had seen her walk to the
bazaar once, a distance of forty miles and she had

26

arrived at the bazaar looking as fresh and pretty as a

mahua flower with not a hair disturbed and not a dew
drop of sweat on her body. The cord which she wore
around her hips had at least fifty brass rings, many
more than what most girls wore.
Jugho was not just any girl. She was special and
Kalandiya was fond of her. He had learned some of
the ways of the town people and he vowed to himself
that he would get Jugho rings or silver, even gold, if
only she agreed to be his ghotul wife.
"Oh, Kalandiya! You baboon's tail! Why are you
all shaved and dolled up? Is it your wedding day?"
queried the boys of the village.
Kalandiya ignored them and hurried home.
" C o m e and eat some pej ( p o r r i d g e ) , " said
Kalandiya's mother, Mago.
She sat on her haunches before the tattooist
submitting to his painful ministrations as he tattooed
an intricate pattern of dots on her shoulder. She was
a fine woman, copper-coloured with a skin that
shone like butter. She wore ten strings of large,
white uneven beads around her neck and two long
strings ending in brass pellet bells hung at the level
of her navel. She wore large iron neck hoops that
gave her neck an elongated appearance. A number
of loose bracelets of aluminium and brass on her
wrists and dancing anklets on her feet completed
her dress. She was the best looking and the richest
woman in the village. Her carved and ornamental
combs at the side of her head added to her finery

27

She was unfortunately very vile-tempered, and was

possessive of Kalandiya.
"Kalandiya!" It was Samru.
"What is it?" Kalandiya hissed back, finger to his
lips, but still his mother heard.
"Kalandiya, do not talk to Samru! He lies to me.
Wait till I get him."
"Oh, Ma back off. He only wants to dance with you."
"Dance with me, will he?" Ma jerked upright and
the tattooing needle pierced her shoulder, that made
her shriek in pain.
"Lie still, Mago," said the tattooist and boxed Ma's
shoulder making her shriek again.
"Eat your pej, Kalandiya," Mago repeated.
"Eat your pej!" Kalandiya muttered to himself. He
did not want to eat pej. Why was there no meat today.
Not even a teeny-weeny mouse, no pea fowl, nor
snipe. Never mind, he consoled himself, there was
bound to be rabbit at the first-eating festival today,
maybe even deer, if he was lucky. Pork was, of course,
bound to be there. Like all his tribesman he loved pork
fat when it was hot and bubbling. He always slept
long and hard after he ate pork. He was hungry
and there were no other choices, he would have to
eat the pej.
"Eat your pej," Kalandiya muttered again, as he
slapped the sticky glue on to a plate of woven sajo
leaves and ate it quickly with his fingers.
What nobody knew, not even his friends, nor his
mother, nor even the other ghotul boys and girls was

28

that he had been invited last night by Arki Boiyya for

communion with the clan god.
Arki Boiyya was the clan priest, which meant he
was the priest of not only their village but of ten or
twelve villages around all of which had the same clan
god, the vulture. Growing old, Arki Boiyya had begun
to worry about a successor. Among the hill Marias,
succession to the clan priest was not a matter of
primogeniture. Arki Boiyya was honour-bound to
choose the most suitable of the boys as his successor.
Kalandiya had offered himself for the job. The reason
he did so was the omen.

The clan priest

Kalandiya already had the birthmark of the clan
priest on his bodya big spread of red stain right at
the navel. The red stain, like an uneven flower, had
existed right from birth. His mother, convinced that
Kalandiya was a born witch doctor, took him to the
meeting of the witch doctors and offered the boy to
them for training. The witch doctors, secure in their
position of authority, had said that it was not enough
to have the mark. He also had to have the powers.
Mago was furious with the witch doctors for daring
to refuse her son and she had vowed that she would
never send Kalandiya to be trained as a clan priest
even if all the witch doctors got together and begged
her on bended knees. Kalandiya had been told this

29

story many times by his mother and yet he yearned

to be the clan priest and, if possible, the high priest.
For this he had to have some sign of the powers.
The high priest was the head of all the village
priests and all the clan priests too. No one knew who
the high priest was. It was one of the best kept secrets.
Kalandiya was sure that as he had the omen he was
sure to get the powers too and would soon be
inducted into priesthood. Then he would get to meet
the high priest.
The omen had come in a dream at first. Kalandiya
was asleep in his house. In his dream he saw himself
lying on the ground beneath the sacred amaltas
(Indian laburnum) tree, and while he lay there he saw
a straight slim arrow rise from his navel and shoot
straight into the tree and strike the breast of a red
rooster that was sitting on the branch of the tree. The
arrow pierced the breast of the rooster and the dark
red pulsating blood flowed down straight onto
Kalandiya's navel. The rooster did not squawk or cry,
it just bowed its head in obeisance.
It was then that Kalandiya went to Arki Boiyya,
the clan priest, who asked him to come along for the
worship of the clan god before the new-eating festival.
That was going to be Kalandiya's test. Kalandiya was
very excited at being invited by Arki Boiyya. He
desperately wanted to be the clan priest, the most
powerful man in the village.
The previous night the village had prepared fish
for both the clan priest and the village priest. That

30

was the custom and it was an indication that the

village wanted the first-eating festival to be held the
next day. If the clan priest accepted the village's
offering, the village felt gratified and they waited
anxiously for the results of the communion with the
clan god.
Arki Boiyya was more than just a clan priest; he
was a medium through whom the clan god spoke to
the village. He was thus one of the most feared
persons in the village.
Arki Boiyya eyed the fish with distaste. "I have to
fast and remain on a liquid diet."
"Then I too will fast," said Kalandiya.
"We will ask that fool Dolna to eat," said Arki
Boiyya, meaning the village priest, and Kalandiya
was shocked to hear how irreverently he spoke about
the village priest.
"Dolna does not have the vision," said Arki Boiyya.
"It does not matter whether he eats or does not."
"Do you think I have the vision?" Kalandiya
sounded fearful.
"That is what we have to see."
"Will Dolna also come alone to worship the clan
god?" asked Kalandiya.
"No." Arki Boiyya's voice was contemptuous and
Kalandiya felt his heart swell with both fear and
elation. It was an important day in his life. First there
was this communion with the clan god, then the
first-eating festival and, if he was lucky, a meeting
with Jugho.

31

Kalandiya's village had only recently shifted and

it was no wonder that the village still had a new look
about it. It was also the first new-eating festival being
held in the new site and therefore the significance of
the festival was double.
It was after midnight when Arki Boiyya and
Kalandiya set off for the shrine of the clan god.
Worshipping the clan god was serious business and
had to be done in secrecy, with none around to witness
it. The shrine was a permanent hut temple on top of
the hill, in the centre of the clearing between the saja
trees. The clan god for Kalandiya's village, Chelru,
was the spirit of the vulture, the most wicked and
ferocious of birds as well as the wisest. It was a king
among birds and could see everything from its flight
high up in the sky. The vulture never eats the living,
Arki Boiyya explained to Kalandiya as they climbed
steadily up the steep hill feeling their way in the pitch
dark night.
As Kalandiya followed the clan priest and absorbed
everything that he said, he kept praying to the spirit
of the trees, the spirit of the pile of boulders, the spirit
of the mountain. All the spirits and the gods needed
propitiation so that they permitted the humans to
pass. Arki Boiyya advised Kalandiya that if he
plucked the fruit of the trees he must seek the
permission of the trees and thank them.
It was taboo to eat any of the new crops until the
clan god gave them permission to do so. This was
the new-eating festival of not only pulses and beans,

32

but of kutki, one of the main foods eaten by the hill

Marias. They were going to seek the clan god's
blessings.
The shrine of the clan god on top of the hill was a
framework of logs criss-crossed with bamboos. It was
bedecked with peacock feathers, spirals of quills,
brass bells and other finery. The next day, Arki Boiyya
and Kalandiya would take the god to the traditional
place of sacrifice beneath the sacred saja tree.
Following the sacrifice would come the feasting
and all the good food that the village could afford.
Finally there was the dancing and drumming. Before
all this, the clan priest needed to commune with the
clan god.
Half-way up the hill, Arki Boiyya stopped and
turned to Kalandiya, "Remove all your clothes. Now
we smear ash all over our bodies and wear the vulture
feathers in our hair. Like this." Arki Boiyya helped
Kalandiya to fix the feathers in his top knot. With the
rest of his head shaved, that was all he had for fixing
decorations in his hair. "Only leave your sacred red
mark uncovered. See, like I have done it. Now," Arki
Boiyya faced the top of the hill exactly where the
shrine was and said, "from here on we move in
silence. We do not look down and we do not look at
the sky. We look at the path or we look at the shrine."
"What happens up there?"
"There I am going to pray and dance like I have
been taught. I will wait for the vision to come to me."
There was silence. When Kalandiya spoke again,

33

his voice was hushed with fear and excitement,

"Do you always get a vision? I mean does the god
speak to you?"
"Yes."
"What should I do?"
"You sit and pray and wait. The vision might come
to you too."
Arki Boiyya spoke with eyes to the ground. His
voice had a different timbreremote and sonorous.
Kalandiya got the feeling that Arki Boiyya was in a
different world and he was seeing things that he
himself was not seeing.
"Will there be demons? I thought..." Kalandiya's
voice was fearful.
"Where there are gods, there will be demons."
Arki Boiyya refused to say more, even as Kalandiya
was bubbling with questions. He stood before the god,
knees bent and hands joined in obeisance above his
head. His ash-smeared body began swaying
rhythmically to some music that only he could hear.
The dance began very slowly and then, picking up
speed, his feet settled into monotonous steps that kept
repeating themselves.
Kalandiya watched for a while. Soon the endless
repetition made him dizzy and he closed his eyes.
Immediately it seemed as though someone had placed
immensely heavy weights on his eyes and he was
unable to keep them open. Soon he felt his body
becoming heavy and he did not have the strength to
resist the stupor that was stealing over him. He had

34

no control either over his body or his mind. The

present receded and he was free.
Kalandiya was the vulture. He was the huge grey
bird with the heavy jowls and the razor-sharp curved
yellow beak. His yellow-rimmed eyes had a fantastic
vision. He could see everything. What was that in the
valley below? Kalandiya felt himself being lifted by
his powerful wings and suddenly he was aloft, gliding
effortlessly over trees and villages. He was soaring.
Way below him Kalandiya saw a strange sight.
He saw hundreds of big, black ants running hither
and thither. Almost crazy with fear, they ran in all
directions blundering and scrambling. Big snakes
with long forked tongues surrounded them. The
snakes did nothing. They sat there with raised hoods
and darting tongues. The foolish ants themselves
fell into the snakes' mouths. Sometimes the ants tried
to fight but their pitiful attempts got them nowhere.
Kalandiya flew back to his mountain pursued by
the cries of people dead and dying. He saw terrible
sights everywherechildren struggling in rivers of
blood, headless bodies hanging upside down and
much more.
When Kalandiya woke up, he was lying face down
in the dirt far from the shrine. The first light of the
day had begun to reveal the world. There was no sign
of Arki Boiyya. Kalandiya lay for a very long time
waiting for his strength to return so that he could go
back to the village. After a while he heard the sound
of singing and rejoicing as the entire village along

35

with Arki Boiyya carried the clan god down the hill
to the sacrificial place. The clan god would first be
taken to the shrine of the village Mother. The clan
priest would place a grain or two of the new crop on
the table stone or cleft stick representing her. He
would sprinkle the blood of a small chicken on the
Mother and the clan god and throw the still live
chicken on the ground. If after a convulsive leap or
two the chicken fell on its back with its claws in the
air, it was an excellent omen! The sacrifices to the clan
god then began in earnest. With every sacrifice blood
was sprinkled on the clan god till the god itself
dripped blood upon the ground below. The sacrifices
were essential. The clan god was not easy to please.
At night the dancing began. The flesh of the
sacrificed animals was cooked together in immense
pots, in which the new grain was added. The boys
and girls of adjoining villages also came to participate
in the rejoicing. As the fragrance of the food rose, the
drums began beating. Soon the sweet young voices
of the Maria boys and girls mingled in song. The male
singers asked questions, and the female singers
replied in a full-throated chorus. The hills and forests
resounded with the sound of the drums, the singing
and the pounding feet.
Kalandiya did not participate in the dancing or the
feasting. Frightened by what he had seen, he wanted
time to reflect. What did it mean? Kalandiya was
exhausted with want of sleep, fear and the thinking
he had done. He did not discuss what he had seen

36

even with Arki Boiyya. He had to find the meaning

of the omen himself, if he intended becoming the next
clan priest. Right now he was just a very frightened
and tired boy.

'Bhumkal'
One evening the village kaseq gaita and the elders
of the village met over an unexpected treat of mahua
wine, and decided to start building the ghotul
dormitory in the new village.
"For long we have been without the ghotul."
"We need to send the boys and girls to help start
building the ghotul."
"Yes, do that. The dormitory must come up first."
"For the boys and girls."
"Go, call Kalandiya."
In no time Kalandiya came before the council,
panting and puffing, his matted locks awry. He
flopped down in the dust and looked expectantly at
Dolna, the village priest. He was dying to know why
the elders had called him.
"Kalandiya, as the head boy of the ghotul, it is your
duty to gather the boys and start building the
dormitory."
"For too long have the boys and girls gone without
instruction."
"It is the right time," said Dolna, the village priest,
nodding his head wisely.

37

Kalandiya gritted his teeth.

