He scowled and said, ‘A rich brat hijacked two of our community girls and took them to his farmhouse. His friends ravaged them the entire night and dumped them back in the morning. Both are critical.’
‘What?’ I clutched my collar and asked, ‘Where are they?’
‘In a government hospital. The police have labelled them as prostitutes.’
‘Let’s go. First, we’ll shift them to a better hospital.’
We dashed to the hospital. The nurse stopped us.
‘Both have died. Let us do our formalities,’ she said.
I blinked and gaped at her. Their parents grabbed us and wailed, and their screams ripped my ears. My body sagged with the pain as tears threatened to fall. ‘Very difficult to handle, Vicky. Being born as Chhara is a curse,’ Guddu said, and hugged me.
I gulped the thick lump. My community’s sufferings had raised a tsunami wave within me.
‘I’ll lead Chharanagar, Guddu. For our community, and with your support. Don’t reveal anything now. I’ll return a month before the election. We will discuss the details then,’ I said, holding him away to look into his eyes. He nodded in agreement.
At the hotel, I packed up and proceeded to the airport but my heart, mind, and soul remained at Chharanagar and Naroda Patia.
Chapter —31
The Political Gamble
Once I reached Bangalore, I began planning my strategy to liberate the oppressed. I had to make not just Plan A, but also Plan B and Plan C. I was involved in Karnataka politics, but unconnected with Gujarat. Yet, my community concern motivated me to take the plunge. Guddu and I remained in touch. For the groundwork, I made many trips to Ahmedabad and met Praveenbhai and Hamid Saheb. Hamid Saheb was now serving as a Member of Parliament. Both lauded my progress and promised me support.
The election dates for two phases were announced: 28th January and 3rd February 2018.
I instructed Shankar and Zaheer. ‘I’ll be out for two months. Manage the business, and contact me for emergencies.’ Shankar fired all the W’s, and I tackled it.
I left for Ahmedabad on 3rd January. Guddu welcomed me to his home. At breakfast, we discussed the strategy in brief. I said Chharanagar would favour the candidate who accepts our terms. This would be difficult as Chharanagar’s limited vote count doesn’t affect a political party. Guddu nodded lazily. I didn’t share my detailed planning.
Guddu suggested calling a Chharanagar gathering to declare me their leader. His volunteers spread the message door to door and through mobiles. Chharanagar was energised.
I presented our demands to Guddu. “Our demands are clear and simple. The first is that we want them to repeal the Habitual Offenders Act. Next demand is that they create an exclusive category for de-notified tribes and provide them identity proof.”
Guddu nodded as I listed down the demands to him. “Our third item of demand is they implement DNT’s welfare measures that are long overdue. This is related to providing education, training, health, social etiquette and legitimate livelihood.” When I mentioned the fourth demand—register the houses in Chharanagar, in the names of the residing Chharas—his face lighted up. But when he heard the next demand—register the houses in Naroda Patia, in the names of the residents—he hesitated.
I explained to him its importance, and he consented. He read the requirements and kissed the paper. He rubbed his forehead and held my hand. I patted and stroked his hand.
To start with, these five demands served our purpose. By 8 pm, the members gathered on the playground. The arrangements by the volunteers deserved applause.
We reached by 8:10 pm, and the crowd roared. Guddu initiated the chants of “Vicky, Vicky” and the total area echoed. I received a hero’s welcome and had to prove my worth. Guddu addressed the assembly.
‘Namaste Chharanagar.’ The gathering clapped. ‘I am excited, my tribesmen. We have with us, our popular poster boy, Vicky. And I understand your eagerness to hear him.’ Endless whistles echoed. ‘Vicky needs no introduction,’ he said. ‘His photographs hang in our homes. His name, inscribed on Chharanagar walls and our hearts, cannot be erased. Though he stayed away for 15 years, he remained with us in spirit. With State elections approaching, the manipulations would also begin soon. They’ll provoke divisions to grab power. But we must stand united, and I appeal for the same. We have prepared a plan. You would think I commit to this every time, and nothing has changed. Well, that was my failure. But this time, we have our hero with us.’ People cheered and blew whistles. Guddu attempted thrice to continue his speech. Finally, he said, ‘My friends; please welcome Vikram Chhara. And I present to you the Chharanagar Leadership.’ The crowd went berserk. They danced, whistled and jumped. Guddu’s words—’I invite Vicky Chhara to address us’ got subdued in the screams.
