My little one,
How are you my dear? It is already a year and a half since I left you. It took me some time to return to my normal self after leaving you. Binding my milk filled breasts tightly and firmly suppressing my overflowing emotions, I tried to adjust to life in my new surroundings.
As I tried to adjust to the demands of this new life in the squad, and in my attempts to get closer to my comrades and the people in the area that I had to work with, I felt the ‘mother’ in me slowly vanishing. But in the past couple of days your memories are haunting me and the ‘mother’ inside is slowly re-surfacing. While working in these parts, I came across many infants. Whenever I held them close, cuddled and kissed them, your memory would come to mind. Out of all these children Gangi is different; she is Irme’s daughter. I played with Gangi several times in this past year and a half. The other day after I finished playing with her, your memories suddenly besieged me. I woke up with a start in the night and searched for you next to me in the bed.
Soon after I knew you were taking shape inside me, my whole life changed. You were in my dreams, you, who had no existence until then, occupied my entire world; both real and dream world. Before getting married, your father and I took a vow not to have children. As people wedded to the revolution, we believed we had no right to bring a new life into this world. But unexpectedly you entered my world. Your father’s vasectomy failed and you came into this world. We had many clashes as your father argued that abortion was the best way out, but I refused. How can I explain my reasons? As you were breathing inside me, my world became tender and I desperately wanted to hold on to that delicate tenderness. I resisted all efforts to convince me. I conceded that temporarily the ‘mother’ in me won over the ‘revolutionary’. I promised your father that this lapse would be temporary. Reluctantly at first, but your father too became part of this journey. He was soon immersed in my new dream world and expanded it with new thoughts. Thus, it became our shared dream world. But my dearest, it did not take us as long as the time we spent in dreaming, before we got separated. The obligations of the Movement forced us to withdraw from the town and take the path to the forest. You were fast asleep when I had to gently detach you and place you on my mother’s lap. You just started turning over you had not learnt to crawl yet. I was not a witness to any of your first steps into this world. I received a letter from your grandparents seven months ago telling me that you had just started walking and were slowly learning to talk. I yearn to hear you call me ’amma’ atleast once!
Just as I had left my six month old baby, Irme left her two year old Gangi with her mother and joined our squad. We celebrated PLGA* day on December 2nd in Irme’s village. Gangi saw her mother in full uniform with a gun for the first time. She watched happily as her mother took her oath standing on the podium. Little did little Gangi know that the heavy responsibility that her mother undertook meant a complete separation from her. That night as we swiftly moved away from the village, I felt my feet dragging at the thought of Gangi. Was my mind with the two year old Gangi or was it with you? My mind did not coordinate well with my body and I stumbled and almost fell. The night would be gone soon, a new morning would dawn, birds may chirp in welcome, small fires by the wayside would drive the cold away. The firewood would burn as the stoves are lit and vessels placed over it ready for the porridge to cook. But would Gangi drink the porridge like every morning? Would she not grumble and cry? Would she not ask for her mother? The day I left, you were still sleeping. May be you were hungry and scared and cried after waking up. Then a bottle feeder must have been thrust at you instead of a mother’s warm breast. How your tender heart must have been hurt and rebelled. But, when the hunger in your stomach forced you to take the feeder in your mouth much against your wishes, it became the first instance in your life when you learnt to compromise. My dearest daughter, could you forgive me? As all these thoughts circled around my head, I missed my step many a time that night as I walked. I wondered how Irme would be feeling if I felt this bad. As I twisted and turned in bed, I noticed that Irme was having trouble sleeping that night. The next morning, I saw that Irme’s face was more stern than usual. I could see as the day progressed how she tried to immerse herself in various tasks. I could not get the image of you as I saw you the last time, out of my mind. Then I took a pen and paper and started to write this letter hoping it would calm me down. My commander Daya saw me and asked,” Badri! What are you doing with a pen and paper first thing in the morning?” I replied,”I am writing to my daughter”. “What”! He exclaimed,” you are writing to the little baby”? “Why can’t I do that? I might not live until she grows up. She could at least read the letter in my absence”, I said with a wry smile. He understood the pain behind the smile and said, “Write your letter. Ask her to grow up quickly and join the PLGA”. He laughed and went away.
Little one! We have the right to sacrifice our life for our ideals and beliefs. But we do not have the right to deprive you of the love and care of parents. Unfortunately things turned out this way. My weakness in not being able to give up motherhood, brought you into this world. Please forgive me.
