GRIST Media, 4 July, 2014
“You are back!” the friendly IAS officer exclaimed in mock admonishment. I had called him a few weeks ago when I was in the forests of Palamu during Holi, soaking in the spirit of abundance in this strife-torn and impoverished land, and reviving a few old contacts. The officer did not quite appreciate what he called my “pointless forays” into interior villages. “There are too many guns here and free-flowing mahua (country liquor) during the festival doesn’t help one’s judgment,” he warned.
Now that I was back there to report on the elections in Jharkhand for Yahoo! Originals, he was dismissive of my excitement, typical of a reporter in poll season. We shared a good meal before he reminded me to avoid VIP or police vehicles while travelling through Latehar and Palamu. Press vehicles were rarely targeted but the Maoist rebels ambushed politicians and security forces repeatedly on this stretch where a large section of the forest road network is “perpetually mined”.
But getting hold of election contestants in this large constituency can be a nightmare. One’s best chance of ensuring an unhurried discussion with candidates is to get in their campaign vehicles as they cover long distances to reach out to voters. After one such ride, the election convoy made a pitstop at a village and I switched cars. As my driver turned the AC on, there was a tap on the window.
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| During one of the visits to Palamu and Latehar |
I looked up to see two young men in short-sleeved shirts and gamcha (handspun towel) wrapped around their head. They asked the driver to step out. In the next few minutes, one of them quizzed me sternly, his head craned inside the car, about my credentials and what business I had there. The other stood within breathing distance of the driver by the bonnet, grilling him in a dialect I couldn’t quite understand. Then, just as suddenly, both disappeared.
My driver was a little shaken and refused to hang around to give the convoy a head start. I had had a number of similar experiences in the past, but was not sure who our inquisitors were or if I had satisfied them. We stopped for some tea from a nearby shack before taking an alternative route to go about the day’s plan rather uneventfully.
In the evening, I got a call from the IAS officer. He asked me if I was doing alright before warning me not to hitch rides with election candidates again. How did he know? He wouldn’t tell. But I could sense the glint in his eyes. Were those his men who questioned us? “Why? Scared you, didn’t they? Now your driver will ensure that you fall in line.” Before I could mutter a few curses, I heard him cracking up. “Will you be done bytomorrow? I will be returning to Ranchi via Daltonganj in the afternoon. Come with me.”
I couldn’t join him. But we met briefly as he passed by. Forget beacons or hooters, he was not even travelling in a government vehicle.
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