"You have to build the ghotul. Get the boys."
"I will, sir, today. But am I to take only the boys?"
Kalandiya's dark eyes darted from face to face with
desperate urgency.
The faces of all the elders were impassive. Flat
expressionless faces stared at Kalandiya. Almost
simultaneously, the elders burst into laughter. They
threw back their heads and shrieked. They pointed
knobby fingers at Kalandiya's bewildered face and
went on laughing.
"Look at his face."
"He is smitten!"
"He wants a ghotul wife."
"He wants Joghu!"
Angry at being laughed at, Kalandiya got up in a
huff, and stalked off. He strode beneath the teak trees
hitting out at the branches in anger till his temper
cooled.
Kalandiya slowed down, and chewed at the stem
of a bamboo shoot while his mind darted to the image
of Jugho massaging his arms and legs. He would go
to the village of the Murias, Pooliya, that was situated
in the plains just at the point where the hills finished
to get the special lemon grass oil that they distilled.
It had a beautiful pungent smell and, when rubbed on
the body it left a tingling sensation all over. The thought
of Jugho massaging his back with the oil was exciting.
Kalandiya jogged back to the village. He knew the
exact spot to build the ghotul. It was in the forest,

38

a twenty-minute walk away from the village. It was

the perfect spot for the dormitory. There, in the middle
of the forest was a clearing almost round in shape
and surrounded by the drooping branches of the
graceful laburnam trees. He would build there.
Suddenly the lemon grass oil became very important.
"I will go to the Muria village right now and secure
the oil. Then I can ask Jugho to be my ghotul wife."
An excitable kind, Kalandiya forgot that he was to
send the ghotul boys to start work. Instead he ran to
the laburnam tree behind his house and began
digging at the mud plaster he had used to seal the
hole in the trunk of the tree. That hole was his special
hiding place, where he kept all his treasured
possessions. His most precious treasure was a hoard
of five blue beads. They were beautiful. Oval in shape
with a hole through them for stringing, the beads were
a bright shade of blue, a colour that Kalandiya had
not seen on anything else. He held the warm beads
in the hollow of his hands and gloated over them.
They were not his. Someone had offered them at the
shrine of the village Mother goddess. Kalandiya made
them his own.
As Kalandiya again looked at this bright blue
colour of the beads and his heart contracted with pain
at the thought of losing them. Yet he hardened his
heart. He would use them to buy the oil. Kalandiya
tucked the beads into a fold in his loin cloth and
looked at the sun. He was sure he could go to Pooliya,
and come back by nightfall.

39

However, Kalandiya had misjudged the distance.

When the plains were finally in sight, Kalandiya
stopped to rest beside the Indravati river for a drink
of water and nibble at some edible roots. The sun was
on its way down. Should he turn back? For one
heavenly moment he smelled the strong lemon-like
smell of the oil. It was fabulous. Where the lemon
grass was distilled for the oil, the entire village was
fragrant. He would go on to Pooliya he decided.
Strangely the village seemed deserted. It was dark.
No women pounded the pestle, no children played.
There was a death-like stillness all around. He
remembered suddenly the time when there was a
famine in Bastar. Half their village had been wiped
out. He had heard stories of the piles of dead and
dying and what his mother, Mago, described as the
'great silence'. Hark, someone was coming. It was a
woman with two or three children in tow.
"Excuse me," began Kalandiya.
" F e r i n g h e e , " shouted the woman and turned
to flee.
"No, no, I am a tribal like you," said Kalandiya.
"Wait. Where is everyone?"
The woman refused to answer and ran inside a
house dragging her children behind her. Strange,
thought Kalandiya, and decided to go in the direction
from which she had come. As soon as he crossed the
village, Kalandiya found the jungle again.
Ahead of him lay a well-beaten path and Kalandiya
set off down the path at a brisk pace. He had hardly

40

travelled fifteen minutes before his ears were hit by

the sound of many voices. Some light filtered through
the thick jungle and instinctively Kalandiya stepped
off the track and the cover of the jungle. It was not
the most intelligent thing to do, for every hill Maria
knew the plains were filled with snakes. He said
a quick mental prayer to Danteshwari Ma, the
supreme goddess and with his hands stretched out
before him he began feeling his way towards
the clearing.
Something seemed to be going on in the clearing.
He could now make out that a large number of people
had gathered there. Light came from six or seven
kerosene lamps. He crept closer, and unobtrusively
became part of the outer circle of men and women.
They stood close, tightly packed together and listened
to one man who stood in the centre of the circle and
addressed them. The man was giving some kind of
speech. Kalandiya's curiosity was aroused.
"The feringhees are dacoits, looters! They have
taken from us the jungle and the earth, which is our
mother. Now they want the forests. They want our
forests, our timber, and what will they give us in
return?"
"Hunger!"
"Begar (forced labour)!"
"Yes! Hunger and begar! The forests are reserved
they say. What does it mean? It means that we cannot
cut the wood but they can loot the jungle as much as
they like. All that we get is a pittance for a wage. Our

41

homes are gone and our means of livelihood are gone.

What do we get in return?"
"Hunger!"
"Begar!"
"Yes, my brothers, yes. And as if that were not
enough, what does the feringhee do now? He gives
our villages on lease to thekedars (contractors) and tells
the thekedars to collect taxes. So the thekedar gets all
the money and the land and the poor tribal is looted
in his own home. He does not even have the money
to pay his taxes. So what does he get?"
"Hunger!"
"Begar!"
"Friends, the insult is meted out to us, to our gods.
We have lived in the forest and have lived off the
forest for generations. From the forest we get our
liquor which is the offering to our gods, the ancestral
way to worship. And the Englishmen have taken even
that away from us. They say that the tribal cannot
brew his own liquor any more!"

A legendary hero
The speaker's voice was thunderous. For the next
few minutes he ranted on, repeating himself while
Kalandiya tried to digest what he had heard. The
gora-log (British) had decided the tribal was not to
brew liquor? Kalandiya almost laughed aloud at that.
How could that happen? Every tribal collected the

42

mahua flowers and brewed his own liquor. The first

drops he gave to Mother Earth, then to Danteshwari
Ma, the clan god, the village Mother, the ancestors
and then he drank the first draft deeply and in one
gulp. The last swallow he spat out for the demons
and the monsters so that they would not have cause
to complain and would not sour the brew. No
Englishman or thekedar or anyone could stop that. It
was like saying they should not eat or sing or dance.
It was laughable.
As the speaker had finished his speech, another
man got up to speak. A hush descended on the
assembly. Women quietened babies and men moved
closer, anxious not to lose even the tiniest whisper.
The man stood silent for a moment or two and
Kalandiya studied him curiously. He was not a hill
Maria obviously. His skin was lighter-coloured, his
build slight, almost boyish. Certainly the narrow
shoulders and pale, thin face was most unimpressive.
He began speaking.
He spoke in a soft voice which, to start with, was
almost inaudible but slowly gathered in strength.
" F r i e n d s , " he said, "we have been humiliated.
I sometimes look around me and wonder what we
have done to deserve this. We tribals do not bother
anybody. We live quietly in our homes and worship
our gods. We do not even go into their area. Why then
do they grab our land and our forests? All we want is
to be left alonelet the Raja leave us alone, let his
Diwan leave us alone, let the feringhee leave us alone.

43

They will not. They take everything away from us

and ask us to pay taxes. From where can we pay taxes
when we cannot sell forest produce and cannot brew
our own liquor? This cannot go on any longer.
"My brothers, we have to fight for our rights. At
this very moment you have to decide whether you
are with me or you are not with me. Let the man who
does not want to fight, leave this assembly at this
moment. I will have no quarrel with him."
A long, tense moment passed by as the man with
the intense coal-black eyes stood rock-still and stared
into the crowd. The crowd consisted of members of
various tribes. There they sat on the dusty, leafcovered ground staring open-mouthed at the speaker.
There were the Koyas of South Bastar, bison-horn
Marias, Telugu tribals with dark faces, the Halbas,
the Murias and, of course, the hill Maria tribals too.
No one spoke a word or moved a muscle. Whites of
eyes flashing in the dark night, with matted locks and
minimum clothing the tribals of Bastar sat frozen,
spellbound by the oratory.
Kalandiya's attention was riveted on the speaker
and he was surprised to note how ordinary the man
was! He was a slight, thin man, bronze in colour with
a head of thick, black hair that seemed to see the
ministrations of regular combing. He was dressed like
a money-lender though in a rather dirty white kurtapyjama. Unlike the first speaker, he did not raise his
voice or try to impress anyone. He stood most
naturally, spoke in a normal voice and yet he had

44

everyone's attention. They seemed to hang on every

word of his. Who was he that he got so much devotion
without seeming to ask for it?
Kalandiya stared hard at the man and suddenly,
as though he seemed to realize that he was being stared
at, the man lifted his head and looked straight at
Kalandiya. Like a rabbit frozen by the stare of a snake,
Kalandiya stared back at the man. Slowly the man
lifted a hand and beckoned Kalandiya. Kalandiya felt
himself immediately responding to the gesture almost
as if his brain had nothing to do with the decision.
"Where have you come from and what are you
doing here?" the man asked.
"I...I," Kalandiya floundered.
"Who is he?"
"An outsider!"
"An outsider. Kill him!" shouted someone from the
crowd.
"Kill!" screamed the crowd that was so placid a
second ago.
The man raised a hand to silence them. "That is the
problem with us. We do not use our heads. Does he
look like a spy? He is a poor hill Maria like many of
you. Tell me, boy, why are you here?"
"I..." Kalandiya looked at the man and at the crowd
that was staring at him and then again at the man.
"Who are you?" he blurted out.
"I am Gunda Dhur."
Gunda Dhur!
Gunda Dhur was a rebel who had promised to free

45

Bastar from the yoke of the feringhees. He was the

most important legendary figure after Lingo Pen.
"My brother from the hills of Abujhmar," said
Gunda Dhur, smiling slightly at a dazed Kalandiya.
"You are now part of our plan. Are you ready to fight
the feringhees?"
Dumbly Kalandiya found himself nodding.
"Good. Sit beside me." Gunda Dhur gently pushed
Kalandiya till he found himself seated almost at the
feet of the rebel leader craning his neck to look into
his face.
"Now that we have all decided to free ourselves
from foreign yoke, here is what you have to do."
Gunda Dhur raised his left hand and began to count
on the fingers with his right hand. "First, make bows
and arrows. Make as many as you can. Work night
and day at the task. Second, grind poison for the
arrows. Never forget that feringhees are the enemy.
They do not deserve your sympathy. Next, sharpen
the axes. We are going to fight everyone of them. We
would throw them out of Bastar. But our preparations
are going to be very stealthy and quiet. Nobody must
know about the preparations and certainly no one
who is not a tribal. Those of you who work with the
feringhees and the Diwan and those of you, burdened
by the loans of the money-lenders are going to make
the preparations while behaving very normal. No one
must know what we are planning. I cannot emphasize
enough how important secrecy is. Your life and the
lives of everyone here are dependent on that.

47

"Now," Gunda Dhur's face relaxed a little, "how

are we going to communicate? We will circulate
messages through red chillies hidden in clumps of
earth. In every village when the chillies arrive, the
headman must make five more clumps with red
chillies inside and pass them on to the next five
villages. Every such message will tell you that
preparations are going on all over Bastar and that you
must continue with your preparations too. Grind
those arrow heads and axes. Train every ghotul
member. Hold meetings. Spread the word. We
prepare for the day, then strike when, with a single
attack we will fell the feringhees and the Raja of
Bastar. No man will be our master. We will bow only
to the gods and Danteshwari Ma, who has blessed
our rebellion. The day we are ready to strike will be
the day of the great earthquakethe BHUMKAL."
"BHUMKAL!"
"Utmost secrecy will be our weapon and our
centres for preparation will be ghotuls, our army will
consist of young boys and girls. Choose one leader
among three or four villages and start the work. Wait
for my signalred chillies hidden inside chapattis.
Note the difference. The normal signal will be chillies
inside lumps of earth, and my signal will come by
way of chillies inside chapattis. When you get my
signal, you will strike, not a day before that. And what
will you strike? You will strike post offices, telephone
lines, schools, vehicles, everything that belongs to the
feringhees including the feringhee himself. That is

48

why we need the poison-tipped arrows. For the

Bhumkal!"
"Bhumkal!"
"The earthquake!"
"Bhumkal!
Kalandiya did not remember how he stumbled back
to his village from Pooliya. All the way he thought
about Gunda Dhur. The man was extraordinary. His
very presence was overpowering yet he looked so
insignificant. It was his eyes! They had a magnetic
quality that was almost hypnotic. Tf only he could
work for Gunda Dhur, he would be like a slave for him.
'I will not let him down,' resolved Kalandiya.
'I will train all the ghotul members, both boys and
girls,' he thought, 'and make the Bhumkal a success.
As soon as he reached the village he would call all
the ghotul boys and girls for a secret meeting. The old
ghotul would do for this.
'The elders would have to be told that there was
more important work to be done than building a new
ghotul.'

Ghotul
On a dark night two days after the historic
gathering, Kalandiya called a meeting of the young
boys and girls of the village. The meeting in Pooliya
with the seemingly innocuous and unassuming leader
had influenced him a great deal. He had totally

49

forgotten about the lemon grass oil which he had gone

to get. Suddenly he saw for himself a far greater role
in the liberation struggle than he had ever dreamed
of. Had not Gunda Dhur told him that he needed
young and dedicated people like him? When
Kalandiya had told him that he was likely to be the
next clan priest, Gunda Dhur had sounded even more
pleased. Who could influence the people better than
the clan priest himself?
Walking to the ghotul through the dark, still night,
Kalandiya called upon the trees and boulders on the
way to give him their blessings. Once he stood before
the god of the amaltas tree and prayed that he be
allowed to pass in peace and that god grant him a
silver tongue like Gunda Dhur's. Ever since he had
gone up the hill to pray to the clan god, his stature
had gone up in the eyes of the villages around the
area. Even the elders first looked away in respect
when they met him or spoke to him.
The old ghotul's main dormitory, a long hall, mostly
bare except for some bins in which wheat was stored,
was dimly lit by three oil lamps that stood in the tiny
alcoves built into the walls. The ghotul boys and girls
squatted on the floor and looked expectantly at
Kalandiya who knelt at the head of the room. The
flickering light of the lamp made everyone's shadow
larger than life. Kalandiya was short and stocky and
he had the typical features of the hill Maria. His high
cheek bones cast shadows that gave his face a hollow,
hungry cadaverous look which, strangely enough,

50

made him look very powerful. Kalandiya had very

strong magic and everyone in the room knew that.
Kalandiya had chosen to smear his body with ash.
His face, arms, torso and legs, all shone pale whitegrey in the gloom and brought beads of perspiration
on the brows of the listeners. Nobody dared to look
away. It was well known that those who spoke to the
spirits could suck out the jiva (tongue) of a person
and make him an idiot who did not even remember
his own name.
Kalandiya gripped his knees with both hands and
stared right into the 'souls' of the boys and girls in
the room. The room was deathly silent. Every eye was
on Kalandiya. No one shifted or scratched or did
anything, "I have spoken to the spirits," Kalandiya's
voice was low and hoarse. Some of the boys who were
sitting at the end of the hall leaned forward so that
they did not miss a word. At the mention of spirits
there was a collective sigh from everyone.
There was not a doubt in anyone's mind that there
were spirits in the room. Some saw monstrous shapes
in the shadows. The room was oppressively hot. All
the doors had been closed for the sake of secrecy.
There was fear in every heart, fear of the feringhee
and fear of Kalandiya too. It was as though Kalandiya
was not the boy of their childhood but a full-fledged
witch doctor with extraordinary magical powers.
"I have spoken to the spirits," repeated Kalandiya.
"It is true," said Arki Boiyya, the clan priest. "The
clan god spoke and said that Kalandiya was a fitting