I remain
Your loving mother
*****
December, 2005
My dear one,
How are you? You must be three years old now. Nanna and I were happy seeing your photo that came with grandparents’ letter. When I showed it to Daya, our commander, he said, “she is cute like a doll”. Grandfather made you write my name at the end of the letter. I was overjoyed at seeing your first letters to me. Daya said, “She has only written your name, soon she will be writing a letter”. Though we received the letter a year and half later, we could still rejoice in your news. The letter filled the gap that should have been filled with your childish prattle and countless other trivia of your childhood that both of us missed. I read the letter again and again and shared my happiness with all those around me. Your father, on the other hand, is reserved and expresses his feelings only when we are alone. Grandfather wrote that you are very active, play games and good at singing and dancing. You have not started school but were learning alphabets at home, grandmother said.
By the way, we recently set up camp near Gangi’s village for fifteen days. Gangi came with her grandmother but stayed back with us, after her grandmother went back. The three year old Gangi soon became the center of attraction in our camp. She was like a beautiful doll for us to play with. Usually little children prefer playing with dolls but there was huge competition to play with Gangi, from a fifty year old senior to a young sixteen year old comrade. Gangi was at the center of everything during our early morning military exercises, our collective work in the afternoons, our cultural events and games in the evenings and during the work in the kitchen at all times While she was with us it felt like the whole camp was centred around her. It was not clear if she was the doll we played with, or, if we were her playthings.
I think I spent more time playing with Gangi than the others did. In your absence, spending time with her soothed me. I felt any amount of time spent with her was not enough. Her innocent eyes, pure smile and childish prattle pulled me constantly to her. In the little time remaining between duties and occasionally making time in between, I played with Gangi. While she played in my lap I felt as if my six month old daughter came back to me. Your delicate touch, softer than the petals of a flower warmed my heart. Gangi’s mother Irme was an enigmatic person. She rarely expressed her love for her daughter openly. While Gangi stayed in the camp, poor Irme hardly ever got a chance to do anything for her daughter. There was always competition for giving Gangi a bath, feeding her or doing sundry other things. There were always eager volunteers to care for the little girl. Only after Gangi went to sleep on someone’s polythene sheet would Irme get a chance to bring her daughter and sleep next to her.
Gangi did not differentiate between her mother and others. She was fine with all of us, letting anyone bathe her, feed her or play with her. She did not look to her mother exclusively to do these things. Usually three year old children cling to their mothers, but Irme did not seem to have any special status in Gangi’s heart. Though she called her ‘amma’(mother), she did not seem to distinguish between the specific things a mother did and the duties that Irme undertook as a member of the squad. I wonder if Gangi would understand her mother once she learnt the difference. Little one, you also may not be able to differentiate between your grandmother and me, your grandfather and your father. After you grasp the difference, would you accept it? We left a void in your life that cannot be filled. Will you forgive us for that? Will you understand that we suppressed our love for you to embrace and protect a larger love towards all beings on this earth? Hoping and looking for your understanding and acceptance.
I remain,
Your loving mother
*****
June, 2006
My little one,
How are you dearest? I was struggling to put pen to paper for the past three days. An inexplicable weariness made me helpless. When I met Gangi three days ago, my heart did not overflow with love as it usually does. Instead, it was overcome with sorrow. I wanted to lay my head in her lap and cry. I controlled my emotions with difficulty and gathered her close and held her. Gangi was not unusually perturbed, she was her usual self. She was not at an age to comprehend her enormous loss. Many others in the camp held her and wept. “Oh! You became a motherless child.” “They killed your mother. She is no more there to look after you and care for you”, each one said a different thing with sorrow. All of these were to indicate to Gangi, the loss of her mother. But the import of these words will not touch Gangi’s mind.
Irme died when the police attacked our squad on the 30thof May. Gangi lived with her grandmother, away from her mother these past two years. A mother who appeared sometimes and often disappeared has now completely vanished. Gangi was not of an age to understand the permanence of this disappearing. When she finally comprehends it, I dread to think of the pain that would tear her heart. Irme’s mother was inconsolable. She wept on seeing us saying,”previously whenever you came, my daughter was also there with you. Now I can see her no more.” My grief overflowed as I watched her.
