The Many Phoolan Devis of Sheikhpur Gudha

Sheikhpur Gudha looks like a place where the sun has forgotten to rise. Even by the standards of a standard Indian hamlet, it feels gloomy. Buffaloes and goats바카라�hobbling and sauntering from all directions바카라�make the narrow lanes narrower. Neglect marks the battered roads, except buffaloes showering them with shit. Situated on a riverbank, though, the village faces the stirring Noon River, which meets the Yamuna up north, where boats lounge on the shore. A right turn leads you to a house that, over the last four decades, has brought reporters, filmmakers, and authors from all around the world. The villagers are so accustomed to바카라�and yet so fascinated by바카라�the media that a journalist and a camera still animate them. They become tourist guides, make small talk, and tail you. They know why you바카라�re here, and they바카라�ll show you the house.

The most striking thing about it is not the house itself but an elevated room attached to a veranda through two flights of stairs. It바카라�s a mandir, technically, where the visitors take off their shoes before entering. A marble statue of a woman, folding hands, greets them. She is the beti바카라�almost a deity바카라�of this village, who is alive even in death. 바카라�The world바카라�s fourth revolutionary woman and an ex-Member of Parliament [MP],바카라� reads a plaque on the wall, 바카라�Veerangana Phoolan Devi-ji바카라�s statue was installed on August 10, 2020.바카라�

Phoolan died 23 years ago. Like many survivors of sexual assault, reduced to epithets or hashtags, she too was defined by the most heinous incident in her life. But unlike most, she was much more: a bandit in her teens, a convict in her twenties, an MP in her thirties. Besides the multiple narratives binding her life, she told its different versions to different writers. They produced competing profiles across films, articles, and books바카라�each presenting a different Phoolan. But how do the natives of Sheikhpur Gudha remember her: as a survivor, a baaghi, a leader바카라�or someone else?

바카라�After she died, we lost everything,바카라� says Ram Naresh. 바카라�Otherwise, our children바카라�s future would have been much brighter.바카라� Standing beside him, Sumit Nishad adds, 바카라�Our society would have developed a lot.바카라� Many villagers바카라�whether young or old, male or female바카라�echo the same regrets. 바카라�She wanted to do a lot for the Backward Castes and Dalits, but it was all left undone,바카라� says Ram Bihari. She could have helped us, says Rajyasuri, 바카라�but she was killed바카라�. More than 20 years after her death, the people in Phoolan바카라�s hamlet don바카라�t remember her as a survivor or a leader or a bandit. For them, Phoolan is not who she was, but what she could have been. For them, Phoolan is an unfulfilled promise, an unfinished sentence.

But has anything changed here after her death? 바카라�Now there바카라�s no gender discrimination,바카라� says her cousin, Indrajeet. 바카라�Women are much safer.바카라� Bihari agrees: 바카라�Look, every society has unsavoury elements, such as men who drink [and create a ruckus]. But the women here work with men, help them.바카라� Like most men in the village, Shobharan Pehelwan assures me all is well. 바카라�It바카라�s not like the old days. Now there바카라�s equality.바카라� He seems more interested in discussing the caste equation though, explaining how Phoolan has inspired the younger educated lot: 바카라�She lit a fire: give it back, don바카라�t be scared. Now if the upper-caste fiends try to oppress us, then they바카라�ll be picked from their homes바카라�if they give us the evil eye, their eyes will be gouged.바카라� Now instead of one, adds 107-year-old Devi Dayal, 바카라�Hundred will be killed바카라�. He, too, says, 바카라�The oppression [of women] has reduced a lot.바카라�

바카라�The men are talking nonsense,바카라� says a woman near the riverbank. 바카라�When it comes to our safety, nothing has changed.바카라� The politicians, who praise Phoolan and leave, 바카라�use her for political gains바카라�. She is, of course, a towering presence in Sheikhpur Gudha. The villagers celebrate her birthday, mourn her death. She바카라�s on their minds and in their stories and prayers바카라�her photo hangs inside a dilapidated Durga temple. But some perceive her loss more intimately. 바카라�When she was alive, we felt protected, but not any longer,바카라� says Pinky. 바카라�There were atrocities against us then; there are atrocities against us now.바카라� The status of women in her in-laws바카라� village, in Etawah district, has also remained unchanged. Pinky doesn바카라�t leave Sheikhpur Gudha in the night alone and, instead, accompanies her father or mother. 바카라�I finished school, but my family members didn바카라�t let me attend college because it was far. They were scared.바카라� Many women in the village, she adds, take admission in college but, concerned about their safety, study at home and go to college to just write exams바카라�accompanied by their fathers or brothers.

