RAMYABAI LEADS A REVOLUTION

The forests were thick and green. The view was indeed breathtaking. Small hamlets dotted the landscape. They were really small, rarely more than about 20 houses. In many cases, there were just 3-4 families in a hamlet. It was in one such hamlet in the Ambikapur district of Chattisgarh (then, a part of the central Indian state of Madhya Pradesh) that I met a group of women in late 1994. These were ordinary women from the Korva (tribal) community. But in a sense, they were not so ordinary, if one looked at what they had done to usher in a process of change in their communities.

Conflict had become a way of life for the many adivasi (indigenous) families living in this area. And their conflict was with those who are meant to protect the people, maintain law and order and to safeguard the country’s rich natural resource. These families were invariably at the receiving end, the victims, and in most cases, for no fault of theirs. The perpetrators were the officials, particularly at the lower level, of the revenue department (which maintained the local land records), the forest department (whose job was to conserve the forests) and the police.

According to these families, they had been living in these forests for as long as they could remember. They were born in these forests. They recollect their parents and other elders talking about how these forests as their homes and they as the original inhabitants of these forests. They considered themselves to be the children of these forests. The forests sustained them. It provided them with fruits, roots, leaves, twigs, wood and more importantly, gave them the naturally distilled rainwater for drinking, which flowed through the several small streams. Many of the elders recollected that some of them had lived in the earlier days as one or two families, moving from place to place, cultivating small patches of land.

Little did they realize that the forests did not belong to them. Long ago, the British had passed laws for the government to control the forest resources, which continued to be followed by the post-Independence, democratically elected governments. The forest policies of the government were geared more to conserve the forests rather than to also consider the livelihoods of those who lived traditionally in the forests and were entirely dependent on these forest for their living. In the eyes of the forest department, these adivasis were encroachers on lands on which the government had absolute control.

But their problem just did not end there. Subsequent governments had provided these families with small patches of land, which were considered as ‘revenue’ land. Which meant, they could live there, and even cultivate small patches of land (even if it hardly yielded anything) to barely eke out a living. But again, unknown to them, these lands had not been effectively converted from being categorized as ‘forest’ lands to ‘revenue’ lands. The forest department obviously therefore did not recognize the rights of these adivasis, the original dwellers of the forests, to live there. There were, according to the forest department, encroachers, who were a threat to the forest and the environment! This was something these people could never understand. “How could we ever kill our parents?” they would ask rather innocently. “Likewise, how can we harm the forests, for they are like our parents”! This apparently did not go down well with the forest department. The result was that they were constantly harassed, threatened with eviction and were forced to live an insecure existence. But the officials were also clever. They would never really want these adivasis to go away. How else could they get the constant supplies of food, fresh chicken, the intoxicating mahua (a flower commonly found in the local forests) brew? How else could they force the women to clean their dwellings, do the household work that would please their wives and also use these women to satisfy their baser instincts ?

A chance meeting with Anil and Utpala sometime in the mid-eighties provided them with a beacon of hope. Anil and Utpala were social workers (or activists, as they were generally referred to). They had seen the poor adivasis being exploited. Even the police seemed to be hand in glove with the revenue officials and the forest officials, who wanted to always extract their pound of flesh from these poor families. After all, their area of operation was in the remote forest villages, far away from the eyes of their higher ups. And they were confident that these naïve villagers would never ever muster the courage to complain against them! The fundamental issue that these activists found out was about the improper documentation of their lands, which meant that there was no clarity on who owned how much or who owned which plot of land. It was also not clear if these lands were indeed revenue lands (in which case, these families staying there and cultivating the lands would be legal) or whether they were forest lands (in which case, occupation and cultivation by the villagers would be illegal).

During one of their sojourns through the forests to familiarize themselves with the local issues, the couple reached Bichchalghati, a small hamlet nestling deep in the Ambikapur forests. Initially, the people were a bit surprised to see two strangers coming to their villagers. They were also scared. The only thing they had come to learn about outsiders was that they were exploiters. What have these two come for, they wondered. It did take some effort on the part of Anil and Utpala to build an initial layer of confidence. They tried to explain to them what they intended to do. They wanted to study the local problems, and with the local people, they wanted to work on lasting solutions. They believed that no solution was possible without the people themselves taking initiative and their task was basically to facilitate this process of people coming together and fighting for their rights.

As their visits increased, a certain rapport was built. Confidence grew. There was a very perceptible sense of excitement, especially among the women. The men were cautious. “It all sounds fine to us, but then, these babus (officials) are our mai-baap (literally meaning parents, but here, meant to imply ‘benefactors’) . Fighting for our rights would mean fighting against these babus. They will retaliate. How will we withstand that”, they often questioned, when there were spirited discussions about confronting the local officials and demanding their legitimate rights. And they knew it very well. Most of them had at least one experience of physical harassment by either the forest officials or the local police. Some had been jailed on charges they were not clear about ! Some of them were even beaten up for cutting trees on the biding of the local contractor, who also happened to be a very influential local politician. Certainly, enough was enough. They knew that their lives were fraught with risks, that harassment was a common feature and that they would always be insecure.