51

successor to me. You have to respect Kalandiya the

way you respect me."
"Clan priest! Kaseq gaita!"
The boys and girls drew back in real fear. A kaseq
gaita as young as Kalandiya would have to be very
powerful to be chosen as successor. They avoided
each other's eyes.
"Kalandiya's magic is strong," said Arki Boiyya.
"Pola of the neighbouring village had been suffering
from a lingering sickness for the last five weeks. Only
Kalandiya could break the spell of the curse on him."
Everyone knew that serious sickness was caused
by witchcraft and only a very good clan priest could
perform enough magic to drive away another's
magic. A man, who knew bad magic, could make a
man fall ill, could make animals sick mysteriously and
die, make a standing crop turn yellow overnight and
whither away and could kill a man! And the fact that
Kalandiya had performed the magic made everyone
regard him with new overawed eyes.
" T h a t is another m a t t e r , " said K a l a n d i y a ,
dismissing Arki Boiyya's praise with a wave of his
hand. "We have gathered today for another very
important matter. Chillies are being circulated by
Gunda Dhur for a rebellion against the feringhees and
the government officials who take money from us.
Every man and woman gathered here tonight knows
that both the feringhees and the Raja look down upon
us and our way of life. They think their religion is
superior and, thinking us stupid, they come to steal

52

from us. They take away our homes and our forests,
destroy our gods and send money-lenders and
talukadars (large land-owners) to extract money from
us. Where do we have money? Now they say we
cannot make liquor. Can you believe that? No landa
no mahua beer, no nothing."
There was a sudden loud and angry babble of
voices as the assembly tried to comprehend the
meaning of what had just been said. Surely there was
a mistake somewhere? "Silence! Yes, what I have said
is true. It is no story. We have to fight for our rights
and we have a saviour in Bastar, a man who is willing
to fight for us. And this leader isGunda Dhur!"
Another loud babble of excited and nervous voices
threatened to bring the roof down. Again Kalandiya
pleaded for silence. He knew he had given the folks
of his village more shocks than they had bargained
for but it had to be done. It was no use adopting an
ostrich-like mentality and burying heads in the sand
in the hope that the danger will pass. "Yes, Gunda
Dhur is our saviour and he cannot fight any battle
alone. He needs our help. On behalf of all of you
I have committed our friendship and help. Does
everyone agree to help?" There was no answer, just a
collective intake of breath. Gunda Dhur! Everyone
was too dazed by the shocks thrown at them by
Kalandiya to reply, and he rightly assumed that the
answer was in the affirmative.
"Good. Then that at least is settled. From tomorrow
a special camp is being organized. I want the girls to

53

make arrows and grind the poison. The boys will

practise target shooting and make the bows. We have
to be ready."
"Ready for what?" asked one boy, fearfully.
"Ready for the signal that will say that the time for
the Bhumkal has come. Then we will f i g h t . "
Kalandiya said this softly, staring into the shadows
as though he was seeing something that no one else
was seeing. "Yes, we will fight for our rights." As he
spoke, his face hardened and his eyes narrowed till
he looked not of this world. The boys and girls shrank
back in fear.
"Bhumkal! Earthquake!"
An earthquake that would shake the foundations
of the feringhee rule in Bastar. They would see the
might of the tribesman and would quake in fear.
"Kalandiya?" whispered Jugho. The pupils of her
eyes were like pin-points of black swimming in the
milky whites. She too was afraid of the new
Kalandiya. He did not look human.

The dance
Kalandiya barely glanced up and, for a long
moment he continued to stare at the demons which
only he seemed to see. They seemed to show him
images which he did not like as his face grew
grimmer. Then he looked up and found that everyone
was staring at him. Suddenly he smiled and everyone

54

heaved a sigh of relief. He looked like the old

Kalandiya who liked to laugh and dance and play
practical jokes.
"Tonight we will dance," he said. "Tonight we will
dance like we have never danced before and we will
take a vow that after tonight we will dance again only
when the forest will truly belong to us, hill Marias.
"Come on," he shook the shoulders of the boys in
front of him. "Go, call the drummers. And get the
bells, will you? We are all going to dance. Let us go.
Out of here! Come on."
He stretched his arms and got up. Then he stepped
out followed by the longing gaze of Jugho. Everyone
knew that Kalandiya liked Jugho but only Jugho knew
how much she cared for Kalandiya. Even now, when
he scared her with his strange powers, she was
unbearably attracted to him and wanted more than
anything else to wipe the look of worry from his face.
But Kalandiya was gone.
Outside the stars shone with a sharp white
brilliance that was almost ferocious. The night was
still young and there was no moon. In the clearing in
the forest between the ghotul and the village, torches
had been lit. As Kalandiya stepped into the clearing,
it was as though he stepped into another world. It
was as though the stars faded and the jungle retreated.
Quickly Kalandiya scoured his body with water so
that the ash flowed away. Wet and glistening from
head to toe, Kalandiya stepped into the clearing again
just as the drummers began their first tentative beats.

55

The drummers were beginning to warm up the drums

and their hands. Still the fingers moved slowly, almost
delicately. The boys and girls too seemed languorous,
as though they were waiting for something to happen.
Jugho stood beneath the trees and watched them
line up for the dance. The girls slipped their left hands
around the waist of the person on their left and put
their right hands on the right shoulder of the girl on
their right. Like this they began a slow stamping
dance, first bending low at the waist and then moving
up again, all in perfect synchronization. The rhythm
was still slow and the stamping raised little dust.
Jugho shivered a little in the cold night air. The chill
that she felt was more than the chill of approaching
winter, it was the chill of fear. It was true, as Kalandiya
said, that the thekedar bought timber cheap from the
tribals and sold it dear, but at least he gave them
money when they wanted it. It was also true that the
forest really belonged to the tribals and the school
was the homes of witchcraft, but who could kill all
the feringhees and throw out all the government
officers? She tried to imagine life without the thekedar
who gave them food on credit and the money-lender
who gave them money and the forest officials who
collected the land revenue. She was afraid. What if
everyone left? Would not they also die in that situation?
"Jugho?"
Jugho was so lost in her thought that she did not
hear anyone approach. She turned with a gasp of fear.
"Huh!"

56

"It is me, Kalandiya."

"Yes?" said Jugho. She instinctively moved away
from him.
"Are you afraid of me, Jugho?"
"You know magic."
"So I do."
"And you want the Bhumkal."
"I do. I want the earthquake."
There was silence.
"Do not be afraid of me, Jugho," said Kalandiya.
"I...I want to dance," she whispered and hurried to
the clearing in front of the ghotul leaving Kalandiya
staring after her.
The drummers were picking up the rhythm now
and so were the dancers. Jugho quickly slipped into
the snaking line of the women dancers and joined in
the high-pitched singing too. The boys snaked in a
separate line in front of the girls. Every time the boys
raised their heels they moved their waists so as to
make the bunches of bells that hung at the waists
clash. The dancing scene was lit up by blazing torches
and log fires.
Suddenly Kalandiya leaped in the middle of the
circle of dancers, his face covered by a tiger mask.
From his shoulders hung a cloak of tiger skin. The
mindless monotony of the dancers steps was broken
by the sudden interest generated by Kalandiya and
they launched into a strange and aggressive dance.
This time the tiger man was not playing games. He
had found his ghotul wife.

57

The next day dawned grey and chilly. Unable to

sleep, Jugho slipped out and picked her way to the
Indravati river. She was disturbed by the ghotul
meeting of the night.
The feringhees were very powerful. They had
vehicles and guns. What did they, the poor hill folk,
have? Bare hands and some magic? True, tribal magic
was very strong. It was known that clan priests could
actually kill a man without touching him. If that was
possible, why not use that method to kill all the
feringhee and the money-lenders? Was bloodshed the
only way? Jugho entered the cold, fast-flowing waters
of the river shivering a little as she splashed water
on her shoulders.
Kalandiya stood on the bank. How long had he
stood there watching her? Jugho glanced at him a little
shyly, a little fearfully. She loved him with all her heart
and soul. She wanted him to leave her alone so that
she could sort out her feelings. Her thoughts and
actions pulling her in opposite directions, Jugho
inadvertently moved further away from the bank than
she intended. Suddenly her legs shot off from beneath
her and in a split second her entire body was caught
up in a vortex of the fast flowing river and she was in
the middle of the mainstream.
"Kalandiya!" Jugho shouted in despair, giving him
a last glimpse of a white face and frightened staring
eyes before she was swirled away by the dark waters
of the Indravati river. The Falls were just ahead!
Petrified, Kalandiya stood rock-still for a few

58

moments. Then, with a sudden cry of anguish

Kalandiya leaped into the river and felt himself swept
along by the current. Arms failing and with a stomach
full of water, he fought to keep his head above the
water. Around him the cold, dark river thrashed and
swirled in rage. Nothing could stand in the way of
its might. The river was flowing downhill and there
was absolutely nothing to hold on to. There was not
even time to think, leave alone look for Jugho or try
to save her. It was enough work to keep his own head
above water. Kalandiya felt himself being swiftly
borne downstream. Then, without any warning, he
felt himself being dragged underneath. Though the
top of the river was ferocious, the undercurrents were
treacherous. Kalandiya fought with all his might to
stay afloat, but it was no use.
Then he was over the fall!
Kalandiya's last conscious thought was about
Jugho. Where was Jugho? Dear God, were they both
going to die?
Kalandiya woke with huge spasms of cough. He
was lying on his back and the blazing sun was in his
eyes. It seemed to him that the entire universe was
swinging around crazily. He coughed and vomited
and fought for breath. The retching was so severe that
his lungs felt as though they would burst and his
throat was dry and on fire. Tears welled up in his eyes
and as he sobbed, his breathing became even more
difficult. He was going to die. He could not breathe,
he could not see. His entire body was one huge mass

59

of hurts and grazes that burned raw. His back was

on fire.
Even in agony, all Kalandiya could think of was
Jugho and all he wanted to do was to die. Someone
tipped him over on his stomach and pushed hard
against his back forcing his lungs to deflate and then
gasp in air greedily. The pain in his back was intense
but at least he breathed.
"Jugho," gasped Kalandiya faintly, tears pouring
down his eyes. "Jugho." He knew that she was dead.
No girl could survive that fall. "Jugho."
There was sudden commotion around and a babel
of voices. People realized that he was going to live.
Someone made him sit up and offered him a drink of
water. Kalandiya shook his head in despair. He did
not want anything. He asked them if they had also
rescued a girl, a girl as beautiful as a mahua flower.
No, they replied, they did not. Then a strangely harsh
voice said something in a language which he did not
understand and Kalandiya squinted up at the speaker.
What he saw was a golden giant with a covered upper
body and bare legs.

The enemy
Kalandiya cowered in fear, unable to draw his eyes
from the pale, sneering face and the gun held loosely
in one hand. Where had the feringhee come from?
Kalandiya looked around him with wild, frightened

60

eyes. He was surrounded. There were men all around

him and they were staring at him and then at the
feringhee. The feringhee was saying something in a
strange tongue. He spoke through clenched teeth and
appeared to be chewing a twig. The tribals stared at
him in deference and kept nodding their heads in
agreement.
"Yes, sarkar."
"Yes, sahib."
"Yes, your honour."
The men who had rescued him bowed to the
feringhee, apparently understanding all that he was
saying.
"No, he will not run away."
"Yes, sarkar. We will put him to work on the mines."
"Breaking stones."
"Digging ore."
Breaking stones! Digging ore! Where on earth was
he? He was in a feringhee camp of forced labour! He
was a slave, kidnapped so that they could extract
forced labour from him. This was what Gunda Dhur
had spoken about. He was a slave of the feringhee!
He would never see his old village or home again.
Kalandiya began wailing deep grief and despair. The
feringhee snorted in disgust but the tribals watched
him in sympathy. They knew the pain of being in
forced labour camp.
One month of back-breaking work in the mines had
numbed Kalandiya's senses. He hardly knew when
the day began and when the day ended. It seemed to

61

him as though he never got a chance to rest and he

never got enough food. They were all hauled out of
bed at five-thirty in the morning, given a thin gruel
and a drink of mahna wine called landa and put to
work. At regular intervals after that, all that they got
was more landa and no solid food till the evening. By
that time the men were all so exhausted that they
would be swaying on their feet. To sleep they had
prickly mattresses of dried leaves and thatch that left
a criss-cross pattern on his back and many insect bites.
Kalandiya was always groggy from the landa, bone
weary from the labour. Sometimes he dreamt of Jugho
and wept like a baby. How long was it since he met
Gunda Dhur and decided to organize the ghotul
boys and girls? What had happened to the Bhumkal?
The feringhees were so powerful that there was little
hope against their guns and education and golden
strength.
Ah, Jugho! In his mind's eye Kalandiya saw Jugho's
tender eyes suddenly fill with fear as the treacherous
river pulled her away from him. Kalandiya wept
anew. His guilt was that he was alive whereas she
was dead. And what a life for him! A proud, fearless
hill Maria, he slaved in the sun for a handful of food.
Why were the gods so cruel to him?
Kalandiya feared the feringhee with a fear that was
primeval, like ancient man's fear of lightning. He
drove them with whips so that they worked fast and
constantly. The mines bled red ore and so did the
hands and the hearts of the slaves. Even as they slaved

62

under the sun, the feringhee could be seen striding

up and down, slapping a cane against his thigh, his
eyes darting constantly. He was looking for the
shirkers or even the slow ones who then would be at
the receiving end of his wrath. Kalandiya too had felt
the pain and indignation of the cane on his naked
back. Oh, the humiliation of it! Worse than the
feringhee were the servants that he employed. Those
corrupt petty officials, who implemented the
Englishman's policies, exploited the tribals with a
vengeance that made Kalandiya wonder why the
Bhumkal targeted the feringhee only. Except for the
colour of their skins there was little difference in the
behaviour of the feringhee and their servants. If
anything, the servants seem to take greater sadistic
delight in exploiting their own countrymen.
James sahib was a particularly slothful example of
an Englishman who in England would not have risen
above a shop assistant or bus conductor or maybe a
minor clerk in some obscure office. In India he was
the Burra sahib (head man), the white man who
willingly shouldered the burden of the naked savage.
So what if the Burra sahib was a drunken slouch who
had a cruel, vicious streak and an inordinate love for
money. James sahib's terror was absolute and he did
not hesitate to use either the whip or his fists.
"Administrator sahib is coming today." The slave
camp was abuzz with news.
"He is the biggest feringhee of them all,"
"Even bigger than James sahib?"