Like Phoolan바카라�s multiple versions, the issue of women바카라�s safety in her village relays different stories: Yes, it has improved; no, it has not. Or like Pushpa Nishad, a Block Pramukh in the aughts, explains, 바카라�Some changes happen; some changes are undone. But now [at least] boys and girls get equal education.바카라� She hasn바카라�t differentiated between her own son and daughter who, unlike her mother, finished school. 바카라�My daughter is doing BSc,바카라� says Radha. 바카라�And if she wants to work바카라�and if it바카라�s in her kismet and if she has the talent바카라�then I won바카라�t stop her.바카라� Phoolan바카라�s niece, Gangajalee, adds, 바카라�Nobody dares to look at the women in a bad way. They바카라�ve become fearless.바카라�

At first, Sheikhpur Gudha cut a different picture from the other Uttar Pradesh hamlets where, reporting during this Lok Sabha election, I met countless diffident women. On my first evening here, though, they seemed confident바카라�some initiating small talk. But the next morning, a complex picture emerged: Many women had covered their faces with veils. Several of them refused to talk to me. Some, when asked about their own lives, spoke about Phoolan. Some couldn바카라�t understand my questions: 바카라�You바카라�ve come from a different country. I don바카라�t get your language.바카라� Some said, 바카라�What do I tell?바카라� Several young girls hadn바카라�t finished school, refusing to reveal the reason: 바카라�Some problem in the family.바카라�

But even when they began to speak, it wasn바카라�t easy to interview them. Because a young, assertive woman disconcerted many men in the village. So they crowded around her, providing answers, interpreting questions, flinging jibes: 바카라�What does she know?바카라� Where had I heard that before? In the early 바카라�80s, soon after Phoolan had surrendered, a reporter asked her what she wanted from life. 바카라�If I had money,바카라� she replied, 바카라�I바카라�d build a house with rooms as large as the hall of this prison. But I know all that is a dream. If any woman had to go through what I went through, then she couldn바카라�t imagine a normal life as well. But what do I know, except cutting grass and using a rifle?바카라�

There바카라�s one thing, though, that finds unambiguous agreement in Sheikhpur Gudha: their relationship with the people of Behmai where, in 1981, Phoolan바카라�s gang killed 20 men. 바카라�She only punished those who wronged her,바카라� says Sumit. 바카라�Not others.바카라� (Rajyasuri said the same thing.) 바카라�A boy from Behmai worked nearby,바카라� says Naresh. 바카라�He used to come to my house to eat fish.바카라� Such sentiments pervade the whole village: 바카라�Now it바카라�s all good with Thakurs바카라�, 바카라�We visit them for marriages and functions바카라�, 바카라�Our relations are good, steeped in equality바카라�.

Behmai, around 50 km away, is as small as Sheikhpur Gudha. On the evening of August 24, grey clouds hung over it and, soon, rain drenched the hamlet. It has wide roads, big houses, glistening trees바카라�and, like Phoolan바카라�s village, a mandir-like memorial. Inside, a white plaque lists 20 names. 바카라�Martyrs바카라� Memorial,바카라� reads the text on the top. 바카라�On February 14, 1981, at 4 pm, the dacoits massacred the following innocent villagers.바카라� From the ceiling hangs a big rusty bell fastened with a lock as if protecting their last vestiges of honour.

The village is deserted, but I approach a middle-aged man standing outside his house. Babuji seems amiable, but the moment I mention the massacre, whose judgement came earlier this year, and ask about their relationship with the people of Sheikhpur Gudha, his face falls. A brusque reply: 바카라�We바카라�ve nothing to do with them.바카라�

A bare-chested man storms out of the house: 바카라�What바카라�s the use of asking these questions?바카라� Let it be, says Babuji. 바카라�No, why should I? Our condition hasn바카라�t improved one bit. What should I tell you바카라�you tell me?바카라� I try to respond, but he interrupts me. 바카라�Every year, at least 20 to 50 reporters come. If you바카라�re tortured, again and again, what will you say? Not one person of Phoolan바카라�s caste lives here, so how can we바카라�ve any relationship with them?바카라� But the people of Sheikhpur Gudha spoke about the improved ties between the two villages and바카라�바카라�They바카라�ll say anything to defend themselves, why should we care? No Thakur lives there, so how can we바카라�ve anything to do with them?바카라� As the birds start to shriek, making the same eerie sound as they did in Sheikhpur Gudha, the man leaves.

The village is no longer deserted. The scalding monologue has brought many outside their homes, some standing near a shop. 바카라�The main matter is,바카라� says Gandhi Singh, 바카라�everyone knows what the truth is, but something else has come out.바카라� Like what? 바카라�Phoolan Devi wasn바카라�t gang-raped.바카라� He says that, like many, even he was doubtful, so he cross-checked with a famous bandit, 바카라�Seema바카라�, who moved in the same circles. 바카라�I asked her, 바카라�Did they come to Behmai after killing Vikram Mallah?바카라� She said no. Also, this village doesn바카라�t have one person from Phoolan바카라�s caste, so why will we go there to attend marriages?바카라� As Gandhi explains his version of events, Sheikhpur Gudha and Behmai feel like two different worlds. But a sight unites them in a flash: a woman walking on the road바카라�her face covered with a veil.