I knew Irme since I joined this squad. She was from a village in Malkangiri district, our area of operation. She lost her father when she was young. She was active in the women’s organization in the district. Fearful that her daughter would get caught in these activities her mother cajoled her into marriage. She had two children who died as infants, Gangi was her third child. Irme’s husband married another woman before Gangi was born. Marrying more than one woman was not uncommon in the Adivasi tribes. But Irme’s spirit rebelled against it and she came back to live with her mother. According to their rules, when couples separate, the children stay back with the father. But Irme refused to give up Gangi. She was able to keep her child with the support of the revolutionary movement. Thereafter, she took more active part in revolutionary programs. When I joined the guerrilla squad, I was given the responsibility of overseeing the work of all the women’s organisations in the villages that fell within the domain of our squad. I relied mostly on Irme to fulfil my responsibilities. As I worked with her, I was fascinated by her capacity to negotiate with the Panchayat while arguing on behalf of the aggrieved women, her fearless straight forward attitude while taking on the defence of women subjected to domestic violence and her capacity to convince many of the women to stand up against abuse. Irme was not literate but this did not affect her efficiency. I was in-charge of her, but she was my teacher.
After coming into this society with which I do not have either direct or indirect relationship, I learnt many things from my commander and other comrades through listening to their opinions, hearing their suggestions, heeding their words of advice and through self-criticism and criticism*. From Irme, however, I learnt a lot by observing her practice. Carrying baby Gangi in her arms, she travelled to villages motivating women to arise, awaken and fight for their rights. How long will the State tolerate this kind of awakening consciousness of women that helps them distinguish between right and wrong and shows them the need to fight for justice? Attacks on Irme’s house began but this did not deter her. Her mother pleaded with her to stop all these activities but to no avail. Irme continued her work secretly, hiding from the police. Finally she decided to take up arms and join the squad. Hearing this I entreated,” Gangi is still very young, would you consider postponing this decision to go underground for a year”? She replied,”Badri! If I am out in the open, an attack on me is certain. If I join you, when the police come with a gun, I will have one in my hand too”. Her mother protested against it very strongly. She said, ”if you wanted to go underground, why did you bring Gangi with you. You should have left her with her father. Who is going to look after her? Who is going to do all the work?” Irme laughed, “I brought her back to be with you when I am not there. Don’t talk as if you are old and cannot look after her. In a couple of years Gangi will be able to help you.”
Irme received military training after joining the squad. Seeing her dynamism and determination in every aspect of the training, no one could believe she was a mother. Before she could finish the training, there was a raid by police on the camp. Comrades Shwetha and Dulal died in combat. Another comrade Anil was wounded and Irme saw him as the squad was retreating. She ran back, broke the police encirclement and carried comrade Anil to safety literally giving him rebirth. She proved her merit even before completing her training and earned her rightful place in the squad. She took the name Kumari after joining the squad. In two years she became my trusted right hand. Prior to joining the squad, she had only worked in women’s organizations but she participated enthusiastically in military operations. She exhibited her valor even on the day she became a martyr. That fatal day, Irme was on kitchen duty and we were conducting political classes to members of children’s organization when the police attacked us. As she was in the kitchen Irme had ample time to go back to safety, but she shouldered the gun and jumped into combat. While the fight was going on, other comrades had time to safely evacuate the children and the new recruits into the squad. Irme died in that combat and I suffered a huge loss. But my loss will never equal that of Gangi though right now she is not affected by it. After Irme’s death, Gangi and her mother visited the camp. Gangi looked as if she had no bath for some time. I bathed her, put on a fresh frock, oiled her hair and combed it neatly. All through, Irme’s mother did not stop crying. She said,” you are her father and mother now”.
My little one, you should know the reasons why Irme had to go far away from her daughter and why the little Gangi had to lose her mother.
Your loving mother
*****
28th October, 2007
My little one,
You will soon be completing five years. How are you? I came to know that grandparents shifted to Vizag for your studies. Also, that you pester them for information about us and that they told you that we were in America for work. Occasionally my friend Uma and her husband talk to you pretending to be calling from America. I gathered all this from grandparents’ letters. I can see how hard they are working to fill the gap created by our absence and bring you up as normally as possible. They do not have space or time to mourn their own loss, loss of their daughter. These excuses may work for a while but as you grow older and have interactions with other children, you will have many more questions. The story of a job in America may not last long. I do not know how you would face the truth. How would you accept the loss of a normal childhood, the absence of parents after you grow up? “Why don’t you come and meet her once, we can prolong the lie about America a little longer”, my mother wrote. We both have to consider this carefully and see if it would be possible.