63

"James sahib is a small fry in front of Asquith

sahib."
"What is an administrator?"
"That I do not know. Today rice and lentils are being
served so that we do not look too starved tomorrow
and we do not complain against James sahib."
Kalandiya, who was eating the rice with the speed
of the starved, wondered if anyone would dare to
speak against James sahib and even if someone did,
it would be of any use. The tribal labourers spoke no
English and the Englishman spoke no Halbi or any of
the other dialects spoken in the area. So how was
anyone going to complain? Still, in spite of the
hopelessness in his heart, Kalandiya slept well that
night. Whether it was the knowledge that James sahib
could not terrorize him as long as the Administrator
sahib was there, or whether it was the unaccustomed
rice and lentils, Kalandiya could not tell.
Strangely enough no one came to wake them up at
the usual time either. When Kalandiya finally opened
his eyes, his heart leaped into his throat with fear.
The sun was already above the trees. Quickly he ran
outside only to find everyone loitering around a man
who was actually giving everyone a cup of tea and,
wonder of wonders, dry chapattis!
They did go to work in the mines that day but there
was an air of expectancy among the labourers, though
for the life of him Kalandiya did not understand what
there was to expect. He found himself stopping work
again and again to look up at the ledge where James

64

sahib usually stood. The ledge was empty. Neither

James sahib nor Asquith sahib put in an appearance
the whole day. Even the servants were nowhere. For
the first time the labourers were let off early.
Kalandiya sat alone, away from the gossiping
crowds. He wanted to see the new sahib. The new
sahib had the power to keep James sahib away from
the mines and that was reason enough to want to see
him. And a good sahib was such a contradiction in
terms that Kalandiya just had to get up and go. He
made his way through the thick undergrowth to the
feringhee's house to see for himself what was
happening. Unfortunately the area around the house
was too well tended to offer any place to hide. For a
while he hung among the trees getting brief,
tantalizing glimpses of a golden head. Then, unable
to restrain himself further, Kalandiya loped silently
across the lawn and crouched beneath the open
window. Strange sounds and smells wafted out and
he was sorely tempted to look inside. Slowly he poked
his head over the sill all the time expecting a gun to
blow away his brains. He stared transfixed at the
scene in front of him.
The room looked like nothing that he had seen in
his life. It had panelled walls of polished wood
and at least a hundred lamps. The room was so
brightly lit that it resembled a temple. Light shone
off every surface. James stood behind a chair, his very
stance revealing his discomfiture as he shifted
nervously from one foot to another, waving his white

65

hands in the air as he struggled to answer Asquith.

Asquith sat on an easy chair with his head resting
against the cane back of the chair. Both his legs with
calf length leather boots were crossed on a red velvet
foot cushion. His left hand twirled his moustache and
in his right hand he held a cigar that smouldered
slowly. He had blind eyes, or so they seemed to
Kalandiya because they were the colour of playing
marbles. Asquith smiled very unpleasantly at James
and said something in a lazy voice. He did not raise
his voice a single octave but the effect which his words
had on James was electric. James literally hopped on
his toes and a string of incomprehensible words
poured out of his throat. The more he struggled, the
more Asquith smiled.
Suddenly, a hand was clamped on Kalandiya's
mouth and he found himself being half-lifted halfdragged into the surrounding jungle. Kalandiya
screamed silently in his throat.
"I am going to remove my hand from your mouth.
Do not shout. Do you understand?" Kalandiya
nodded, whites of his eyes rolling. "If you shout, you
will bring the sahibs upon us and even Mahadev
cannot save you." Kalandiya nodded mutely and
the hand was removed from his mouth and he got a
first clear sight of his kidnapper. "Do you not
have any sense?" said the kidnapper. "Peeping like
this inside the sahib's room? What if they had seen
you? They would have killed you and thrown you to
the dogs!"

66

"Who are you?"

"My name is Sukma and I work for Asquith sahib.
Do not be afraid," he added, seeing the look of fear
returning in Kalandiya's eyes. "I am first a bison-horn
Maria and then a servant of the feringhees."
"Feringhee? You work for him?" Kalandiya choked
over the word.
"Yes," said Sukma impatiently. "And he is a good
sahib."
Kalandiya shook his head. No white man could be
good. "Why do you work for him?"
Sukma patted his stomach. "For this. And also so
that I can give you information about them. I work
for Gunda Dhur too. Do you know him?"
"Yes!" Kalandiya's eyes lit up. "I was working
towards the Bhumkal. Then they kidnapped me. Now
I will not know when the signal comes." His voice
was full of anguish and despair.
Sukma held Kalandiya's arm and led him to a large
flat stone and pressed him to sit down. They shared a
wad of tobacco. The evening light had totally faded
and they could hear the parrots and the baboons noisily
quarrelling for place in the branches. Kalandiya's eyes
were filled with tears. What would he not give for a
bowl of his mother's pej. Had Mago presumed that
he was dead? He wondered for the millionth time
whether the ghotul boys and girls were continuing
with the Bhumkal effort or they had given up.
"Where is your village and what were you doing?"
asked Sukma.

67

"I am a hill Maria and my village is close to the

Indravati river. It is called Chelru."
"How long have you been here?"
"I do not know. More than four-moons at least."
"Hmm."
"Brother Sukma, you work for the feringhee. Can
you help me to escape?"
"That is easier said than done, my friend."
"Please Sukma, help me to escape." Kalandiya fell
at Sukma's feet. "Their people are everywhere. Unless
you help me, they will kidnap me again in no time
and then they will kill me! I have seen them do that
once with another guy who had tried to escape. They
cut his throat and hung him on a pole in the mines
for days so that all of us could see. They neither buried
him nor burnt him and eventually the hyenas and the
vultures stripped his bones clean." Kalandiya
shuddered in fear as he spoke and his eyes were filled
with tears.
"Let me think. I have only two to three days because
Asquith sahib is not likely to stay for more than that."
"Help me, please," pleaded Kalandiya.
"I will do my best. But you must not go near the
sahib's house again. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Now, go. I have to think."
Kalandiya hung his head and walked back to the
encampment with a heavy heart. He did not believe
that a tribal who worked for the feringhee would help
him. What if he betrayed him to Asquith sahib?

68

In spite of what Sukma said, Kalandiya did not

believe there were any good sahibs. Kalandiya prayed
to the clan gods that Sukma would be inspired to help
him. There was no way he could escape alone. So he
really had no choice but to believe Sukma. He had
better sleep that night than he had ever since he had
been taken prisoner and during half the time he
dreamt about what he would do to make up the lost
time once he was back in Chelru, his village.

Anger
Next morning Asquith, Tom Boggs and James stood
on the cliff at the top of the open mines and watched
the tribals work in the sweltering sun. Even though
winter was almost upon them, the sun was still too
hot to be out in the open without head gear.
The tribal men slaved with their heads bent. Half
their perspiration was due to the heat and half due to
fear. They had been warned that if their hands faltered
for even a moment the sahibs were likely to shoot
them as they stood.
As he worked under the gaze of the watching
Englishmen, Kalandiya felt fear drain out of him and
anger began to run through his veins. Was he to be
treated like an animal then, stared at and beaten and
hounded till he was left with no self-respect? Was the
tribal not a human being? Why should he put up with
such treatment?

69

Slowly, even as he worked, Kalandiya began to

work up a slow anger. His muscles bulged and his
blood boiled with rage. His pickaxe hammered into
the stone wall like the piston of a machine. Kalandiya
felt his forearms swell with extraordinary strength
and he smashed the axe with such force that he drew
the attention of the feringhee.
"Hey, you!" called one of the tribal guards, who
treated the workers with much cruelty.
Kalandiya brought the axe down once more with
such force that the head flew off and hit the wall of
the cliff. "Who, me?"
"Yes, you. Go to the sahibs. They want to speak
to you."
This is my chance, thought Kalandiya. He had the
blessings of the clan god and he had the vision. He,
the apprentice kaseq gaita, the clan priest, could kill
anyone. He had the magic and he had the guts. All he
had to do was to try to take some item of their clothing
or hair or spitanything so that he could work his
magic and kill them from afar as he knew the head
priest could do. He would use all the magic at his
command, even die in the effort but kill them he
would. As the ideas and thoughts went through
his brain, Kalandiya leaped upwards to the
Englishmen. There was the lightness and agility of a
deer in his legs and the strength of a lion, in his
muscles. In his left hand Kalandiya continued to hold
the axe deprived though it was of the head. He was
invincible.

70

"Kalandiya, wait." It was Sukma. He called out

urgently and in a low voice, so that the others could
not hear. "Make no mistakes. Drop the stick. They
will kill you and all the workers now. Think,
Kalandiya, and drop the axe. If you go up with that
in your hand, they would not even let you reach them.
They will shoot you."
Kalandiya turned blood-red eyes upon Sukma. For
a second it seemed as though he was going to bring
the stick down upon Sukma's head. There was murder
in his eyes but somehow the pleading face of Sukma
registered in his head and he understood what Sukma
was trying to say. Naturally he could not fight guns
and pistols, Sukma was right. With a jerk of
frustration he lowered his arm and dropped the stick.
With the gesture the strength too seemed to run out
of his body; despair filled his heart. He was a fool for
thinking that he could win against the white man. All
the strength of his body ebbed and he climbed
upwards now like an old man.
"What is your name and from which village are
you?" asked Asquith through an interpreter.
"My name is Kalandiya, and I am a hill Maria from
Chelru," he said, staring into the colourless eyes of
Asquith. There was a knot of sick, cold fear in the pit
of his stomach.
"What were you going to do with the stick? Kill
the sahibs?"
"No."
"Have you been circulating chillies?"

71

"I have been breaking stones in the mine, as you

very well know."
"Do not be impertinent," warned the translator. "The
sahib is a mine of consideration if you deserve it."
"Ask him if he knows that chillies are being
circulated," said Asquith.
"He says 'no', sahib."
"Ask him if he understands that it is the Englishmen
who brought prosperity to the country?"
"He says that he does."
"Ask him if he realizes that, if it were not for the
English, they would have no schools, no roads or
railways. They would also not have enough to eat."
"He says he does," replied the interpreter.
"Hmmm." Asquith's eyes bored into Kalandiya's
face. "This one spells trouble. Keep an eye upon
him, James."
"Yes, sir."
"You may go."
As Kalandiya turned to go, Tom Boggs shot out his
cane and tripped Kalandiya into the dust. Kalandiya
went sprawling and, as he fell, the loud mocking
laughter of the sahibs rang obscenely in his ears. The
dust from the mines covered his body and went into
his eyes and ears. He looked like a sadhu with ashsmeared face and body.
"If you show any reaction, Kalandiya, they will kill
you. This is what they want." Sukma squatted on the
ground in front of him. His eyes were filled with pity.
"You are coward." Kalandiya spat blood into

72

the ground but he controlled his anger and gathered

his torn dignity around him and limped off. Before
he did so, he gave Boggs such a look of smouldering
hatred that Boggs was driven back a step by the
searing blaze and for once forgot to curse the savages.

Two extremes
After chastising James about the way he was
treating his tribals, Asquith went back to Jagdalpur
and looked for Panda Baijnath. The latter was not back
from his tour and Asquith had to wait for him for a
few days, a fact which he did not like very much. But
then those two men could not really like one another.
Both were highly educated, austere men, but they
belonged to two ends of the world and to a generation
that could not readily mix the racial colours. But at
least they respected each other.
"You know I have a strong feeling that the tribals
are up to something which they are not letting out.
They do not like the steps that we have taken, the
schools, the forest and the liquor laws. And yet on the
surface, they seem to be bearing up with everything."
"What is wrong with that?" demanded Tom Boggs.
"It is unnatural. Some kind of protest, some noise
should have been made. It would be aa natural
reaction. Nobody accepts defeat so easily."
"Ah! But you forget," said Tom Boggs. "They are
not humans. They are savages. More than savages,

74

they are animals. They do not have feelings."

"Even animals have feelings Boggs sahib/' Panda
Baijnath's voice was dry. He had made a steeple of
his fingers and was watching Tom Boggs over the tips
of his fingers with an expression that said he did not
expect a cockney from London to understand a
civilization as old as India.
"Savages!" said Boggs. "Have you ever noticed that
the colour of their blood is different? I have seen it. It
is not scarlet like ours, it is darker. Even its
consistency is different. I think you can see Darwin's
theory of evolution herethey are the intermediate
stage between the white man and the ape."
"Tom!" Asquith's voice was shocked. "You forget
the presence of Baijnath sahib."
"Oh, he is white in education and temperament at
least." Tom dismissed Pandaji with a wave of his
pudgy hand.
"Forgive him," murmured Asquith, in an aside to
Panda Baijnath. Then turning to Boggs, "I do think
you need to supervise the roasting of the wild boar,
Tom. And do see if there is any red wine. Baijnath
sahib and I need to talk shop."
"But I do not understand any spices except salt and
pepper," protested Tom Boggs.
"Then learn, Tom."
Tom Boggs tried to hitch his trousers up, an
impossible task considering the huge over-hanging
stomach which he had, scowled till his eyebrows met,
and stomped out of the room most unwillingly. There

75

was silence after his departure. Colonel was a little

embarrassed at Boggs' boorishness in front of a man
like Panda Baijnath and the latter was embarrassed
for the colonel. Personally Pandaji did not feel insulted
by Boggs' words. He only felt nauseated, as though he
had seen a cockroach cross the room just as he had sat
down for a meal. Tom Boggs was just thatan
unbearable nuisance who could not be ignored. The Raj
did spawn very specific types among the British and
Panda Baijnath did not know which was the worse, the
sympathetic pro-Indian who actually felt that the
native was inferior but courageously carried upon his
shoulders the burden of improving the lesser races
through friendship and understanding, or the
uneducated, contemptuous boors who did not conceal
their prejudices.
Panda Baijnath cleared his throat and smiled at the
colonel, "You know we have a saying in India that
you can fight with the whole world but not with your
wife's brother because she would not let you live if
you do that."
Asquith smiled back in relief and dismissed the
thought of his brother-in-law. He inhaled deeply of
his pipe and spoke about what was troubling him.
"You know Pandaji, I do not believe in my heart of
hearts that nothing is happening."
"You mean?"
"I am one hundred per cent sure that chillies are
being circulated."
"Oh, no." Panda Baijnath was shocked. "I think you

76

are mistaken. The tribals will never work against the

British rule."
"But there are rumours. Undercurrents. I can almost
feel the tension."
"Where? Where is the tension? I meet the people
every day. There is not even a whiff of opposition."
"That is what they said at the time of the Great
Mutiny of 1857," said Asquith. "Everyone was
convinced that nothing was brewing. They thought
the sepoys were steeped in loyalty."
"That was different. The tribals are loyal."
"Do you not think that point of view is a little naive
when everywhere in India an opposition to the Raj
has begun."
"Sir, I am convinced that is a temporary thing and
it will die a natural death."
"What about that fellow, Gandhi?"
"What about him?"
"I am told that he has a tremendous following
already and the people revere him like a god."
"In a country, where people worship trees and
snakes, it is not difficult to gain their devotion."
"Hmm. Still Pandaji, I would rest happier if you
could find out some more about this chillies
business."
"You spoke about unrest to me last time too and
I have been doing some research. I have really not
found anything to worry about."
"Have you inquired about the chillies?"
"Chillies? What chillies?"