Enough, was definitely enough, for the women too. Their problems were similar in many ways. They too had suffered at the hands of these officials. They were often taunted and beaten up when they had begged for mercy for their husbands and sons. After a hard day’s work, they had, on several occasions, been forced to cook an elaborate meal for one of the local officials, who would also insist that they slaughter their hens which they so preciously had preserved for a special event – a marriage, a festival or for a religious offering. And worse, many of them had been used, abused, their modesty outraged. How could they ever forget the ignominy of the days and nights they were forcibly taken away to the official’s quarters or rest house, only to be subjected to the worst forms of humiliation? Something made them realize that it was now time to act. They had taken it all, lying down. And they had got to a point of ‘just no more’!

Dilbar, one of the most vocal women, was the first to respond. “Yes”, she said with a steely determination, “yes, we must fight. We have suffered enough. We need to realize that we too are human beings. We too need to be treated with dignity. So what if we are adivasis? We aren’t animals! If we all come together and stand solidly behind each other, nobody can bring us any harm”. Her determination seemed justified. What she said may have seemed a utopian dream at that point in time, but it certainly got the brains of the women ticking. For once, they were willing to throw caution to the winds, much to their husbands’ dismay!

Thus began a slow process. The women realized that their strength lay in their numbers. One day, when one of them went to the forests to collect firewood, the forest guard tried to misbehave with her. But she managed to escape and came running to the village. If it had been an earlier time, this incident would have gone unnoticed. At the most, she might have confided in a few women she was close to. But this time, when she narrated the incident to some of the women, they got together in no time. There were 15-20 of them. “We can’t allow him to escape this time. Let’s go and get him”, said Ramyabai, one of the women. Being familiar with the forests, these women tracked him in no time and confronted him.

The forest guard was unapologetic. Though he had been taken aback by the aggression of the women that he had not seen before when he indulged in such a behaviour, he had no inkling of what was in store. His unrelenting attitude angered the women further. One of them had a rope tied around her waist, which was meant to tie the firewood she was supposed to collect. She promptly took out the rope and with the help of the other women, literally ‘handcuffed’ him, took him to the nearest forest post and handed him over to the forest guard’s boss, the ranger. “Mind you, this is a warning”, Ramyabai said menacingly, “don’t try it ever again”. The ranger was taken by complete surprise. He blurted out a quick apology on behalf of his subordinate and asked the women to disperse. That day, they realized that they had achieved something!

But more was yet to come. While they did tackle such individual cases one by one, they were also aware that their confrontation with the forest officials was going to escalate, for there would be retaliation from their side too. After all, the forest officials were more powerful and influential. The women prepared themselves mentally for the worst. Meanwhile, to ensure that there was some security to their livelihoods, they started a savings programme, pinching out a bit from their meager earnings. Of course, it was not easy. It meant sacrificing on some of their immediate requirements. They also started collecting a small community fund. They were aware that at some point in time, they may have to travel to the district headquarters to meet higher level officials. They were also considering in terms of collecting enough money to engage a lawyer if one of them or their men folk was arrested. It was a small beginning, but then, it had to start somewhere.

One of their constant concerns was about the confusion around the land on which they had built their simple huts with thatched roofs. They just could not understand why they were always threatened with eviction, when apparently, they did not come in anybody’s way. Earlier, they could ward off the threat with inducements like the local brew or chicken, or even, in extreme cases, allowing one of the women to serve the officials. But now, they had resolved to claim their rights. There was also a problem regarding their land. The forest officials had always insisted that it was their (read, forest) land and that they had no right to cultivate those lands, that it was illegal and hence subject to eviction. They had earlier experiences when their standing crop was mercilessly burnt down by the forest officials, just days before the harvest, which meant a long season of near starvation! They had gone to the local tehsildar’s (the revenue official at the sub-district level) office to seek clarification, as repeated assurances of their patwari (the village level revenue official responsible for land records and issuing various certificates, to whom they had to pay small sums of money from time to time to lend their lands a semblance of legality !) did not yield any result. The tehsildar had initially said that he could nothing about it, but then soon, changed his statement and said that well, he could ‘explore’ ways, but at a cost. It had meant that each of the families had to shell out Rs. 100 or so for this purpose. As one could imagine, nothing happened. The forest officials continued to threaten them with eviction and destruction of their standing crops. Ultimately, their fate would determine what happened to them, they comforted themselves.