I felt happy when I heard that you are good at sports and other extra-curricular activities. By the way Gangi also joined school. There was a government school in the village which existed only in name. The village decided to revive it and collectively appointed a teacher to manage the school. The other evening as we entered the village, school was over and children were coming out. Seeing Gangi coming out of the school with a slate in her hand, the pilot of our squad called out, “Badri! Your daughter is coming from school, and the other members of the squad laughed. That evening we brought Gangi to the camp. She had tea and biscuits with us. As I wrote Oriya alphabet on the slate, Gangi recited them and then she also wrote them. Others crowded around and there was general happy laughter. I met your father four days later and gave him news of Gangi. “She is going to school and learning alphabets, she is going to be good in studies”. He laughed and said “write to your mother that she needs no longer lament about you missing your daughter’s childhood. Tell her you do have the privilege”.
Your father’s words gave me a new understanding. After Irme’s martyrdom, I developed special attention towards Gangi. Our squad visited Irme’s village once every two months. I made elaborate preparations a few days before we reached Gangi’s village. I would buy soaps, biscuits and oil and sometimes I would cook a few dishes. Whenever I met her grandmother, I emphasized the necessity of giving nutritious food to Gangi. I bought the required medicines and sometimes clothes and footwear too. Once your father commented,” May be you are overdoing things, there are other comrades’ children too. In the village there are many other children, this singling out of Gangi may not be correct. It may create a negative feeling among the comrades and the people. Do reflect”. I retorted,”no one would be so narrow minded. The child has no parents. No one will grudge a little special attention to such a child”. He said,”our efforts should be to enable people to take care of many children like Gangi. You should think like a communist party worker and not just as a mother.” I replied,”I agree with all that you said. All our efforts should be to help build a society where all children like Gangi receive support. Until that consciousness is awakened, I cannot abandon Gangi.”
After this conversation it dawned on me that I was not filling the gap of a mother figure in Gangi’s life. I was trying to overcome the loss of my daughter in my life. I can go on writing like this for some more time but the comrade who has to carry this post is waiting, so I will stop here.
I remain
Your loving mother
*****
July 2010
My little one,
How are you? Time stops for none. It is already two years since I saw you. I had no letters from your grandparents. Situation around is not conducive for communication.
After abandoning you at the tender age of six months, we met you only after you turned six. You are still not at an age where you can understand the need for this separation. So we continued “the America lie” that your grandparents started. The other day when I met your father, he said,” let us bring our daughter here after she turns ten. If she lives with us for some time, she may understand things better.” I agreed. I asked my parents to keep all my letters to you safe till then. In the midst of the Green Hunt attacks, I am not sure if and when this particular letter would reach you.
You must have grown slightly taller now that you completed eight years. Hope you are eating well, and of course, studying well too. Last time when I met you my father said,” Badri! Your daughter loves listening to stories just like you.” You must be slowly beginning to read on your own. Grandfather must be buying nice story books just as he did when I was a child. May be grandmother is gently admonishing you, “always reading story books, when will you study your class books,” just as she did when I was your age.
Gangi stopped going to school. The first attack of Green Hunt was on their village. The police tore down the school building and arrested the teacher. We were relieved that he was only put in jail and not killed. The Government never undertook the job of establishing schools and running them properly in the tribal villages. When the villagers tried to do this on their own, the State couldn’t tolerate it and destroyed whatever they built. All the thirty children in Gangi’s school lost their single access to education. Gangi attended school for only two and a half years. She learnt to read and write, though her spelling needs attention. She also learnt basic Maths. After the demolition of the school, six children out of the thirty decided to join the residential school about ten kilometres away. Rest of the parents were not too keen. I tried hard to get Gangi to join the residential school but her grandmother protested. “I cannot live without Gangi.” She agreed later, though very reluctantly. But when the day of departure came, Gangi flatly refused. In fact, the other six children were going very unwillingly too. They yielded to the entreaties and threats of their parents. But who is to convince, or, scold Gangi? The other children going away were all boys and no one in the village was willing to force a girl to leave home. I am not sure what will happen. May be I can persuade the child to join next year!