I glanced at the joyous tribesmen. Guddu pulled my hand, and a loud uproar followed. The audience went hysterical. They yelled from their lungs. The chants of “Vicky, Vicky” echoed till far away. I levelled the mike and raised my right hand to calm them. They fell silent and gazed at me with hopes of a better future.
I addressed them. ‘My dear community members...’ The crowd thundered. ‘Few people receive admiration, and I am one of the lucky ones. I have returned after 15 years, but your affection for me baffles me. It inspires me to raise the flag of our rights and work for our community’s welfare.’ The audience whistled, clapped and jumped after my every pause. I had to elongate my pauses until they calmed down. Their response to my leadership thrilled me.
‘Beware of the upcoming election. The candidates will try to purchase the masses, especially the downtrodden. And we must ensure they don’t trample us this time. I thank Guddu and you all, for trusting and allowing me to serve you. I pledge myself to my community’s betterment and appeal for your support. We have shortlisted five demands and will strive to achieve it.’
I mentioned the points, and the tribesmen yelled in appreciation. The Naroda Patia mention though confused them. I reminded them of the destruction caused by Chharas and their human rights. The gathering consented. In the end, I thanked them again. Guddu came and screamed in the mike. ‘Vicky is our captain now,’ and the crowd was in euphoria.
The next day, the tribesmen scribbled my name with slogans on the Chharanagar walls: “Vikram is our leader”; “Long live Vikram Chhara”; “Head of Chhara- Vikram Chhara”; and many more... The buzz that our requirements include Naroda Patia Muslims’ property registration spread around. Abhishek, Hamid Saheb’s assistant, requested our votes for their candidate, Deepakbhai Patel. The minority community leaders visited us, appreciated our concern, and extended their support. It added weight to our proposal.
The political circle realised the developments at Chharanagar. Candidates rushed in for the campaign and dramatised their sympathy towards Chharas. But our volunteers said, “Contact Vikram Chhara,” and pushed them away.
I purchased a car from a re-sale store for commuting.
The Modern Political Party and the Progressive League dominated Gujarat politics. Both followed their strategies to garner votes by dividing people based on religion and caste. Modern Political Party was in power. Backed by VD and hardcore religious institutions, it thrived on religious sentiments. The Progressive League led the opposition and banked on the minorities and the divided fractions of the dominant community. The marketing department of both the parties added fancy “Development” perks in their agenda. Post lunch, two men from the Veer Dal entered Guddu’s house. They invited us to meet their boss at 8 pm, at their Kalupur Disco bar. Guddu and I, along with two associates, reached there. They guided us into a room. Steel trays containing tea, coffee, liquor and soft drinks surrounded us. They also offered us a massage service meaning sexual service, but we declined it. Unlike the politicians, we focussed on people’s welfare. We requested their boss to attend to us.
Their present head, accompanied by three associates, strutted in. He shook hands with us. Hah. I knew him. His name was Ketan Rathod. H
e invited me and Guddu into another adjoining room.
Ketanbhai Rathod commanded respect. A VD member since my time, he took charge three years back. Tall and masculine like me, but short-tempered, egoistic and a bigot. He hated minorities, scheduled castes and tribes.
‘Do you remember me, Vicky?’ he asked, leaning his large and heavy face on his palm.
‘Of course, yes.’
‘Aha. That makes the syndicate easy,’ he said and winked.
‘Not any more. No more manipulation.’
‘Oh. Chill, Vicky... And what made Guddu hand over the leadership? To a suspected murderer unseen for 15 years?’ he said and sneered.
That rascal attempted to divide us but failed. Guddu burst out. ‘Not your business. Say why you called us for or let us go. We have other important tasks to execute.’
Ketanbhai flashed his teeth and nodded. ‘I appreciate your community concern. We too wish to uplift you; after all, we belong to the same religion. We must unite as one force, or the radicals of other religions will overpower us.’
