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Authors: Ramesh S Arunachalam
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interest, take away their produce as interest, and value it at low rates. He lent them more and more money and eventually took away their land, leaving them indebted and vulnerable.”
Chandresh feels suddenly weary and powerless. How many times had he heard this story? And each time, he could not help being gripped by the same sense of helpless outrage.
The old man seems fully aware of his story’s impact on Chandresh.
“The exploitation did not stop there. He would force the female members of those indebted families, and children, to entertain him and his friends at their weekend parties, which were also attended by corrupt officers and police officials. One day, when I returned from the field, neither my wife nor my 12-year-old daughter was home. They rarely used to go out, so I was grabbed by a sudden fear. I ran to the landlord’s house at the far end of the field to seek his help to find them. To my deep shock, I saw my wife and daughter leaving his home in a distraught state. They were both bruised and their clothes were in tatters. They did not survive the ordeal. Within two days, my wife killed my daughter before committing suicide herself. I walked around the village like a mad man for the next month or so. The only thing that kept me alive was my quest for justice. I knew that I would never get justice if I went to the police or the judiciary. So I chose to go to Chotanna instead. I joined his
dalam
and became a foot soldier in the battle against exploitation and social inequity. It took me two years before I managed to secure justice for my wife and child, and I did it with my own hands! In January 1986, while the landlord and his friends were returning to Rampachodavaram from Rajahmundry, we kidnapped them all, beheaded them and placed their heads on posts in the main marketplace in Rampachodavaram. Not only was this justice for my own family but for all those who had gone through a similar ordeal. It was also a warning signal to all those who believed that they could get away with exploiting the poor. Three of my colleagues from that incident were arrested in August 1986. The Gurtedu kidnappings were to secure the release of those brave men among others.”
From experience, Chandresh knows that anything he says will sound trite under the circumstances. The old man seems to have exhausted his quota of words too. They remain seated in companionable silence for a while, both drawing on their
beedis
almost in tandem.
Chandresh knows the man will be deeply insulted if he offers him money. He was not out to barter his grief for gain. And yet, he feels it would be churlish to walk away with nothing more than a handshake.
“Can I buy you another cup of tea?”
The old man’s eyes twinkle.
“No more tea but maybe I could bum a cigarette off you in return?”
Chandresh’s jaw drops. The sly old fox had known all along!
He sheepishly hands over the pack of cigarettes that he fishes out of his pocket.
The old man smiles at him benignly.
“Please do continue with your efforts. No matter if you don’t always get results.”
As Chandresh offers to shake hands in a final goodbye, the old man shakes his head. He places his hand on his forehead and offers the traditional greeting.
“Lal Salaam!”
CHAPTER 8
R ANGA REDDY DISTRICT, ANDHRA PRADESH,
29 SEPTEMBER 2010
The villagers watch open-mouthed. It is like a scene from the movies—a Vijayashanthi movie, to be specific! Except that Vijayashanthi 4 is almost always in uniform and beats the villains to pulp. Muscle flexing is not this petite, feisty young woman’s style, though. Veena Mehra, the newly appointed district magistrate of Ranga Reddy district, means business. As she eyeballs the evil landlord into submitting to her authority, the small crowd lets out a cheer. The noise becomes deafening when she escorts Rajayya to her official jeep. A bonded labourer for 33 out of his 40 years, he is free at last!
More than half a century
Chandresh feels suddenly weary and powerless. How many times had he heard this story? And each time, he could not help being gripped by the same sense of helpless outrage.
The old man seems fully aware of his story’s impact on Chandresh.
“The exploitation did not stop there. He would force the female members of those indebted families, and children, to entertain him and his friends at their weekend parties, which were also attended by corrupt officers and police officials. One day, when I returned from the field, neither my wife nor my 12-year-old daughter was home. They rarely used to go out, so I was grabbed by a sudden fear. I ran to the landlord’s house at the far end of the field to seek his help to find them. To my deep shock, I saw my wife and daughter leaving his home in a distraught state. They were both bruised and their clothes were in tatters. They did not survive the ordeal. Within two days, my wife killed my daughter before committing suicide herself. I walked around the village like a mad man for the next month or so. The only thing that kept me alive was my quest for justice. I knew that I would never get justice if I went to the police or the judiciary. So I chose to go to Chotanna instead. I joined his
dalam
and became a foot soldier in the battle against exploitation and social inequity. It took me two years before I managed to secure justice for my wife and child, and I did it with my own hands! In January 1986, while the landlord and his friends were returning to Rampachodavaram from Rajahmundry, we kidnapped them all, beheaded them and placed their heads on posts in the main marketplace in Rampachodavaram. Not only was this justice for my own family but for all those who had gone through a similar ordeal. It was also a warning signal to all those who believed that they could get away with exploiting the poor. Three of my colleagues from that incident were arrested in August 1986. The Gurtedu kidnappings were to secure the release of those brave men among others.”
From experience, Chandresh knows that anything he says will sound trite under the circumstances. The old man seems to have exhausted his quota of words too. They remain seated in companionable silence for a while, both drawing on their
beedis
almost in tandem.
Chandresh knows the man will be deeply insulted if he offers him money. He was not out to barter his grief for gain. And yet, he feels it would be churlish to walk away with nothing more than a handshake.
“Can I buy you another cup of tea?”
The old man’s eyes twinkle.
“No more tea but maybe I could bum a cigarette off you in return?”
Chandresh’s jaw drops. The sly old fox had known all along!
He sheepishly hands over the pack of cigarettes that he fishes out of his pocket.
The old man smiles at him benignly.
“Please do continue with your efforts. No matter if you don’t always get results.”
As Chandresh offers to shake hands in a final goodbye, the old man shakes his head. He places his hand on his forehead and offers the traditional greeting.
“Lal Salaam!”
CHAPTER 8
R ANGA REDDY DISTRICT, ANDHRA PRADESH,
29 SEPTEMBER 2010
The villagers watch open-mouthed. It is like a scene from the movies—a Vijayashanthi movie, to be specific! Except that Vijayashanthi 4 is almost always in uniform and beats the villains to pulp. Muscle flexing is not this petite, feisty young woman’s style, though. Veena Mehra, the newly appointed district magistrate of Ranga Reddy district, means business. As she eyeballs the evil landlord into submitting to her authority, the small crowd lets out a cheer. The noise becomes deafening when she escorts Rajayya to her official jeep. A bonded labourer for 33 out of his 40 years, he is free at last!
More than half a century
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