77

"Red chillies in chapattis. That is how messages are

being circulated from village to village."
"Like 1857. Wonder who told the tribals about
that."
"That means that chillies are being circulated?"
asked the colonel.
"I have not heard anything about it."
"You could find out, could you not?"
"Certainly." Pandaji smiled as a person trying to
soothe a child throwing tantrums would. "I will ask
again if you like."
"Thank you, I would like that."
Though he promised Asquith that he would make
inquiries, Panda Baijnath did not really bother to
make too many enquiries. In a few days he reported
that people appeared contented and happy and the
Marias and the Murias continued to dance and sing
at their celebrations. To his occasional pointed query
about the forest land too he got no representation
from the tribals. It was no wonder that Panda Baijnath
had nothing to report to the colonel.

Preparations
In the Chelru ghotul the head girl stood facing the
boys and girls. In the centre of the room were laid
out fifty bows, some three hundred arrows and a deep
bowl of dark green paste that was the deadliest poison
which the tribals knew how to make. There were also

78

about fifteen swords, a little crudely made but with

the edges sharpened to perfection. To most of the
ghotul boys and girls the display was impressive, yet
the head girl was not satisfied. A stick in one hand,
she disdainfully poked the pile of arrows while the
ghotul boys and girls shifted nervously. She was
difficult to please.
"No dance, no music, no lessons, till we make more
weapons," she announced, flinging her hands up and
stepping into the circle of light. "Do you remember
Kalandiya's vow? No dance till the hills of Abujhmar
are finally free of the foreign yoke." It was Jugho.
Jugho had survived the fall, though physically she
fared much worse than Kalandiya. No one who knew
the earlier Jugho, whom Kalandiya had compared to
a mahua flower, would recognize her now. She looked
different. One side of her face was a mass of a million
tiny, tiny lacerations. The skin was corrugated with
lines and ridges and puckered all over. And that
was not all. The eye remained horribly open all the
time and staring. At night she covered it with a piece
of cloth so that she could stop seeing for a while and
rest the aching nerves of her left eye. In the daylight
she suffered from too much light and there was nothing
she could do about it. Jugho looked horrific and felt
horrible too. The only saving grace was that she did
not lose her sight and could see as well as earlier.
The incident changed Jughophysically and
mentally. In fact, her entire nature changed. Gone was
the soft, fresh girl with rosy dreams and fear of

79

shadows and monsters in the dark. Since the day

she recovered, Jugho became a monster of hard work
and vengeance. She hated everything and everyone particularly everything and everyone that was
not tribal.
Chillies were being circulated daily now and
everytime the messenger came, Jugho would run out
and seize the chillies. It was only the sign for
preparedness not the sign to begin. She was desperate
to begin the Bhumkal and had made careful plans
about what she was going to strike and where. Her
hard work and her vision had made her a natural
leader and she had replaced Kalandiya as the head
of the ghotul.
"Get on with the work then," she said to the boys
and girls and walked out of the ghotul into the cold,
dark night.
More than two months had passed sinc6 the fateful
day when both Jugho and Kalandiya had been swept
down the river. Jugho leaned her burning brow
against the cool bark of the amaltas and let the fat,
yellow blossoms fall on her head. In the darkness she
touched the left side of her face with her finger tips.
No one had asked her to be a ghotul wife. No one.
Once she had put combs in her hair and tried to get
Domru, who had been Kalandiya's greatest friend,
interested in her, but he had run out on her in horror
and she did not see nor hear of him for one whole
week. When he did return, he avoided looking at her
and went around with a girl who did not have half of

80

Jugho's beauty, at least not half of what she did have

earlier, and she certainly did not compare with her in
brains. It was the hard fact of life that everyone of
the boys wanted a good-looking girl to go around
with. She was learning to live with that also.
"Jugho?"
"Yes?" She liked the dark now, it hid her hideous
looks.
"It is me, Arki Boiyya."
"Yes, clan priest."
"Today I am going to sacrifice to the clan god. I am
looking for a sign, for an omen."
"For what?"
"For success of the Bhumkal. There is fear and
uncertainty among the people. I need a sign that will
reassure them."
"You are right. It is too tense around here."
"Want to come with me? To the clan god's shrine?"
"Yes. Me? Why?"
"Because you are brave and you are the leader
now."
"Okay."
"Come then."
"Do I not need to make any preparations?"
"At the shrine. Come on."
They walked through the dark night side by side,
Jugho's wide open left eye gleaming eerily in the dark.
They climbed the hill in almost complete silence. No
one knows what Arki Boiyya was thinking about but
there was turmoil in Jugho's breast. After that fateful

81

day when the river Indravati had swept her away,

Jugho had never wept. She had been angry but she
had not wept or beaten her breast. Now she needed
to ask the clan god what sin she had committed to
get such a terrible punishment. It could also be the
effect of the white man's magic. Perhaps Arki Boiyya's
magic could do away with the spell. And of course
there was need to pray for the success of the Bhumkal.
They spent the night in propitiating the god and
sacrificing to him. Jugho was not clan priest material
and she saw no visions. The gods did not speak to
her. They had spoken to Arki Boiyya and the
sacrifices had been good. When they climbed down
the hill again, it was dawn. It was a particularly fiery
and beautiful morning with the clouds in the east
turning red.
'Another good omen,' thought Jugho. She was
exhausted but elated. There were dark circles under
her eyes but the eyes themselves gleamed in triumph.
The gods had okayed their efforts, they had told them
to fight the white man. They would win, they had
to win.
Jugho was ahead, walking very fast and so she was
the one that the messengers met.
"Jugho bail" they asked, staring unashamedly at
the evil eye.
"Yes."
"It is time for the Bhumkal," said one of the
messengers, a dark Telugu tribal as he offered her a
lump of solid earth with both hands, almost like an

82

offering. Beneath the lump of earth were five goldenbrown chapattis. "Take the chapattis," he said softly
as Jugho stood still staring at the lump of earth that
was the size and shape of a ripe pomegranate. At
last! If only Kalandiya had been there, together they
would have achieved so much. She kept the lump of
earth aside and broke the chapattis in half. Red
chilli powder spilled to the ground. Jugho's heart
leaped in exultation. That was how the feringhee
blood was going to spill! That was how she was going
to spill it.
"Yesterday the post office at Karli got burnt," said
the other messenger. The two squatted underneath a
saja tree with Jugho and Arki Boiyya.
News had spread all over the hills and now had
reached the plains too that a hill Maria girl called
Jugho was braver than the boys and she had achieved
wonders in organizing the boys and girls of five
villages around Chelru. People knew of her
disfigurement as well as of her level of motivation.
She was totally committed to the tribal cause. The two
messengers also knew about Jugho and they held her
in high respect. She was the only girl who was taking
such an active part in the Bhumkal. As they talked,
leaf bowls of pej arrived along with an earthenware
pot of landa. The travellers were hungry and thirsty
and so were Jugho and Arki Boiyya.
"Day before yesterday, Gunda Dhur held a meeting
in Karli and he told everyone to be ready for the
Bhumkal. Gunda Dhur himself set fire to the post-

83

office in Karli. He went at dusk with a group of

people, shot the postmaster and burnt down the
building and all the letters and everything was
destroyed."
"It has come, Jugho," Arki Boiyya's face was
creased with smiles. He was excited as though it was
he who was going to lead the Bhumkal to success.
" I t has begun! The post-office yesterday, the
Collectorate tomorrow, and in a few days the British
will be out of this country. The country and the
government, both will be ours. Ours!"
Jugho felt like getting up and dancing with joy, so
inspired did she feel. It had really begun. The
Bhumkal had begun. All four of them were in a state
of intense excitement.
The earthquake had come!
"What are you going to do?" asked one of the
messengers.
"Huh?"
"For the Bhumkal, What have you planned?"
"You will see."
"We all know that you are going to do wonders.
Everyone is talking about you."
"Yes, yes," said Jugho, suddenly impatient. She
wanted the messengers to go so that she could get
along with her work. What were they waiting for?
Ah, yes, the chapattis! Quickly she got them
organized and retreated to the ghotul. She had got it
planned out and as soon as the messengers moved
to the next village she got her commandos ready.

84

The target
For days Jugho had planned and plotted. The
success of the operation depended on the success of
the first hit that she made. Post-office, telegraph office,
dak bungalows, office of the forest ranger, she had
considered them all. It had to be something more
important, something that affected all these offices
and more. And that one thing was the means of
communication. So she had chosen a road. It was a
pucca road, the only road which connected Jagdalpur
with the interior of the Bastar region. Everything that
came into Bastarrice, petrol, sugar, cloth, pots and
pansall had to be brought along that one road. From
Jagdalpur the road wound its way like a long
convoluted serpent touching a number of important
villages and disappearing finally in the foothills of
Abujhmar. No road went into Abujhmar.
Jugho targeted this road, the main lifeline of Bastar,
specially the stretch that connected Raipur with
Jagdalpur. It was the main highway, the only supply
line for the British. She had a plan ready. She wanted
not only to blow up the road but also take a few
feringhees with it, if possible. Near Borla, twentyeight kilometres before Jagdalpur there was a stretch
of particularly dense jungle on both sides of the road.
The undergrowth was very thick there and the
spreading branches of the trees so intermingled that
it was difficult to know which branch belonged to
which tree. During innumerable visits Jugho had

marked that stretch and noted how, on the one hand,

it was easy to hide an entire battalion on both sides
of the road and, on the other, there was a clear line of
vision, at least a mile down the road on both sides.
Anything or anyone approaching was visible well in
acvance. Once she got the signal that the Bhumkal
was on, Jugho lost no time. She got together her
trusted band of followers whom she had been training
in target hitting and building up of stamina, and set
off for Borla.
It was afternoon. After the messengers, Jugho and
her faithful interpret group marched. They carried
with them strong twine, swords, bows and arrows
and the gourd filled with poison. Jugho also carried,
unknown to others, a string of crackers which she had
stolen from the Jagdalpur bazaar at the time of the
Dussehra festival. All the stuff was strapped securely
on their backs and, led by Jugho, they moved at a
steady trot, their bare feet raising a tiny storm of white
dust around the feet. The distance which they had to
cover was more than sixty kilometres; Jugho hoped
they would be able to cover half the way on a bus or
a truck.
They reached Borla after ten hours of walking and
riding on a truck and, when the truck driver stopped
to allow them to disembark, it was late afternoon.
There was no choice but to hide in the jungle and
await nightfall. All during the ride on the truck, Jugho
had sat with her face covered by a dirty piece of cloth.
She did not want anyone to recognize her staring eye.

86

In the jungle Jugho sat a little apart from the others

eating her pej in huge, hungry gulps. In the situation,
they could not afford better food. Thank God for the
landa, the mahua beer. The people of the hill loved to
eat the mahua flowers cooked like a vegetable, but the
Abujhmar hills did not have enough mahua trees for
both cooking and brewing, so the flowers were mostly
used for brewing.
The commandos watched Jugho sitting apart, her
back resting against a tree and her fingers busy
sharpening the edge of a knife. They knew better than
to ask her to join them. The snake sitting inside
Jugho's heart would not let her rest or be normal.
Jugho sharpened the knife as though it were required
to peel the heart of the enemy, inch by inch. Her
concentration was almost grotesque. When there was
nothing further to be done with the knife, Jugho
picked up the bow and arrow and practised target
shooting till her eye ached and her heart burned with
a slow steady poison. Her damaged eye ached all the
time. She could not blink and she could not close the
eye. It was horribly exposed to light and dust and
insects. Sometimes she wanted to gouge out her eye.
At least the pain would be final! Then she would sleep
in blessed darkness. Yet she was a coward. Jugho
berated herself endlessly and needlessly. She plucked
and re-plucked at the wound in her heart keeping it
fresh and bleeding all the time.
As soon as it was dusk, Jugho and her companions
quickly pulled the thick steel wire two or three times

87

across the road and fixed it about a foot above the

ground on both sides. The information system
developed by Jugho had already told her that there
was a convoy of four trucks coming from Raipur.
What unbelievable luck! Traffic being light on the road
she had thought there might be endless hours of
waiting time and one bus or a truck may be the prize.
Four trucks was wonderful news! They hoped to stop
them and kill all the people aboard. Quickly the boys
climbed up the trees on both sides of the road with
their bows and arrows and pulled back the strings of
their bows. They were in a position of readiness.
Those who had the rough swords hid in the
undergrowth with the leaves parted enough to give
them a view of the road.
Jugho stood closest to the road, a sword in her left
hand and crackers in her right hand. Hearts were
pounding and senses were alert. Jugho's hands
trembled. What if they failed? The feringhee had guns.
They could cut them down in seconds. What if the
wire was unable to stop them? And what if the crackers
were damp and did not light? Jugho's heart was in her
throat. She could not fail now. She would lose face
forever. This was her only chance to become the chief
of the village. That was what she wanted. It was
obvious no one was going to marry her, so how was
she going to pass the rest of her life? If she could
become the chief, she would change the face of
Chelru. Jugho wove her dreams and waited patiently.
Time crept by. The night darkened. It grew cold.

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Jugho remembered the one trip she had taken to

Jagdalpur haat (market) and seen in a daze the
fabulous array of goods that cluttered the market. She
could not believe that there were so many goods, and
in such a variety, in the world. What haunted her for
a long time was the food. There was food everywhere
and the sight and the smell of food was amazing. She
did not recognize eighty per cent of what she saw
but she longed to taste it. A fellow from the village
advised her to eat a samosa and drink a glass of tea. He
vowed that she would never forget the taste of the food.
And he was right. She loved both the tea and the samosa.
Jugho felt her mouth fill with saliva as she recalled
the taste. Perhaps, one day, she would visit Jagdalpur
again and taste more varieties of food, but right now it
was a question of survival. Unless they did something
to prevent it, the money-lenders, the thekedars, and
the feringhees, would swallow them up alive.