‘Hahaha. Nonsense,’ I said. ‘Same religious tactics... Have you noted, Ketanbhai? The fear of fanatics emerges before elections or during a government’s scam. Amusing, isn’t it? If we belong to the same religion, why should only you benefit? Pay us our dues. Enough of these tricks. Use them to fool the fools. I have attended your MLA’s training program of “Strategies to Win Elections.” I won’t fall in your trap.’ Ketanbhai released a sigh. ‘Why have you called us?’ I asked.
‘Well. We want your votes for our candidate Ramubhai, and assistance in the upcoming polls.’
‘We always supported you, and therefore, remain in a pathetic condition. Right?’
‘Vicky, don’t overreact. You have changed.’ He held my hand and said, ‘We want the composed, rational and mature Vicky back.’
‘I am what I am.’
Ketanbhai jerked backwards. His nose flared but he calmed down. Deep inside, he must be cursing us and would chop us into pieces at any opportunity. But election time forces the reptiles to change their colours. The giants fall at our feet and beg for the power again. Once elected, they’ll nail us as they like.
‘OK, Vicky. Be as you wish, but let us make a deal.’ He leaned towards me and whispered. ‘How much do you want? I’ll pay. But I want Chharanagar to vote for Ramubhai. Also, bring in your group to support us in election activities. I’ll arrange a handsome reward for you.’
‘Handsome reward...’ I chuckled. ‘I am a millionaire, Ketanbhai. And I have already listed my requirements. If you accept, I promise you Chharanagar and Naroda Patia votes. Check this,’ I said, and handed a copy of our five demands.
Ketanbhai flared his nostrils as he read it. He pressed his teeth inside and tapped his index finger frantically on the small table in his front. He pondered and said,
‘These points are absurd, Vicky. Abolishing the “Habitual Offenders Act” and the DNTs rehabilitation fall under the Central Government’s scope. Chharas’ house registration is being proposed from 25 years. We shall make the same promises again. And why is Naroda Patia mentioned in your list?’
‘We have a negligible vote bank. Yet, we stick to our demands. If you commit to us, we will favour you. You must insist on the Central Government to fulfil the first three requirements. Discuss with your high commands and decide.’ I stood up and moved. Guddu followed.
‘Wait, Vicky,’ Ketanbhai spoke out. I stopped. ‘Take my advice. What will you gain fighting for these thankless people? Nobody in this world cares for others. I’ll help you settle in heavens like America, Canada, UK, Germany, Australia, or any other place you like. Plus, enough money and connections to enjoy life. Don’t waste your life for these stupid people. They’ll backbite and backstab you at every opportunity. Think about it. I offer you both a life of luxury abroad. Decide and inform me.’
I edged out, but he didn’t stop us. We returned. I was worried, yet hoped for the syndicate.
The next day, on Hamid Saheb’s arrangement, we met the Progressive League’s candidate. We reached his house at 8 pm, and they offered us a heartfelt welcome, garlands and refreshments. We discussed our claims, and they sought time to consult their high command and revert. We left. I disfavoured them and hoped for VD’s alliance because the Central Government was of the MPP.
After three days, we received the call, but from the PL. We visited Deepakbhai Patel. He cheered us and confirmed approval of our demands. He had a better chance to win if our community supported him.
‘Our State Unit will sanction Chharanagar and Naroda Patia house registration. But your other three wants come under the Central Government’s scope. In the next Lok Sabha election, encourage your DNT communities across India to vote for us. If we win, we promise to fulfil it,’ he explained. Guddu glanced up, closed his eyes and exhaled. I wet my lips and nodded.
‘You need to sign an affidavit with us,’ I said, and Deepakbhai‘s eyes popped out. ‘What affidavit?’
‘A signed document, promising the fulfilment of our requirements.’ I said.
He said he’ll consult his high command again. We shook hands and left, asking him to revert. The hope still lingered on MPP’s invite.
I approached Praveenbhai and informed him about our discussions with both the parties.
‘Vikram, I appreciate your concern for the oppressed. As an individual, I support, but at the party position, you must pardon me.’
‘Why, sir?’
‘As a political organisation, MPP’s goal is to form and run governments. At State and National level, VD’s candidates contest on MPP tickets. VD follows its own strategy, and we don’t interfere because they win. Due to an excellent success rate, VD influences functioning. You understand? So, convince them.’