Gangi grew taller, she is not chubby like you, nor is she thin. She is active and healthy. She is relatively clean as we take care of her whenever we visit the village. Her grandmother, seeing our efforts, probably keeps her clean the rest of the time. Gangi began helping her grandmother both in house work and also work outside. On my next visit to the village I saw her with a pot of water on her head. I wondered if you were helping grandmother in small ways. I remembered how my mother never let me do anything at home when I was in school. If she pampered me so much I can imagine what she would do for her darling grandchild.
Adivasi society is different from ours. They love children like all parents but teach them to be responsible from a very young age. The societal development and mode of production in the Adivasi society do not allow the children to keep away from labour. Capitalism, on the other hand, tramples on child rights to gain profits from their labour. Even if grandmother keeps you away from all work, you should know the value of labour. This recognition is the distinguishing feature that separates humans from animals. Unless we know the value of labour we cannot respect it. Unless we respect labour, we cannot recognise abuse of labour for profits and cannot strive to free others from forced labour.
I remain
Your loving mother
*****
My little one,
How are you? It is three years since I had any news of you. I do not know how your grandparents are doing. You must be entering your ninth year. My heart yearns for your news, but all our efforts to find out any little information about you have been in vain. You must be in fourth class and I hope and wish your studies are going well. My efforts in making Gangi continue schooling failed. I forcibly admitted her in the residential school and she ran back home within a week. She listens meekly when I talk to her about the importance of education but refuses when I request her to go to school. She once said the new school was not like her school in the village and she did not like it. In the current atmosphere of heightened security we are unable to run schools. I did ponder over the possibility of sending Gangi to Dandakaranya where there are schools being run under the auspices of the Janatana Sarkar. Even though my squad in-charges consented to the idea, Gangi did not agree to leave her village. Her grandmother was doubtful of sending the child to so distant a place. After this I accepted the fact that Gangi’s school life was indeed over. Your father asked me, “Why are you so insistent about Gangi going to a school”? I reacted, “would we keep quiet if our daughter decided to stop schooling midway”. He said the comparison was not correct as both the children were growing up under different circumstances. I could not reconcile to that. I wondered what Irme would do if she were alive. She would not easily accept the fact that Gangi did not wish to continue her studies. Gangi acts indifferent. She is smart and could do well if she studied. She is notcomprehending the importance of education at this point in time. The other day our squad doctor told me,” She listened obediently when you spoke to her about the necessity of education. Later she came to me and said, ’you did not study when you were young, but aren’t you doing the work of a doctor now’”. I do not know how to make Gangi understand the value of education.
I remain
Your loving mother
*****
October, 2012
How are you my little one? There has been no news of you for four years now. When I worry and become depressed, your father says,” You have to be strong. Your responsibilities have increased and you should focus on doing your duty well”. He never said it aloud but occasionally I can read his thoughts in his eyes,” You should have listened when I requested you to go for abortion”. Even in the midst of work, sometimes I cannot stop worrying about you. Whenever I read about child abuse in newspapers, I shiver with anxiety. Children living under the shelter of parents are unable to escape the perverts in the society. How can you, a little girl, protected by two elders survive? Perhaps your grandparents already warned you about accepting anything from strangers. It is unfortunate that we have to teach our children mistrust, caution and doubt.
We do not have access to newspapers we come across some only occasionally. But that is enough to inform one of the increasing instances of sexual abuse, acid attacks, stalking and harassing under the guise of love and kidnappings of children and women, Red light areas, substance abuse, pub culture and so on. My head reels at the thought of so many evils around us, so many perils to avoid, especially if one is a woman. There are places where a girl child is not even allowed to be born. In the name of progress mankind has achieved great many successes. They learnt how to control nature. But with all these developments, human life has not become simple. Indeed, it has become more complex. “Internet”, a wonderful invention by technology has become a conduit for spreading obscenity. It has become a medium for harassing women and blackmailing them. Technology has given us such power that there are umpteen ways to harm and do wrong things, without moving out of your four walls. Market has converted not only the physical and material into commodities it has transformed the intellectual and thinking faculties too into commodities for sale. Market is expanding its foundation by destroying ‘values’. I worry what would happen to you and how you would withstand this world of chaos and destruction.
I am not worried about Gangi. She is living far away from the destructive world. She is growing up in a community that is trying to build a new world that is an antidote to the destructive world outside. She is very eager to contribute her bit to the shaping of this new world.