But on discovering the potential of their collective strength, the women had decided to do something about it, though they were not clear what! The time for the test of their determination was to come soon. One day, they heard the sound of a jeep approaching their village. It was not difficult to figure out to whom the jeep belonged. As the jeep screeched to halt, a dozen or so men in khakhi, all forest department lower level staffers, got off. The senior most among them, an official they had not met before, led the team. The people heard him being referred to as ‘Rana sahib (name changed)’. He surveyed the motley crowd of men, women and children, about 50 or so in all, who had come out of their huts. “What is the matter, sahib”, one of the men asked meekly. Something was not right, he mused. There was perceptible tension in the air. They had seen and even confronted these officials in ones and twos, but never had they seen such a large team in their village. And some of them were armed, something they did not attempt to undermine. “Get out of your huts, you creeps”, Rana shouted to them in general. “You have been told several times that this land does not belong to you. It belongs to us. Enough time has been given. It’s time you move now. Take your belongings and get out, right now”, he growled. He was a no-nonsense type! “But sahib, where can we go now? It’s almost evening. We know no other place where we can live. We have been living here for years and have not caused any trouble. Why can’t we live here?”, one of men asked, very respectfully. “There are small children, old people, pregnant women. Moreover, we have our farms here. Where else can we go and earn a living”, he continued to plead.

The officer seemed amused. There was a wicked smile at the corner of his mouth. He came close to Lakha, who had been performing the role of a spokesperson for the group. As he towered over Lakha’s frail figure, he said, “You should have thought about it earlier. Unfortunately, of late, you guys have been thinking more about how to corner us and defame us. Some of you, I believe, were also planning to do up to the district level to complain about us. You think we are going to take all this lying down, especially when you have been living here at our mercy”?

The men were visibly scared. There was an uneasy calm. Rana looked around and surveyed the hamlet. There were all mud huts. It wouldn’t take too long to demolish these. And the crowd here was pretty manageable too. Rana had a reputation of being ruthless, which these villagers were aware of. He wanted to climb up the hierarchy pretty fast. He knew exactly how to get into the good books of his superiors and the local elite. He had been hearing complaints from his subordinates that these villagers were getting too ‘hot’ to handle. Apparently, they had formed a ‘sangathan’ (association) ! The local elite too were not too happy with what was happening. Many of them had migrated from West Bengal several years ago. They could smell a revolution round the corner, which was quite ominous. “Nip it in the bud”, they would say.

As Rana contemplated his next move, Ramyabai stepped forward, pushing her way through the men who were standing a little ahead of the women (as would normally be expected). “Sahib, we have done no wrong. We have been living here peacefully. What makes you want us to be evicted? Whose orders are you carrying out”? she asked, sternly, yet with restraint in her voice. Her eyes were burning. She could feel the palpitations in her heart. She could not understand where she got the strength to speak out so openly. But she was conscious of the fact that the other women would stand by her. Before Rana could muster a response, the other women chorused, “Yes, she is right. Why should we move? This is our land and we will continue to live here”, they said.

Rana was livid. He certainly did not have a reputation for tolerance. And here he was, being challenged by the adivasis, who till yesterday, used to dance to his tunes! As he felt a rush of blood through his temples, one of the men pleaded, “Sahib, don’t listen to her. I beg forgiveness. And I plead that you be considerate enough to allow us to stay here”. This time around, it was Ramyabai’s turn to get angry. She had not bargained for this, from the men of her community. They could at least have shut up, instead of weakening their resolve ! “No”, she asserted, ”we are not begging for mercy. We are demanding our right to live here”.

That was it. Rana caught hold of Ramyabai’s hair in a fit of rage and pushed her away with a force that sent her stumbling all the way to where the rest of the women were standing. As she fell to the ground, she looked up to the women and as if on cue, they all surged forward and surounded Rana. “How dare you treat us like this?” they shouted. “What makes you think you can do anything to us”?

“Get going, you guys! What are you waiting for? Throw the stuff out of their homes and break down their huts. Fast !” Rana barked. He had sensed trouble. But he was equally determined to get his job done. The uniformed men went berserk. Moving from house to house, they systematically broke the fences, and with the butt of their rifles, they brought down the mud walls of the adivasi dwellings. They anyway hardly had anything in their homes, but whatever little they stumbled upon, they broke or destroyed mercilessly. There was absolute pandemonium. While some were trying to stop the men from doing further damage and even pleading mercy, some were trying to retrieve or save their frugal belongings. The men in uniform had no mercy. Even the earthen bins used to store grains were destroyed and stamped upon. Some of them even went to the extent of setting fire to the thatch to hasten the destruction.

As the rampaging team receded with loud threats of further harm if they did not move out of their habitation, the villagers turned around to look at the settlement where their simple little huts once stood. All that was left was debris all around. Pots and pans were all over the place. Clothes were strewn. There were small mounds of grain which were destroyed or spilled all over. Smoke emitted from some houses which had been set on fire. It was a sad spectacle. Years of labour and toil had simply been destroyed in the madness that lasted just a few minutes – and for no fault of theirs.