Uprising afloat
Just before dawn Jugho saw lights in the distance.
At last!
"Hey!" she called softly to the others many of
whom were dozing. "The trucks are coming.
Quietly now."
Silently bows were lifted and strings pulled back
in readiness. The hunter in the tribals woke up. It was
killing time.

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The trucks drew closer. Now the drone of the

engines could be heard. The headlights cut a bright
path in the middle of the road. Jugho panicked. What
if they could see the wires and stop in time? Or even
turn back? She need not have feared that. For, what
she had not anticipated happened. The trucks cut
through the wire like hot knife through butter.
Jugho stared open-mouthed in dismay as the first
truck kept moving on at the same speed. The wires
had not even caused a hiccough and the trucks were
going to get away unless she quickly took some
remedial action. Quickly she dropped the sword and
fumbled with the matches. She had to stop them. It
was the chance of a lifetime. She fumbled at the
matches with fingers that refused to respond to her
command. The damp matches would not light and
the trucks were getting away! Finally one lit up. She
quickly applied it to the crackers and one cracker
burst. The rest just died away.
It was enough.
The second truck driver braked sharply, thinking
it was a tyre burst. And because he braked without
warning on an apparently empty road, the third truck
banged into it and the fourth banged into the third.
The whole accident happened with lightening speed
and with a tremendous explosion of bangs and thugs,
splintering of headlights and tail-lights and the sound
of metal grating against metal and the shouts of men
in shock and pain. There was instant pandemonium
and chaos. The convoy had not a clue to what had

90

happened and there was a great deal of shouting and

cursing as they tried to find out what had happened.
"Why did you do that?"
"Someone is shooting!"
"Who?"
"The headlights are gone."
"Stop Jackson sahib. He is in the first truck."
"Hey!"
"Wait!"
"Who is shooting?"
"Shooting?"
"Someone is shooting!" The cry was taken up by
the others.
As the drivers and the cleaners and others climbed
out of the trucks to inspect the damage and stop the
first truck, they were met with a barrage of poisontipped arrows. There were screams of pain and horror.
They could see nothing and they were caught totally
unawares. The first truck started to reverse and there
was sound of gun fire from it. The truck braked
sharply and a feringhee jumped down. He reacted
remarkably fast to the incident for he had drawn guns
in both hands and was firing into the undergrowth
and the trees. He seemed to know how the tribals hid
in the jungle. There were screams from the
jungle now as bullets found targets. But there was
one feringhee with two guns and many tribals.
Besides, the feringhee was visible against the lights
of the trucks whereas the tribals were invisible in
the jungle.

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Suddenly an arrow, true and straight, its iron tip

smeared with greenish paste hissed through the air
and buried itself in Jackson's throat, right in the soft
hollow at the base. With a cry of horror, Jackson pulled
at the arrow. All that he managed to dislodge was
the shaft, the head remained buried. As Jackson
gargled in blood, the most horrific sight filled his eyes.
It was that of a woman, mad and hysterical with a
sword in one hand and a horribly, staring eye with a
madly rotating pupil. It was difficult to say what
killed Jacksonthe poison, blood loss or fear. He was
convinced that the figure was not that of a woman,
but of a churail, the female demon that was feared
more than monsters and ghosts.
The tribals killed everyone and set the trucks on
fire. They watched the trucks explode one after the
other and, when the atmosphere turned black and foul
with smoke, they escaped silently into the night
leaving their dead to the wild animals. No one knew
who the assailants were. No one survived to tell the
tale or take a guess.
Even as Jugho and her chosen band of commandos
burnt four trucks and killed eleven men including one
feringhee, the cry for liberty was taken up all over
Bastar. Ghotul boys and girls, inspired by Gunda
D h u r ' s clarion call, rebelled and destroyed
government property, attacked the wealthy and the
powerful, looted bazaars and generally went on a
rampage. All signs of foreign rule, be it Indian or
English, was attacked in one all-out courageous

92

attempt to overthrow the foreigners. For the tribal,

even a non-tribal Indian was enemy. The outburst was
tremendous and it was accompanied by murder,
looting and general savagery. It was a regular revolt
against civilization, against schools, against forest
conservancy, against the opening of the country to
the Hindu settlers. It was a movement of Bastar state
for Bastar forest dwellers.
Not waiting to see if anyone had seen or heard the
explosions, the Chelru boys ran from the site of
carnage. All day the commandos led by Jugho
tramped and when nightfall came they stopped at a
village to eat and rest. Although the whole of the state
was in sympathy with the rebels, Jugho did not know
it and she also did not want to take any risks of
informers telling on them and so she ordered that all
weapons should be hidden in a safe place before they
entered the village. The fear was that if they hid the
weapons in too safe a place they may not be able to
find them later on. Quickly she hurried back in the
direction of the village and found that the others had
selected a thick bush and hidden the weapons deep
inside it. She gave her approval and they proceeded
towards the village.

A bold plan
That night Jugho slept in the ghotul of the village
along with the others, the frightful and heroic stories

94

told by the villagers ringing in her ears. They heard

of traders and money-lenders who had been stripped,
beaten and thrown out of homes. They learnt of a
police chozuki that had been burnt and the officials
beaten up. The stories were pouring in from every
side. The rebels had indeed started the war against
the British. The news was exhilarating.
"Jugho? Jugho?" Someone was violently shaking
her by the shoulder.
"What?"
"Listen Jugho. Gunda Dhur has come to our village.
He needs help for an important encounter. It is against
the feringhees. Come."
Alert in seconds, Jugho ran outside. It was still night
and the thick jungle was eerily dark. But it was a
wonderful jungle too, for it hid both man and beast
in its dark bosom. Five men sat around a low
smouldering fire, their faces a canvas of black and
orange-red design. They were all smoking bidis and
drinking landa. They made room for Jugho in front of
the fire and offered her some landa. She accepted and
drank deeply. The men stared fearfully at her left eye
which was red-rimmed either from fatigue or the
glow of the fire. Poor girl, they thought. She really
had the most eerie looks with the frightful eye, the
scarred face and the unsmiling mouth. Jugho tried
not to show her pain. She would never really get used
to being stared at with fear and pity. She was a
monster and she knew it. Jugho's heart filled with
immense pain. She had lost everything. Her

95

courageous stand in the rebellion was almost like

a death wish. She wanted to perform a heroic deed
and die.
"I am happy to learn about your success, Jugho,"
said a thin, non-descript man.
"My success?" Jugho was suspicious. "Who was
this man to talk of her success? What success?"
"The trucks."
Jugho turned the horrible side of her face with the
hideous, staring eye towards the speaker and almost
impaled him with its staring, non-blinking power.
However, the man who had circles beneath his eyes
and whose bones carried hardly any flesh on them,
merely smiled at her serenely and nodded.
"You are brave and strong. I have plans for you."
"You have plans for me? I am not wasting my sleep
for some romantic stories." Jugho got up, but the man
caught her arm and urged her to sit down.
"That is Gunda Dhur," someone whispered in
Jugho's ear and she once again stared hard at the
smiling man. He wore a dirty kurta-pyjama and drank
landa in deep thirsty gulps.
Gunda Dhur! The brain behind the rebellion? But
wait, he was talking about a new plan. It was already
time to forget about the success with the trucks. The
Bhumkal had to keep going, tremor upon tremor.
"This is the plan." Gunda Dhur stubbed out his bidi
in the earth and extended his hands towards the fire
for warmth. "There is a limestone mine nearby where
our brothers are used as slaves night and day to dig

96

out the limestone. They get no wages, only some

pitiable food twice a day in lieu of money. There are
guards that watch them night and day and beat them
like animals if they so much as relieve themselves
without permission."
"I have seen that camp. Even animals have better
lives. At least they have freedom." The man who
spoke was old. Lines of bitterness criss-crossed his
entire face. His rheumy eyes had a permanently
tearful look.
"Never mind, grandfather..." said Gunda Dhur.
"What do you mean 'never mind'? My two sons
died in those mines. They were killed. Like dogs."
"We know. And that is why we are taking you. So
that you can lead us to the spot without detection,"
said Gunda Dhur.
"I tried to get the younger one out. I got him as far
as the barracks of the sahibs. But the guards, the tribal
guards betrayed us."
"I know, grandfather. These petty officials, these
stooges, they are worse than the feringhee. We will
get them too. Do not worry."
"Kill them. Kill them all."
"We will."
Gunda Dhur turned to Jugho. "We want you to
come with us on this mission. We have to free our
brothers and kill the slave drivers. A woman can be
of help," he said.
"This woman?" She turned her scarred face and
horrible eye towards him.

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"We know you to be a brave and true Abujhmaria.

We need people like you," said Gunda Dhur, looking
straight at her and avoiding all comment about her
looks.
"For what?" Jugho turned her face away to hide
the sudden rush of tears.
"To lead and to inspire."
Jugho surreptitiously wiped away the tears and
choked back a sigh. "I will come, but not because of
what you say but because I have to free Bastar from
the English."
"Good," Gunda Dhur ignored the softly spoken
words and getting up suddenly rubbed his hands.
"We do not have time to waste now. We have to start
immediately. Come on, old grandfather."
"It is at least one day's runaway," grumbled the old
man. "And these legs are old and weak."
"Remember your sons' grandfather." Gunda Dhur
opened the knots on a bundle and handed around
dry chapattis to everyone. "Eat these and let us start."
Bemused by the sudden turn of events, Jugho
accepted the dry chapattis and chewed them
thoughtfully. So this was the man, the mastermind
behind the Bhumkal. She stared at him carefully,
noting the way his thick hair sprang from his
forehead, his thin dark figure and his non-tribal looks.
Kalandiya had talked about the man as though he
were a god! What was there in the man that was so
attractive? To Kalandiya and to a lot of other tribals,
as Jugho was fast learning, Gunda Dhur personified

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Bastar's urge for freedom. The tribals worshipped this

commoner without any formal education. Already
there were songs about him, about his bravery and
his courage. He was not frightened of guns and motor
cars and cannons and he was capable of standing
alone and facing an entire army of Englishmen.
Kalandiya had hero-worshipped Gunda Dhur and he
had wanted to be with him when he fought the
English. Where was Kalandiya now?
"Hurry up, Jugho," someone jogged her arm. "This
is not the time to dream."
Jugho tossed the rest of the landa down her throat
and stood up. She had to forget Kalandiya. She had
to forget all emotions, all sentiments, all hopes for a
family and children. Jugho guessed that the time was
around one or two in the morning when they finally
set off. It was a cold dark night and they trotted at a
steady pace behind the old grandfather who, despite
his grumbling, had very fast legs and set a brisk pace.
He also had the eyes of a cat and skilfully avoided
rocks and protruding roots and rocks whereas the
others had a hard time preventing themselves from
tripping over. They ran on the tribal half-walk halfjog which they could keep up for hours.

Surprise attack
They stopped to rest at dawn and ate more chapattis
and drink landa. The jungle was behind them now and

99

the land offered little cover apart from occasional

clumps of trees and lantana bushes. They had to be
more careful now in case someone noticed that six of
them were moving together, in a single file.
"It is not far now," said the old grandfather,
pointing to the blue-grey hills in the distance. "Those
are the mines and there, where the jungle begins again
to the right, is the camp site. That is where they sleep."
"Hmm." Gunda Dhur sank down in the cool grass
beneath a spreading neem tree and stared at the
mines. The hills were still too far away for them to
see anyone but they had to decide the strategy before
they went any further. The main question was, what
were they going to do after they reached the mine.
"What shall we do there?" said one man, hand to
his chest as though trying to still his racing heart.
"Attack the mines."
"Hide behind the trees and rocks and shoot all
feringhees."
"Not only feringhees, also tribals who have joined
the feringhees and traders. We will kill them all."
"Yes. But they have guns."
"If only we had some sorcerers with us."
"It is a good idea. But even if you did have the
sorcerers, killing through sorcery takes time. You need
nails, hair, somethings."
"So what do we do?"
"We do not have guns and we do not have sorcerers,
but we do have some trickery," said Gunda Dhur,
speaking finally in his soft, commanding voice.

100

"Meaning?"
"We make a surprise attack. At dinner time when
they have all drunk well and eaten well and are
unprepared."
"How many persons are there, grandfather?"
"Hundred slaves and around twenty slave drivers."
"And feringhees?"
"One, I think."
"That is not much."
"True, but they have guns."
"Yes."
"How many guns, grandfather?"
"Many. Twenty. Maybe more."
"Where are they kept?"
"Everything is in the feringhee's house."
"Are you sure?"
"Do the guards not go around with guns on
shoulders?"
"They do."
"Then?"
"I think this is what we should do," said Gunda Dhur.
"We will quietly go as near to the camp as possible. None
must see us, so we must close in at night. When the
guards are having dinner, Jugho must go up to them
and weep and cry that she needs to see her husband.
Jugho, you must create a scene, a big scene. Scream.
Cry. Beat your chest. Pull your hair. Berate the guards."
"Her husband? Where is her husband?"
"There is no husband, you fool. She will only create
a scene to divert attention."

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"They will come out to see what is happening."

"Exactly."
"Jugho, you must scream." Everyone was getting
into the mood of the affair.
"Crack your finger joints."
"Eat dirt."
"Cry."
"In short," said Jugho, "become an object of
ridicule."
"Yes."
"And while I create the diversion, you will free the
others."
"Exactly! As soon as we have every one of the slaves
freed and moving off into the jungle, we will come
and kill the guards with poisoned arrows and rescue
you."
"And if the timing does not coincide?"
"Meaning?"
"Suppose they do not listen to me. Suppose they
shoot me the moment they see me."
"That can happen."
"True. They may not listen to a woman."
"They will listen to you if you can convince them
that you are a churail."
"My face will do that for me."
"True, and you can use some peacock feathers too.
Sign of a witch doctor."
"Your acting abilities will have to come to the
front," Gunda Dhur smiled.
"It will be dangerous," said the old grandfather.

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"Are you scared?" whispered Gunda Dhur as the

others kept up the discussion.
"No. But I do not want to fail you/' replied Jugho.
"You will not." He stood up and dusted his back.
"Let us go now. Remember they must not see us. So
we must move in the shadows of trees and rocks.
Come now."