Earlier we used to bring Gangi to the camp whenever we were in the vicinity. Now the moment she knows we are nearby, she comes running to us. Sometimes she is accompanied by an elder, yet at other times she visits us on her own. She pays no heed to our pleas against coming out alone. Some comrades tease her “here comes the brave leader with the sword”. She simply smiles at them. She does not leave our side as long as the camp is there and nags us to take her along when we break camp. All our appeals of ‘you are too young right now and can join us after coming of age’ fall on deaf ears. We have great difficulty in persuading her to go back to her grandmother. Gangi is a good artist like her mother Irme. She is already part of the children’s cultural wing. She performs in the surrounding villages motivating people to join the effort for building a just society.
She continues to be diligent in assisting her grandmother. She helped in household work from a young age, now she started working in the fields and the forest. The other day I saw her ploughing the land along with her grandmother. As she came running when she saw us, I noticed her eyes shining with confidence. They also gather forest produce in addition to agriculture. Gangi became adept at collecting forest gum, mahua flowers, gathering wood for the kitchen, and collecting food items such as leafy vegetables, bamboo shoots, ant hills and crabs etc. I got used to buying her something or the other whenever I went to meet her. These days she greets our arrival with various forest fruits, jamun, mangoes, wild berries, corn, wild roots, honey etc. She arranges them carefully in a basket and brings them over. She would hold the basket tight and refuse to part with it until she saw me. Other comrades would complain,” your daughter is refusing to give us anything”. She would bring the basket to my polythene sheet and divide the portions carefully and distribute them. Whatever we gave her was bought with money. What Gangi gave us was collected with love and care through her labour. She must have searched the thick forests for all the food she brought us. At a young age she already conquered the selfish ‘I’ and broadened her horizon. In the present world where everything revolves around the ‘I’, you will realise what a valuable gift Gangi gave us.
Please be careful my little one, take care at every step. Even as I say it I imagine you questioning me sternly,” How can you teach me to mistrust everyone? Is it right for you to instil doubts and fears in me regarding other people while claiming to fight on behalf of and for them?” Our struggle is to fight against the present atmosphere of mistrust. I want you to believe strongly that a day would come when we need not view our neighbours with doubt and mistrust.
I remain
Your loving mother
*****
July, 2013
How are you my little one? I received a brief letter as if written in a hurry from your grandfather a month ago. There were no details except telling me that you have entered class VII and studying well. Have you grown taller, may be a little thinner? More importantly did they tell you about us? If possible, we would like you to spend the summer holidays with us. We hope this would give you some understanding of our situation.
By the way, Gangi spent 15 days with us recently when we camped near her village. There was a week’s training for children’s cultural teams. About twenty children including Gangi from the surrounding villages took part in the training. After the programme was over Gangi stayed back with us. During this period, I felt a new sense of closeness with Gangi. I spent much of my time since I joined the squad in this area. I grew from a member of the squad to a member of the divisional committee. I knew many elders and children from this area as I spent most of my working period here. Many children in this area take active part in children’s organizations. It is natural for us to be affectionate towards children who are sharp and complete the assigned tasks with determination and commitment. We all love these children and many entered my life before Gangi and a few others after her entry too. However, for some reason, , no one could replace Gangi in my heart. During the recent training camp, I tried consciously not to single out Gangi for any preferential treatment. Interestingly this time around, our special relationship was given expression by Gangi . It is not surprising that she felt differently towards me as I never hid my affection for her. I am sure her heart acknowledged our special bond. Usually, she never expressed her feelings by word or gesture. She is in general reticent and talked less. She only replied when spoken to. She seemed closer to couple of other comrades. But whenever she brought something, I was the first one to receive it.
The other day when I reached the lake for a bath, Gangi was returning with a few others after finishing her bath. Seeing me Gangi stopped as others moved on. By the time I set aside the kit and got ready for the bath, Gangi already filled one bucket and was carrying another. I protested and tried to take the bucket from her but she refused and adjured me to get on first with washing my clothes. She filled two more buckets with water by the time I washed my clothes. She was barely eleven then. I was deeply touched and then remembered you. If you were with me, would you help me similarly I wondered. Then I thought of my mother and how I could not recall a single instance when I helped her out in her chores, when I was eleven.