It바카라�s not just Singh who denies Phoolan바카라�s sexual assault. Many hold the same beliefs, even if their stories differ. Coping with trauma, Behmai has slunk inwards, shutting the door on the world, becoming a world unto itself, where loss, grievances, and memories are not individual but collective. 바카라�We had a lot of land and money바카라�a tjiori,바카라� says Jeetendra Singh. 바카라�But the dacoits took it all.바카라� He grew up hearing about his uncle, Lal Singh, getting shot by Phoolan바카라�s gang. 바카라�She had nothing to do with Behmai. She clashed with a gang in Damanpur [10 km away] and felt humiliated.바카라� But why would she come here then? 바카라�No one knows why. That바카라�s what even I wonder.바카라�

Soon his friend, Anuj, joins the conversation. He describes their hardships: growing up in an undeveloped village, where they had no access to electricity or an intermediate school바카라�no hope for the future. 바카라�Her gang weighed and stole 5 kg of gold and silver,바카라� says Jeetendra. 바카라�We were disrespected in our own village.바카라� Behmai has gone quieter and darker, except for the shrieking of birds, which continues to intensify. 바카라�If we바카라�d have got that money from our ancestors, we바카라�d have been something else,바카라� says Anuj. 바카라�We wouldn바카라�t be drivers.바카라� The conversation runs around in circles바카라�doused in disappointment, victimhood, and self-pity바카라�and then, Jeetendra asks me a question: 바카라�Have you seen a bigger injustice than this?바카라�

The two villages are not 50 km away but worlds apart. Yet they바카라�re more similar than different: a memorial there, a memorial here; an injustice there, an injustice here; a truth there, a truth here. There바카라�s no one story anywhere; there are stories바카라�and stories within stories. As if the Rashomon effect has come to life with just one resounding truth: women wearing veils.

In Sheikhpur Gudha, the caste issue had coalesced into a unified story바카라�the villagers not just spoke about 바카라�giving it back to the Thakurs바카라� but also sounded comfortable about their identities (they바카라�d say their names, then add with confidence, 바카라�Nishad바카라�)바카라�but not patriarchy. Because the interrupting, mocking bros made me believe that not much had changed, that Phoolan was just a gun-toting aberration.

One afternoon, a man named Chandrashekhar Nishad tailed me in the village. I was more interested in the experiences of women, so I ignored him, but he kept following me. At one point, unasked, he spoke about his children바카라�a son and two daughters, aged two and seven. 바카라�I바카라�ve no hopes for myself, but I can only hope for them. I want them to eat, dress, and study well, so that the society respects them.바카라� What does he want his daughter to be? 바카라�I can바카라�t say whether I want her to be a doctor, engineer, or teacher. My duty is to just pay for her education: She바카라�ll become who she wants to be.바카라�

On my first day in Sheikhpur Gudha, I had seen a young girl, around the same age as his daughter, drawing water from a tube well. I asked her name. 바카라�Srishti,바카라� she said, with a bounce in her voice. Which class are you in? 바카라�Two, three, arre, four.바카라� Do you know where Phoolan Devi바카라�s house is? Yes, she nodded, the house right after. Do you know anything about her? A big pause, then a shy smile: 바카라�No.바카라� What do you want to be when you grow up? 바카라�Police.바카라�

It didn바카라�t sound like a throwaway remark because, over the last decade, at least three women have joined the force바카라�the first in the history of this village. Darshan Lal바카라�s daughter, Poonam, is one of them. Studying in a local school, she did 바카라�mehnat-majdoori [hard labour]바카라� with her father. His younger daughter worked the fields of a man, 바카라�Master Sahab바카라�, who had opened a 바카라�local inter college바카라�. One day, he asked her professional plans. She came home and told Lal, 바카라�Dada, I바카라�m in high school, but didi is doing inter.바카라� Lal met the teacher who told him, 바카라�The forms have come out. Tell her to fill one.바카라� Poonam wrote the exam in 2013 and joined the police three years later. 바카라�He supported and helped us a lot,바카라� says Lal. In Sheikhpur Gudha, it (literally) took a village to raise a child.

Ashok Kumar바카라�s daughter, also named Poonam, wanted to be a cop. She got married in 2017, when her in-laws had no problem with her ambition, but then, 바카라�Ladka palat gaya [the guy refused].바카라� His family wanted her to stay home, cook, work the fields. Her husband was a 바카라�suspicious type바카라�, says Kumar, objecting to Poonam interacting with her male colleagues. 바카라�But we fought.바카라� Kumar approached the cops who, along with him, berated the husband: 바카라�If bitiya wants to work, she will work.바카라� Poonam got her wish. She earns a living; her husband doesn바카라�t바카라�she바카라�s the family바카라�s breadwinner, the 바카라�man바카라� of the house.

Many villagers know the stories바카라�and struggles바카라�of both the Poonams, relaying their achievements with understated pride. Standing near Srishti, another young girl, Tejal, had caught my attention. Two ponytails hung from her head, and she wore a kajal so big that it touched her upper cheek. How old are you? 바카라�I don바카라�t know. I바카라�ll have to ask my mother.바카라� Do you go to school? 바카라�Yes, class three.바카라� What do you like studying the most? 바카라�The names of fruits.바카라� What would you like to be? 바카라�Army.바카라� She darts away; her left arm cutting rapid circles. A few seconds later, she stops, turns around, and smiles, and then, continues to run.

(This appeared in the print as 'Songlines of Chambal')