The revolution
The rebels, led by the wiry old man, managed to
reach the immediate vicinity of the camp without
being seen. They crept up to the edge of the jungle
and surveyed the scene. In front of them was the
wooden, sprawling bungalow of James and behind
them was the camp. James's bungalow was a typical
Englishman's bungalow with green shutters and
a deep verandah all around. There were hordes of
servants to look after the bungalow and one man was
employed to keep the monkeys off the roof.
"There, behind the bungalow is the outhouse where
the guards sleep. That is where you go and make a
diversion, Jugho. While you are at it, we will round
up the workers and get them out of here. We should
not take long. Do not fear anything. We will join you
very soon. Try and keep them diverted as long as you
can. Go now."
Jugho took a deep breath, and saying a quick prayer
to the clan god, quickly moved from darkness and

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shelter to light and danger. There was no time now

for questions or doubts. It was action time. As soon
as she reached within hearing distance of the
outhouse, Jugho began wailing and shouting.
"Arre, where is everybody? Danteshwari Ma! Will
no one help a young girl alone in this world?" She
began beating her chest and tearing her hair. "Oh, my
misfortune that I shall die an unwanted widow! Who
is to look after my child?"
"Who is it?"
"Who is outside?"
"Only some crazy girl. Hey girl, get out of here!"
The door opened and yellow light fell upon the
porch where Jugho sat weeping and throwing her
arms and legs about.
"What is the matter, girl?"
"Matter? You take my husband and ask what is the
matter! What is to become of me and my child? May
the leeches suck your blood. May you shrivel and die.
What are you but a lot of impotent men!" She began
pulling her hair.
"Oh, look, a freak! Hey guys, come and have a
look."
"Look at the face!"
"A witch!"
"That eye. Why it is an ugly one, I say."
"Yeah, a young witch."
One by one the men came out to stare at the
screaming girl with the ugly face. Before she realized
it, Jugho was surrounded by half a dozen loutish men

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all grinning wickedly at her and smelling of

something stronger than landa. She continued to
scream at them. Then one of the men who carried a
gun with a sharp, pointed bayonet suddenly pressed
the point of the blade about half an inch into Jugho's
thigh. Jugho, who had been looking the other way,
swirled around screaming in pain and watched in
horror the thick scarlet blood drip off her thigh into
the wooden boards. She jumped up and danced
around, shouting and berating them some more.
"Do you not have mothers and daughters that you
shame a poor girl like me! Okay, here. Take my blood
if that is what you want. But give my ghotul husband
back."
"Is it a husband that you want?"
"Here, take this," another man drove the point of
his bayonet into her stomach, not enough to seriously
hurt her but enough to make her shout and scream in
agony. Now the blood dripped from two places and
Jugho was truly screaming in agony now. She had
forgotten the play-acting. There was real fear and pain
in her voice now.
The noise began to draw more people. Soon there
was a crowd of men milling and pushing around.
They were laughing and cracking jokes. Here was a
woman who was making a spectacle of herself so
naturally the cooks and guards and coolies were
delighted. They were all hugely entertained by the
sight of the young woman who screamed and cried
and bled like a stuck pig. They taunted her, teased

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her and hurt her. Some kicked her and some groped
at her to feel the young flesh. Jugho whirled around
in desperation trying to escape her tormenters but
getting no respite.
Where was Gunda Dhur?

Rescued
Gunda Dhur and the others had silently crept
through the jungle to the tumbledown shacks where
the labourers slept. The shacks were dirty, smelly,
with next to nil facilities. As they watched from the
corner of the trees, four of the guards left to
investigate the sounds of intermingled cries and
laughter that could be heard in the still night. Jugho
was doing her job well. There were only three guards
left now around the shacks and over a hundred
labourers most of whom were asleep. Those three
were also more interested in the noise coming from
the outhouse. They were curious and angry at being
left out of the scene of the activity. They stood with
their backs to the shacks and discussed what could
possibly be happening.
The rescue party's task was easy. At a signal from
Gunda Dhur, each of the three guards was felled by
an arrow straight in the heart. Gunda Dhur and his
men quickly rushed into the shacks and began waking
the men. Most of the men thought that it was waking
up time and they automatically started moving

106

towards the water troughs to wash up. It took a while

to get the men organized and rounded up. They did
not believe Gunda Dhur when he told them he had
come to rescue them from a life of enforced slavery.
They distrusted everyone. They milled around in fear,
backing away from the armed men. Like sheep they
felt there was safety in numbers. Who would want to
rescue them? And why? They did not like the look of
the bows and arrows. Some of them were already
babbling in fear. They were sure that this was a
prelude to something worse. Just then Kalandiya gave
a shout.
"It is Gunda Dhur!"
"Who?"
"What!"
"Why?"
"Listen, please listen. It is Gunda Dhur, the leader
of the Bhumkal. It is a rescue. Hurray!"
"Gunda Dhur." It was Kalandiya. He was shaking
Gunda Dhur. "I will organize this mob. Just tell me
what to do, where to take them."
"Kalandiya, thank you, you are here. I have to take
care of the guards. Just take this bunch into the jungle
and towards Kalri. Doma and the old grandfather will
guide you. Wait for us at the spot where we stopped
yesterday to make the plan, Doma. Go now and get
this crowd organized."
"Okay."
"Quickly now. If even one guard escapes, he will
shoot and kill all of you."

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"Okay."
Gunda Dhur turned and ran out calling to his team
to follow him. Kalandiya climbed a broken table and
shouted for silence.
"Listen friends, this is not the time to squabble or
argue. Gunda Dhur and the others have come to
rescue us..."
"Yes, but what if it is a trick?"
"They may have come to rescue us but the guards
are many."
"They will shoot us."
"Like dogs."
"Listen, Gunda Dhur is a friend. He is the leader of
the rebels. We have to believe him." Kalandiya felt
desperate.
"Why should we?"
"Has he felt the whip upon his shoulders?"
"Has he broken stones for eighteen hours a day?"
"I am not going."
"Nor I."
"Not even me. James sahib will kill all of us."
"He will set fire to our villages."
There was sheer unbridled panic all around.
Kalandiya was in despair. He shouted again, "Listen,
please. All this noise will alert the guards and James
sahib. Then we will definitely die. Quiet, please and
listen to me. I trust and believe Gunda Dhur. Do you
trust and believe me?"
"Yes."
"Then follow me, I know Gunda Dhur. Believe me

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when I say that there is no one like him for the tribals
of Bastar. He has come to rescue us and I am going
with him. It is far more dangerous to stay here and
become the target of the occasional guard who might
escape the rebels' arrows. Kalandiya looked at the
dark, frightened faces of the men. "I repeat...I am
going. Those who wish to come with me should come
now, and I mean NOW!"
"Okay."
"Is everybody coming with me?"
"Do not trust him," shouted a voice from the crowd.
"He knows Asquith sahib's personal servant. Anyone
who lives with the feringhee is unreliable."
"There is really no time now to argue with you,"
said Kalandiya a little sadly. "I for one do not wish to
be killed. I have to get married and to father children.
I am going. Come with me, those who wish to do so.
The rest can stay and do what they like. Quietly now,
if you can."

Climax
Kalandiya and the slaves as well as their rescuers
reached the spot where Gunda Dhur had asked them
to wait. Panting and exhausted, they all sprawled here
and there and waited for their breathing to normalize.
But the combined tension of fear and exultation
would not let them relax. The babble of voices raised
in questions and alarm was constant.

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"Let us not stop," said one in fear. "They will

catch us."
"No, please, I cannot go any further."
"But the feringhees?"
"And their paid dogs."
"They will kill us!"
"And shoot us."
"Where is Gunda Dhur?"
"Kalandiya, you said the great rebel leader is with
us. Where is he now?"
"Oh, yes, where is Gunda Dhur?"
"I am hungry."
"I am thirsty."
"I am tired."
"I want to go home!"
Kalandiya feared that he had a rebellion in his own
ranks now. The former slaves were like a flock of
sheep, rudderless and confused. The primary emotion
was still fear and the primary desire was to reach
home. What should he do? Should he let them loose
and leave them to find their own way home? He
turned to the three rescuers who had accompanied
them and found that they were incapable of taking
decisions. They only wanted to be led. Kalandiya was
at the end of his tether and wondering what to do
next when there was a long shout from behind him.
"Kalandiya! Help!"
Kalandiya ran to Gunda Dhur and the others who
were half carrying, half dragging a severely injured
girl between them. She was unconscious. At the

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arrival of this group the chaos became worse. The girl

was laid down on the earth and immediately
surrounded by a hundred men. There were so many
questions, exclamations, cries and lamentations that
it was impossible to be heard.
"Quiet! Quiet everyone, please." Gunda Dhur had
climbed a rock so that he could be both seen and
heard. "My friends, the feringhee is dead! The man
who ran the slave camp and all his notorious servants
are dead! You are free. Go home. Find your own
way home. No one will follow you. We have a mission
to fulfil which we will. Go home and may you
be happy."
"And leave the girl alone, please. She is sick and
hurt. The servants of the feringhee have injured her.
Give her some air and space, please."
"For God's sake, go!" shouted Kalandiya. This
statement, screamed out, brought an immediate hush
upon the assembly and the men fell silent.
Kalandiya sat in the dust with the head of the
unconscious Jugho in his lap. The horrible side of the
face was visible to all. Even though she was
unconscious, the wild eye was still opening and
darting aimlessly to the right and the left like a
goldfish in the pond. It looked so grotesque and alive
that the men feared her for a churail.
"Churail!"
"Eater of children!"
"Get away! Get away."
Slowly the crowd began to back away and the

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atmosphere was filled with a sudden high-pitched

keening of intense grief. Holding Jugho's head
between his hands, Kalandiya swayed back and forth
and cried and screamed to relieve the pain in his chest
and heart. This was worse than the worse nightmare
that he had ever seen. A Jugho alive was what he had
prayed for. But a Jugho who looked like this? How
she must have suffered! She was covered with blood
and had at least four big wounds that were bleeding
and a number of lacerations and scratches. And the
agonized face and eye! Nothing that he had ever
suffered was equal to her suffering and disfigurement.
This was the girl he loved and wanted to marry. Why
had life treated them so brutally?
"Kalandiya, let the medicine man clean Jugho's
wounds and apply medicine."
"No, no. Leave her alone. You used her! You used
my Jugho to free the slaves. You thought she is only a
woman and what use is a woman's life. You forgot
that she was my ghotul wife." Kalandiya wept but
allowed Gunda Dhur to carry Jugho close to the banks
of the stream to wash and dress her wounds with
medicinal leaves and herbal pastes. They fed her
something and soon she was sleeping comfortably.
"How could you use Jugho like this?" Kalandiya
repeated his question the moment Gunda Dhur came
and sat down beside him.
"Only one hour of darkness is left," said Gunda
Dhur in reply. "And more than seventy per cent of
the slaves have left for their homes."

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"A...a young delicate girl like Jugho."

"The others will leave as soon as it is dawn. We
must not underestimate the feringhee."
"The best dancer in Chelru and the most beautiful
girl in the whole of Abujhmar was my Jugho. And
you almost got her killed!"
"We have to move on too. It is dangerous to stay in
one place."
"Tell me why? Why is Jugho in this state?"
"Kalandiya," said Gunda Dhur severely, "let your
grief die away. We are in the middle of a war. Jugho
is the bravest soldier whom I have got. It was her
choice to fight and this is her second successful
campaign. Now I have work to do and I must be
gone."
"What about me?"
"You are part of the Bhumkal. Do what you think
is necessary for the freedom of Bastar." Gunda Dhur
searched in the pocket of his kurta and brought out a
bidi packet and offered it to Kalandiya. "For you and
Jugho."
He walked a couple of steps, stopped and turned
around, "Nothing will happen to her. All her wounds
are superficial except the one in the stomach. She
should be all right."
And Gunda Dhur went away. Gunda Dhur, the
rebel, the bagi, the undeclared leader of thousands of
men went where he was needed. He was the general
whose plan was succeeding and now he had to handle
other fronts. Gunda Dhur was the most important

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hero in the whole of Bastar. Till today songs are sung

about his heroic exploits.

The crocodiles!
Kalandiya and Jugho never went back to Chelru.
They were told that there were two Englishmen in
the crocodile swamp. The two young hill Marias
discussed the matter one night about ten days after
the rescue of the slaves. Kalandiya had made a rough
wooden platform, about four feet by four feet and
fixed it high on a huge, old teak tree. The tribals
of Bastar had risen in one big effort and struck
all over the state. Everything made by the foreigners
or symbolizing foreign rule was attacked. The British
presence as far as the troops went was next to nothing
in Bastar. No one ever dreamt that the peaceful tribals
were capable of such violence. Thus the retaliation
did not get activated for a while.
Though they hid in the tree, no one was seriously
pursuing Kalandiya and Jugho. The British did not
begin to organize the counter-offensive until almost
a month had lapsed. So it was not surprising that in
the middle of the rebellion, Jugho and Kalandiya got
the news of two Englishmen shooting crocodiles in
the middle of the swamp. The news was startling to
the tribals because crocodile meat was not eaten and
they could think of no other reason to kill these huge,
ugly animals.

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"Asquith sahib and Tom sahib, are in a camp close

to the crocodile swamp," said Sukma.
Jugho half-lay, half-sat on the platform high up on
the tree and listened to Sukma without comment.
Kalandiya and three other youths from Chelru sat
around the platform on various bends of the tree's
branches. This was the combat team, and Sukma, the
betrayer, was bringing them news.
"Tom Boggs is a horrible, cruel man, just like James
sahib and deserves to be killed," said Sukma.
"And what about Asquith sahib?" asked Jugho.
"Asquith sahib has been good to me," said Sukma.
However, he is a feringhee and in Bastar there is no
place for the feringhees."
"Are you sure you would not betray us to Asquith
sahib when you realize he is in danger?" Jugho's voice
was curt and mocking, and her eye gleamed red
in the night. Sukma could not suppress a shudder
and thought again that this woman was certainly
inauspicious. If only she did not have Kalandiya's
protection, the tribals would kill her in a flash.
"I do not have to explain myself to a woman," said
Sukma in anger. "You either have faith in me or you
do not."
"Of course, we have faith in you, S u k m a , "
Kalandiya's soft heart was immediately won over.
"We would never have got out of the slave camp but
for you."
"So what have you decided?" Sukma's voice was
still hostile.

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"We leave for the camp."

