A journalist recounts encounters with Maoist ideology, activity and way of life through multiple angles
Ashutosh Bhardwaj lived in Chhattisgarh for over four years (2011-2015), reporting from Maoist-controlled areas. This is an account of his trips to the jungles of Dandakaranya, where he has combined facts with novelist imagination, making The Death Script a thrilling read.
Bhardwaj vividly describes the harsh life of Maoists who live with minimum facilities, in constant fear of attack by security forces. We learn about guerrilla life from various perspectives. A woman cadre, for instance, claims that she and other women are not subjected to the male gaze or molestation. But soon it is revealed that senior cadres were punished for misbehaving with women.
Bhardwaj writes that “a variety of reasons” push Maoists to surrender. Their resolve crumbles when they realise the improbability of revolution. The desire for a family is overpowering too. Korsa Joga, a Gond tribal, who left the party to live a peaceful life in his village, Gangalur, with his wife, was killed by a boy whom he had recruited three years ago because he joined the police force. But senior cadre G.V.K. Prasad, who surrendered due to failing health, got ‘party permission’ to live with his family. Central Committee member Lanka Papi Reddy surrendered because of the humiliation of transfer to a “place that had little revolutionary activity” where he “finally lost himself”. Bhardwaj fondly describes the bond of Reddy with his daughter Tejaswi.
The cruelty inflicted by the Maoists is vividly described too. An adivasi, Kawasi Chandra, “was clubbed to death before his wife, parents and children” in a Jan Adalat on suspicions of him being a police informer. Jayalal, the local organisation squad commander who ordered the killing, said that they “wanted to convey a message”. After the attack over the Congress convoy in May 2013, the body of Mahendra Karma was found to have 72 wounds, both ante—and post-mortem—a clear proof of cruelty.
The book dwells on Maoist ideology, various landmines used by them, hand-written letters that are still used for communication and the romantic image built around them. While junior women cadre, if permitted to marry, are not allowed to bear children, male cadres are required to undergo vasectomy operations on the diktat of top commanders. Hemelkasa, in Gadchiroli, is one such centre, where Magsaysay awardees Prakash and Mandaniki Amte are doctors.
Although Bhardwaj decries the fact that “no media, print or electronic, has had a Naxal beat”, he underlines the role played by journalists not only in evacuation of dead people but also in reporting Maoist incidents. The value of the national flag wrapped around the body of a martyr, the last journey after death in a Maoist attack and the emotional trauma a jawan experiences, living far away from his family, is narrated movingly.
As revealed by a Maoist, although they have not used bharmaars (muzzle loading guns) for about 15 years, the police still show their recovery from encounter spots. Eyebrows have also been raised over the conviction of a journalist, Prafulla Jha, for sedition only on the recovery of ‘Naxal literature’. Surprisingly, Bhardwaj misses out on asking the Maoists about the extent of extortion and levy extracted from various stakeholders.
The Death Script is a rare combination of dreams and delusions that encapsulate life and death of Maoists. The book’s strength is its multiple narrative modes, as well the many footnotes, the literary and cinematic anecdotes that enrich the book. Bhardwaj exhibits the capacity to delineate the emotional world and psychology of people affected by Maoism in a literary style that keeps the reader glued till the end of the book. Though, as a senior police officer, I felt uncomfortable at a few places, it did give an opportunity to introspect deeper into the most important aspect of life in conflict areas—the dictum that every life matters.
(The author is a senior IPS officer in Chhattisgarh, views are personal)