Another day as I wrestled with accounts the tea whistle sounded. I was reluctant to get up from work and wished someone would bring me a cup. Your father was nearby reading, he ignored the whistle as he never drank tea. I was hesitant to ask anyone for fear that he would criticize me for asking others to do personal work. Soon Gangi entered bearing a tea cup, I could not contain my happiness. “Gangi brought me my tea”, I exclaimed. A comrade passing by commented,” she refused to have hers first for fear that yours would grow cold”. I signed to Gangi to sit by me and opened a biscuit packet. She dunked her biscuit in the tea. “Gangi likes tea”, I said. “She is just like her mother,” responded your father without lifting his head from the book. “Irme never drank tea,” I said in surprise. “I am referring to this mother”, he gestured towards me. I was deeply touched as he never said anything like that until then. I am used to others in the squad referring to us as mother and daughter but your father said it for the first time. I will close this letter recounting another incident. Recently tailor team comrades visited our camp. Some of our comrades got an olive-green uniform stitched for Gangi. She looked cute in the uniform and was proud to move around in clothes similar to us. One day, when a comrade in civil clothes was going into the village and asked the commander who should he leave his gun with, the commander saw Gangi in the uniform and asked the comrade to give it to her as everyone around seemed busy. It was a small country made gun. As she received it you should have seen the light that came into her eyes.
My hope that Gangi would atleast complete her primary school came to nothing. She was good like her mother in singing and dancing and I hoped she would become active in the cultural troupe. I heard that she was moving closely with the militia and wanted to join them. Though it was not my responsibility, I decided to speak to her about it. I told her she was still young and it would be good to join the cultural wing. She did not reply but only nodded her head. But, I could sense that she was keen on joining the militia and would not pay attention to my words.
But, I loved her so much when I saw her in the guerilla uniform with a gun on her shoulder that I couldn’t help share my joy with your father. “She is eager to join the squad and you were after her to continue her studies”, he said laughing. “I was not asking her to study and get a job. Whether she completes her school or not my hope is that she joins the squad”, I said. “Then what do you hope for our daughter”, he asked trying to read my face.” She also should become a guerilla, an urban guerilla”, I replied without hesitation.
I brought you into this world but never did my duty as a mother. Perhaps, parents like me who never discharged their duty should not have any expectations, either. But, I cannot contain the small shoot of hope growing within me whenever I envision your future. These hopes are not just that of a mother but of a revolutionary too. Hope that you will respect my hopes.
I remain,
Your loving mother
*****
Sep 2013
My little one,
I wanted to write this letter for the past three days but I was unable to put pen to paper. However, my mind was conversing with you as though words were not needed to convey my feelings. But to put down my emotions on paper, both mind and language have to come together.
The person with whose inspiration I wrote the first letter to you, who was mentioned without fail in every subsequent letter I wrote to you, whose life is entwined with you in my mind, that person Gangi is no more. She did not die a natural death. She was brutally killed. She was stabbed repeatedly with the bayonet end. On September 13th, police attacked the militia camp at Silakota, after receiving definite information about the whereabouts of the camp from the informers. They fired repeatedly at the still sleeping comrades that early morning. Twelve of our comrades became martyrs. I do not know how little Gangi escaped from the firing, but she managed to reach her village. But, she was caught by the police a couple of hours later. The police tortured her brutally, stabbed her repeatedly with the bayonets and killed her.
Gangi’s death shook me. Losing her was itself an inconsolable grief. But, to have lost her in this brutal manner is too difficult for me to bear.
I do not know if I would be alive by the time you grow up. Why the State wanted to avenge on an eleven year old child, is something your generation should reflect upon. All of you have to break out of your sheltered lives, studies that encourage careerism, market-imposed values and ideas of self-promotion that undergird these ‘ideologies’. You have to be the torchbearers that usher in a new, just world.
With great confidence and hope that your generation would not let Gangi’s sacrifice go in vain.
I remain
Your loving mother
(This is a story. But Irme (Kumari) and Gangi are real, not figments of imagination. Their bravery and sacrifice and State atrocities are all real).
Notes:
Amma – mother
Nanna – father
PLGA – People’s Liberation Guerilla Army
Janatana Sarkar – people’s government established in the liberated areas of Dandakaranya
Selfcriticism & Criticism: Self-criticism and Criticism sessions are held in every meeting of the party structures ranging from the smallest unit (cell) to the highest committee (Central Committee). In these sessions, all the comrades are expected to recognise and admit their mistakes and the alien class trends that worked in them for them to commit such mistakes. This is called self-criticism. One round of self-criticism is followed by criticism of each comrade by the rest of the committee members.
(Translation of “Gangi”. [Initially published in Arunatara, August 2018] From the collection of “Viyyukka”) – Translated by B. Syamasundari