"And?"
"And we kill the feringhee! Bastar for the tribals!
Victory to the Bhumkal!"
"Victory to the Bhumkal!" shouted the others.
The crocodile swamp was huge, sluggish and
dangerous. It was much larger than it looked and the
edges were particularly hazardous. An unknowing
person could never realize where the swamp really
began. One unwary step and you were inside the
swamp. If the lantana did not pull you down and
drown you, the crocodiles were sure to get you. The
crocodiles of the swamp were huge and dangerous.
Their powerful jaws were at least two feet long with
gleaming, yellow-white teeth. The black beady eyes
were mean-looking and cunningly hooded so that you
could totally mistake the crocodile for a log of wood.
The swamp had hundreds of themvile, monstrous
creatures but strangely attractive. At least Asquith
found them attractive.
"I have a love-hate relationship with these
crocodiles," said Asquith. He lay on his hammock
beneath the banyan tree, several feet away from the
swamp and surveyed the vast area through
binoculars. "They know me and I know them. Still
they manage to hide from me."
Tom Boggs shuddered in distaste. Despite contrary
advice, he wore shorts that ended at least four inches
above his knee and thus exposed his fat, hairy flesh
to attack by the mosquitoes and other parasites. It

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was mid-afternoon and he was drinking steadily. His

fat face was already tomato-red in colour. He was
drinking because he was unhappy. He did not like
the swamp and he hated the crocodiles.
"Ugly monsters! Their skin is yuck!" he shuddered.
"Come on, Tom, where is the good old sporting
spirit?" Asquith had the gun to his shoulder. "Tell me
how many you want and which one you want?"
"I do not."
"Quick." On his command the tribals had thrown
huge chunks of tiger meat into the water and the
repulsive creatures were suddenly all along the edge
with wide open mouths chomping down on the
disgusting meat. The sound made by the jaws and
teeth was scary. Boggs was overcome by a strange
feeling that had disgust, hatred and fascination in it.
He watched a huge, ugly creature open its jaws and
chomp down hard for the meat. It missed the meat
but got the snout of another crocodile. The hurt
crocodile flashed its huge tail in a massive attack and
for a while all was chaos.
"Oh, my God," whispered Tom, watching the
ensuing fight. He wanted to vomit but he could not
look away.
"Come on, Tom," said Asquith, impatiently.
"Remember, you wanted adventure?"
"Shoot anyone you like," Tom spoke thickly.
There were three quick shots one after the other
and Tom watched the water of the swamp redden
with the blood of the shot crocodiles. The hurt and

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bloody animals thrashed around in pain, the big tails

and snouts frothing the water and making the dirty,
green water carry a pink frosting on top. It was a
horrific scene and one which the tribals watched with
sad eyes, unable to understand the working of the
feringhee mind. Sukma, who stood half-sheltered
behind the leaves of the teak tree, watched with grim
anger. The time had come for him to show his talents.
He had already decided which side he was and it was
time to come out in the open. For some reason he also
felt that he had to let Jugho know that he was true to
the tribal cause. Though why he needed to do that, he
did not understand. That horrible girl worried him.
She had got under his skin and was now irritating him.
One crocodile suddenly gave up the ghost and
flipped over on his back giving the world a view of
his pasty, dirty, yellow-white belly. It was disgusting.
"How many shoes and bags do you think this
monster will make?" asked Tom, forgetting that he
was disgusted with the monsters.
"More than either of our wives can use in their
lifetime," answered Asquith.
"Yeah." Tom Boggs suddenly lost interest in the
crocodiles. "I am tired," he said, wiping the sweat off
his face. "My body is hot, but my forehead is clammy."
"That is malaria, my boy. Swamp fever. Told you
to dress in trousers and full sleeves." Asquith
indicated his own decently covered arms and legs.
He turned towards the swamp, "Okay, lads, get
on with the task," he indicated to the crocodiles and

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strode into his tent for a wash and change before

the evening.
Sukma rattled around in a temper. His anger and
resentment was reaching boiling point. He was tired
of the Englishman's mindless sport, the senseless
killing and the total lack of knowledge about why the
tribal had risen in revolt all over Bastar. The Burra
sahib did not even know that a rebellion was going on.
Tom wandered to the edge of the swamp and
watched the tribal boys dragging out the corpses of
the crocodiles. You had to be careful. The alive and
hungry crocodiles were already snapping their jaws.
They did not want to eat their own dead brethren but
they watched with starved eyes the two-legged
humans who were so tasty. One false move by them
and the crocodile took an arm or a leg off.
"Sir, drink," Sukma forced himself to be respectful.
How could the white man drink in the midst of the
offal and the filth?
"Measure the length of that intestine," shouted
Tom, his beady eyes watching the boys begin to skin
the monsters.

A tragic end
The crocodiles were swarming along the edges and
Tom Boggs' eyes were on the bloody insides of the
crocodiles. The tribals were all busy, some in skinning,
others in dragging the animals and still others in

120

shooing the alive, snapping crocodiles. Sukma stood

behind Tom, tray in hand and the glimmering of an
idea came into his head, blossomed, in milliseconds
and before he fully realized what he was going to do,
Sukma flung away the tray and pushed Tom Boggs
with all his might!
Tom Boggs fell at least four feet inside the swamp
with a huge splash. Everyone watched in horror. Tom
Boggs let out a half-strangled scream that was cut off
the moment the thrashing, hungry crocodiles turned
upon him. The terrible scene was played out in
complete silence as the waters of the swamp were
once again churned and tinged with the red blood of
the white man. Nobody dared to scream or say a
word. They were frozen by the horror of the scene.
The crocodiles fought for the morsels of flesh and
ultimately it was the unnatural silence of the humans
and the sound of the thrashing waters that brought
Asquith on the scene. He had washed and was
buckling the belt of his trousers as he walked out of
the tent.
"What is the matter? Where is Tom sahib?"
Nobody dared to answer. Nobody looked in the
direction of Sukma who stood as though turned into
a statue. Everyone stood absolutely frozen.
"Sukma, where is Tom sahib?" And when there was
no reply, Asquith spoke sharply, "Sukma, have you
gone deaf? Why do not you reply? Hey, what is the
matter with the crocodiles. He stared sharply into the
swamp and then shouted, "Where is Tom sahib?"

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"In...in...in the swamp," stuttered Sukma and finally

he let out a scream, "They have eaten Tom sahib!"
"What? Oh, my God, do something!"
There was nothing to do. Tom was dead. And by now
it was obvious that Asquith was not going to get enough
of Tom Boggs to perform a decent funeral either. The
colonel was in a state of shock. He immediately got a
fire started to scare away the crocodiles and managed
somehow to retrieve some bloody clothes and parts of
the left side of the body. He decided to bury the
remains in an unknown and unmourned grave close
to the obnoxious swamp in the early hours of the
morning. No one could tell him how the accident
happened. No one apparently saw anything.
Shocked and dazed, Asquith sat around for half the
night, trying to come to terms with what had
happened. This was India. Nobody kept dead bodies
more than a few hours. And who was going to mourn
Tom? His family was far away in England and the
nearest Englishman would be in Bastar. Which
reminded Asquith of his wife. How was she going to
take the news? In the early hours of the morning, as
the mortal remains of Tom Boggs were lowered into
a grave far away from his beloved England, Asquith
stood by the grave recalling Tom Boggs' wife, Penny's
face. She would be grief-stricken but she would also
blame him for taking Tom into the dangerous jungle
and exposing him to the heat and humidity, the
stinging insects and snakes, the wild animals and
the fevers.

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Thinking about Tom, Asquith was suddenly

flooded with the feeling that something was wrong.
The tribals were too silent, too orderly, too restrained.
That was strange. There was none of the outstanding
grief with which the tribals received the news of
death. And where was Sukma?
"Sukma?" Asquith turned around to look for him.
"Yes, sahib." It was another tribal boy, but it was
not Sukma.
"Where is Sukma?"
"Sukma!"
"Go, call him," commanded Asquith and turned
back to the business of the funeral. On such occasions
he had to play the role of the'chaplain too. He
continued to read the funeral service. After a while
he turned back again.
"Where is Sukma?"
"He...he is not...there," stammered the tribal boy,
eyes rolling in fear.
"But where has he gone?"
There was no reply. Either nobody knew or nobody
wanted to say anything. All the camp wallahs, barring
the colonel, were tribal. He was the only Englishman.
But he had been the only Englishman in huge districts
and he had never felt insecure or afraid. For the first
time Asquith felt the cold fingers of fear clutch his
heart. Something was seriously wrong. He skipped
the last two pages and said a hurried "Amen" and
crossed his heart.
"I am going to look for Sukma," he said, turning

123

around and going towards his tent. "I just need to

collect my gun."
"Sarkar? It will soon be dark, sarkar."
"I know. That is worrying me. I cannot leave him
unprotected in the jungle."
"He is a hill Maria. He can take care of himself,
sahib. The jungle is not safe at night, sahib."
"Nonsense."
Asquith strode into the tent and seized his gun. He
was going to get to the bottom of the mystery. He
loaded his gun and slipped a few extra bullets in his
pocket. Then he strode out.
"I will be back. I am not too hungry. Just a soup
will do. In the morning we go back to Jagdalpur."
"Yes, Sarkar."
"Oh, and those crocodiles," he looked with distaste
at the corpses littering the water front. "I suppose we
can cure the skins and send them to England along
with the other trophies."
Asquith walked into the dark jungle alone. He was
a courageous man. What was worrying him was that
Sukma might be somehow connected with Tom's
death and he wanted to get to the bottom of that. Also
an unexplained guilt and sadness was in his heart.
He had grown somewhat fond of his boorish brotherin-law and somewhere in the back of his mind had
lurked a feeling that Tom Boggs might not go back to
England and that the two of them would set up home
in some beautiful corner of India. And now
unexpectedly, shockingly Tom was gone.

124

Asquith found himself alone in the jungle after

having furiously walked for twenty minutes in trying
to work out his anger and frustration. Had Sukma
pushed Tom into the swamp and then run away? He
knew very well that, if Sukma did not want to be
caught, he could be a few feet away and Asquith
would not be able to catch him.
"Who is there?" called the colonel.
There was no reply. All was still and normal. Was
the jungle murmuring more than normal? Probably
not. Then was he, the man of steel, a victim of nerves?
And what had he to be nervous about? India was his
country and he loved it just as the people of India
loved him.
A dry twig cracked somewhere and again Asquith
felt his heartbeat lurch in fear. But this time it was a
couple of his bearers, who had belatedly chased after
him hauling guns. Rightfully they begged him to
return to the camp.
Asquith lay down in the camp-cot fully clothed and
closed his eyes. He needed time to come to terms with
the fact of Tom's death. It was too sudden and unreal.
How were people back home going to react to the
news that Tom Boggs got eaten by a crocodile. It was
unbelievable. The images of the gruesome remains
of the body would not go away so easily, and Asquith
found if difficult to sleep.
So it happened that when Kalandiya and Jugho,
led by Sukma, entered his tent Asquith was
half-awake.

125

Kalandiya used the broad, curved knife with the

narrow tip for his attack. He raised his right hand
above his head and struck the middle of Asquith's
chest with all his might, burying the knife deep.
"Sukma, you!" screamed Asquith in a mixture of
pain, shock and surprise. He tried to rise but fell on
the floor.
"Sukma, help," he gurgled.
Jugho, who had her hands raised for a second
attack, brought them down with tremendous force
upon Asquith's head. She carried a big, sharply
pointed stone and it would have ended the life in a
flash, except for the fact that Sukma caught Jugho's
hands and screamed, "You ugly witch! Do not touch
him!"
Shocked, Jugho dropped the stone and stumbled
back. In Sukma's mind contrary emotions seethed.
He was happy to see the life drain out of Asquith, yet
he genuinely mourned him. But for Jugho he had
nothing but fear and hatred. She was a churail. An
ugly, barren woman with magical powers had no right
to live. She was a witch and the tribals hated witches.
Sukma picked up the fallen stone and brought it down
on Jugho's head with great force, closing forever the
horrible, staring eye.
Sukma turned to run so that he could join
Kalandiya and carry on the Bhumkal. Sukma and
Kalandiya escaped the camp and rejoined Gunda
Dhur's company of Dhurwas and Marias which
became a great people's force. But they died in Ulnar

126

at the disaster where Gunda Dhur also died, betrayed

by one of his own men, Sonu Majhi.
That is another story.

Aftermath
Gunda Dhur, the tragic, legendary leadei of the
tribals, the man of superior gifts, refused to submit
to the British and died fighting the British without
food and water for three days.
The uprising of 1910, the Bhumkal, was suppressed
by de Brett through a series of terrorist policies. He
arrested Lai Kalindra Singh, the Raja's uncle and
fifteen others near Jagdalpur. Some were killed and
others sent out of Bastar. He allowed the Chennai
(Madras) police to loot the Dorlas and the houses of
leading Hindu residents in Jagdalpur were searched.
Four major military expeditions were sent in all tribal
areas for the destruction of aboriginal rebels.
Hundreds of tribals were arrested, charged with
treason and hanged.
A brutal round of repression against the revolutionaries was started. Where no charges were made out, de
Brett ordered his troops to wet the sticks and whip the
tribals senseless. Hundreds more died. There was a
huge hue and cry against the whipping and Standen,
the then Chief Commissioner, Central Provinces,
actually justified the whipping in a letter to the
Secretary, Foreign Department, Government of India.

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As if all this was not enough, fines were levied on

villages that participated in the rebellion. Eight
hundred and thirty-eight were identified and one lakh
of rupees were collected from them by way of fine.
There was a great disarmament movement and
traditional swords and bows and arrows disappeared.
Stringent methods were introduced in the Raipur jail
to deal with the rebels.
After the 1910, the policy was 'to leave the tribals
alone, to interfere in his affairs the least and to let
sleeping dogs lie'. Abujhmar was declared out of
bounds for the police and the Police Station at Kutul,
in the heart of Abujhmar, was shifted.
Panda Baijnath continued as Diwan of Bastar for a
decade after the rebellion and did the first intensive
survey of the area with Rai Bahadur Hira Lai. Later,
he also became the Prime Minister of Bastar state.

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Hill Marias, bison-horn Marias, as other tribals of

Bastar, loved their land fiercely. So did they love their
freedom from slavery to the British (feringhees). Their
deep resentment caused many uprisings. A major one,
the 'Bhumkal' (lit. earthquake) of 1910 was inspired by
a legendary hero, Gunda Dhur, who was a historical
character. Kalandiya prepares to be the clan priest and
leader of 'ghotul', where boys and girls receive training.
Jugho soft and fresh like a mahua flower transforms
herself into a determined rebel. The revolt engulfs the
entire Bastar. Its central event came with the killing of
the chief feringhee and, close on its heels, the tragedy
of Jugho! The 'Bhumkal' was supressed.
E 389
ISBN 81-7011-909-X