‘But sir, they don’t care. The DNTs must be liberated, and the administration must help us.’
‘Don’t lose hope. Keep fighting till you succeed.’
The next day, the PL accepted signing the MoU, and we heartlessly executed it. MPP never approached us. Perhaps they followed a wait and watch strategy, and may accept at the last moment. The rigorous political campaigns continued, and the tide favoured both parties.
Time for humour. I received threats from VD. Hahaha. A man contacted and intimidated me to support MPP, else I die. I laughed aloud and hung the phone. Death threat? To Vicky Chhara? Oh, come on. The real Chhara emerged out of me again. I headed to Ketanbhai’s office. Assuming that I came to surrender, he made me wait and called me in after 15 minutes. He sat with his arms crossed and squinted at me. I shook hands and laughed out.
‘Ketanbhai, you are giving me death threats...? Do you want to live, Ketanbhai?’ I asked, and he frowned. I edged closer to him. ‘I, Vicky Chhara, erased your ex-leader and rocked your organisation. And I roam scot-free in your ruled State. Please stop irritating me with threats. It incites me to repeat my heroic act. You understand what I mean. Be careful; any foolishness on your part will be disastrous. Accept our five demands and earn our support, else, fuck off. That is all. Goodbye,’ I said and left. Warnings ended.
Upset over the cliff-hanger situation, I called up Praveenbhai.
‘The equation disappoints me, Saheb. VD issued me death threat and PL signed the affidavit. Help me, Saheb.’
‘I’ll request them at my level. Meet me tomorrow.’
The next day, I visited. He offered me a Masala Tea and said, ‘In the battle of good and evil, you have won over yours. Now you are up against giants. You’ll need iron to cut iron, and not anybody can do this,’ he said, stirring his tea.
‘I am ready, Saheb. I’ll shake the planet. But I need your support.’
‘Vikram, I spoke to Ramubhai. He advised me to avoid you,’ he said, and sipped his drink.
‘What? Fuck.’ I put aside my cup. ‘Excellent,’ I said and clapped. I gritted my teeth and leaned forward. ‘So, we must continue to clean your faeces, huh?’ I squeezed my eyes, pushed back and released a sigh. ‘Why can’t
you treat us as equals? What’s the problem?’ I covered my face. ‘And you can’t escape blaming on a political strategy,’ I said, pointing a finger at him.
‘A Dalit guy named Tushar is your fan. Yesterday, he sang your praises about how you encourage Dalits in your organisation. Meet him. He will be happy,’ he said.
I grazed my teeth and groaned. ‘I have not come here to meet my fans. Help me with my goal. DNTs need freedom.’
‘Tushar’s friend is an engineer in your company, and so he knows you.’
‘Praveenbhai, don’t insult me.’ I joined my hands, punched them on my forehead and said, ‘Please convince your bosses.’
‘Tushar fancies meeting you.’
I bang the table and stood up. ‘Enough. I presumed you to be human, but you are all the same.’
Praveenbhai glanced at my spilt tea, finished his, and wiped his lips. He rubbed his chin, stared at me and said, ‘Tushar works in VD, as Store Room staff.’
I punched my fist on the table and said, ‘So shall I make him an engineer in my company? Will you then uplift the DNTs?’ I glared at him, gasping. And my body loosened. I turned my gaze at the table and massaged my lips. Staring at the floor, I bit my nail. I shut my eyes, rubbed my brow and dumped on the chair again.
‘Mr Vikram,’ he said and neared me. ‘My job ends here. If you have guts, then battle it out.’ He slipped a chit with Tushar’s phone number in my pocket. I bit my lips and clutched the table’s edge. He grabbed my arms, raised me and stroked my back. ‘You dirty froth of gutter,’ he said, and patted my cheek. ‘Get lost now. Don’t contact me before your freedom.’ He spread his pursed lips.
My lips curled and quivered. I shut my eyes and tears rolled out. He tapped on my chest. I wiped my face.
‘I’ll come back. The Masala Tea is due.’
‘Will wait,’ he said, and blinked.
I joined my hands, bowed and left. En route, I met Tushar. At the hotel, I planned.
Besides, I frequented the Railway office to obtain the burnt coach victims’ details.
The Branded Criminal: In Search of Liberation Page 22