As they sat around, frustrated and humiliated, the only thought that seemed to cross their minds was what would happen next. Would the men come back and cause further damage? Would they also call the police to get them arrested if they physically did not move from there? But the women seemed to be in a different mood. Yes, they were frustrated, yes they felt humiliated, but no, they certainly did not feel diffident or hopeless. They were down, but not out! They knew that their strength lay in their solidarity and were determined to use it to the maximum.

Once again, it was Ramyabai who said, “Let’s not sit around, brooding about our fate. It’s time for us to unite and fight”. The other women nodded. “But it’s you who caused it”, one of the men said. “What makes you say so”, she shot back. “If only you had not been so defiant, we could have been let off with some bribes or chicken or liquor. But now, everything is lost. Do you still want to bring further damage to us”? they asked. “You may say what you want”, she continued. “But let me tell you, it’s time to fight. If we don’t, these guys will get back at us”, she said. “What do you want us to do”, the men asked. “We will go to the district headquarters and file a complaint with the district level officer”, she said. “With the help of Anil and Utpala, we will talk to the journalists and ask them to write about the unfair treatment meted out to us. We can also go and stage a dharna (demonstration) in front of the Collector’s office, demanding justice”, she said.

The men were quiet. Some of them were clearly cynical. “You think you can do all these? Do you think you can meet the higher-ups? What makes you think they will be better than these fellows? And won’t it cost us money to go to the district headquarters and meet other people ? And the time that it will take, when we could as well earn some money instead”? they posed. But not all men felt that way. Some of them could see reason. Yes, it meant time, it meant money. Yes, it gave them no guarantee that the reception they would get at the district level would be encouraging. But then, what was the harm in trying? Try they must. “Our women are determined and clear on what they want to do. So, I think it is important we support them instead of being skeptical”, they said. Once of them was Lakha.

What happened then was truly amazing, but not easy. Over the next one month, they made several visits to the district headquarters. With Anil and Utpala’s help, they met several influential people – from their local Member of Parliament and Member of Legislative Assembly to the District Collector and the District Forest Officer, from lawyers to journalists. Confrontation was fine, they knew. But then confrontation without a critical support base would be meaningless. They had to build allies. They had to know who would support their cause. They had to publicise their cause so that others like them wouldn’t face the same fate. They had to keep up the pressure. One message that the women always gave to the men was, “We will be ahead in this struggle. All we need is your backing. Whether it is a dharna or a yatra (march), we will be in the forefront. All said and done, even the police will not be comfortable reigning blows on us, but they may not hesitate to kick you guys at the slightest pretext. The higher up officials may abuse you, but chances are, they may listen to us. Anyway, whatever happens, we will not buckle. If it means going to the jail, we are prepared. But just don’t give up”.

As a strategy, it was perfect. Dharnas, yatras and gheraos (picketing) were resorted to. But never once did any of them indulge in any form of violence. Protests and demonstrations were peaceful. Slogans and songs to build solidarity among themselves emerged. There was a strong bonding, especially since people from the neighbouring villages also joined the cause, for they could be the victims of tomorrow !

Obviously, with such well orchestrated action, things could not be hidden further. Articles kept appearing in the local media about how the adivasis were being harassed. The Collector and the Superintendent of Police, both of whom happened to be extremely considerate and sympathetic to the cause of the poor adivasis, called for further details and explanations. Between them, they also put pressure on the District Forest Officer to act. Even the local MLA, under pressure, was forced to act since elections were not too far away !

After several days of applying pressure, the Collector called them for a meeting to settle the dispute. The Superintendent of Police, the District Forest Officer and several lower level officials were present. The DFO tendered an unconditional apology and assured them that such actions would not be repeated. The Collector also assured them that some public works would be sanctioned for the village so that it could provide additional employment and income for the families and help them recover their loss. He also assured them to look into possibilities of compensating them monetarily for the loss incurred.

It was a significant landmark for the villagers and especially for the women. There was a certain realization and confidence in themselves that emerged. Suddenly, they realized that they need not always be on the receiving end. They could also influence the way things happened at the local level. It was this realization that led them to lobby on various other issues. They lobbied actively with the revenue department to get legitimate pattas (title deeds) for their lands, subsequent to a government notification that allowed regularization of pattas (for lands that had been occupied by the tribals before October 1980, when the Government’s Forest Conversation Policy came into force). At times of drought, they managed to negotiate with the district and block officials to get public works sanctioned for their village. They ensured that the education and health facilities functioned well. It was not just about their rights that they worked on. They realized that they also had a responsibility to co-operate, participate and be engaged, to support government programmes meant for their welfare. And through all these, it was women like Ramyabai who led from the front, literally!