CHAMRASUR (standard:romance, 26078 words)
Author: Shamoil Ahmad	Added: Jan 12 2021	Views/Reads: 1067/764	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Chamrasur is chamar by cast. It is the story of a Dalit. He holds upper caste Hindu responsible for that is wrong with them. He fights them with the support of Muslims, for he believes both have suffered at the hands of upper caste Hindus. The story me

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dissolution of this commission and forced the government headed by this 
chief minister to dissolve the commission he had constituted in his 
first tenure. 

Chamarasur was filled with a sense of dejection. This was the pandal of
dalits and he was mortified to see them celebrate the festival of their 
own oppressors. He returned to the capital. 

In the centre of the capital there stood a sparkling yellow coloured
skyscraper—hugely airy and sunny. The ruling dispensation lived here 
and the ambiance was simply magical. Those ascending the steps of this 
skyscraper also grew in power, like nails growing in their fingers. But 
the shadow the skyscraper cast went a long distance, and the area 
remained perennially dark. This darkness was age-old. The sun never 
ever peeped here. There was a small ghetto-like bustee there. 
Chamarasur lived in one of these hutments. 

Chamarasur is chamar (cobbler by profession) by caste—dark as
coal...hair standing up like spokes...and head rotund like a rice 
bowl....He did his Ph.D in Sociology from JNU. Chamarasur readily 
empathized with Mahishasur. He called himself a demon like Mahishasur 
and regarded himself as one of Mahishasur’s lineage.... As a student at 
JNU he had done extensive research on Mahishasur. 

“Mahishasur was the king of Mysore. The city of Mysore was named after
him. Ancient scriptures wrongly attribute his annihilation at the hands 
of Chamundeshwari Devi. No evidence is found to corroborate this 
assertion. If Mahishasur’s idol is observed carefully, it would be seen 
that while he held sword in his one hand, he had a snake on the other. 
Snake symbolized nature, suggestive of a life led in the lap of nature, 
in conformity with the demands of nature. The inhabitants respected 
animals and women. Mahishasur was a noble king who dispensed justice. 
Mahishasur temples are spread all over India”. 

Chamarasur was not happy with Gandhi. Why did he designate us as
‘Harijan’? If we were God’s sons, were they Satan’s sons? We aren’t 
allowed to touch the feet of Gods and Goddesses because we are 
off-springs of Hari, he fumed. Gandhi had opposed Ambedkar. Chamarasur 
wanted to revive the Ambedkar movement. He had the guts to take on 
Manuvadis. 

Dalchapati smirked at this. 

Dalchapati was the product of the skyscraper’s breed. She had an
alluring shape: long hair dropping down to her heels, hooves having 
turned backward. When she moved forward, it looked she was going 
backward; and when she moved backward, it seemed she moved forward. 
When she laughed, flowers seemed flowing down like droplets; and when 
she shoved her lock behind, it seemed pearls rose in a crescendo, like 
a spectacle to marvel at. If ever these locks rested anywhere, they 
rested on the shoulders of the ruling dispensation... and if ever they 
moved in the interiors of the power land, the fragrant locks invariably 
rested on the shoulders of Choughan and Choughan was bestowed with 
immeasurable bounties of wealth...leaving Chamarasur dazed and 
flustered... 

I am surprised that Choughan’s Bhanji (niece) has become deputy
collector. 

If only the flunkey had not ventured into his drawing room with his
dingy vegetable bags, she would not have become deputy collector. That 
day Mama had seen the sparkle in her eyes that could only belong to the 
royalty. 

The incident dated back to those days when Choughan was not the head of
his province. He was an active member of the forward group. Every time 
there was an election, he took part in it but never won any of them. 
Victory was not ordained for him. One of his sisters was married in 
Nasik. He had gone to meet his sister. He saw his Bhanji seated in the 
drawing room. She was sad and thoughtful. She was keen to become deputy 
collector, but this time too she failed to qualify in state commission 
exam. She had failed in previous two occasions as well. While Choughan 
was trying to console her, she saw him crossing the drawing room with a 
bagful of vegetables. This enraged her so much that she took out her 
chappal and started raining it on him. 

“...haramzada!...how dare you enter our drawing room...don’t you see we
are seated here....? ...why didn’t you take the backdoor...?” 

Mother endorsed the act of the daughter and said no matter how
well-warned, these dalits would never understand this simple 
thing...they always want to come through the front door. Mama was happy 
that his Bhanji had the makings of the royalty. He saw the fierce 
visage of Mother Goddess in her. Goddess had annihilated the demons. 
Bhanji will teach these asurs too some lesson. He made up his mind that 
he would somehow install her as a key official in the administrative 
wing. 

Those days there was much hullabaloo over Sai Baba. Mahant Devdas was
hell bent on proving him Muslim. Sai Baba temples had idols of other 
deities too. Mahant objected that aarti could not be performed on Hindu 
deities with Sai Baba along. He therefore issued a diktat that the 
followers of Sai Baba would not be permitted to take holy bath in the 
Ganges. But this diktat made no difference and devotees continued to 
throng as usual without any let-up. 

Sister’s complaint was that the Mahant had committed a sacrilege on
Baba. He denied Baba the stature of God and caused hardships to his 
devotees. Upon hearing the diatribe of his sister, the brother stayed 
put with a smile and said that it made no difference at all,. The 
number of devotees only increased in the process. Sister was happy 
because the Mahant was cut to size. She regarded Sai Baba as true God 
and believed one could have one’s desired fulfilled if Baba was 
properly propitiated. Choughan too wanted to have some of his own 
desires fulfilled. He also paid a visit to the temple to pay his 
obeisance to Baba. He sought Baba’s blessings and promised if he became 
the head of his province in the forthcoming elections, he would return 
to this temple and donate a golden crown to Baba. 

When Choughan returned from Nasik, election dates were announced. He had
the blessings of Baba and his party was blessed by the corporate world. 
It was bloom all the way. Choughan became the chief of the province. 
Good days had arrived. Head of the state wore an expensive suit and 
Baba was adorned with a gold crown. 

Mama was keen to fulfil the dream of Bhanji. He wanted her to take her
test again. But there was a problem here. She was resident of 
Maharashtra. She had already availed of three chances. Doors were shut 
for any further tests in the state of Maharashtra. As she was not a 
resident of this state, there was no way she could compete from here. 

The resourceful brook of no impediments... 

Dalchapati came to rescue. 

“Make her domicile of this state...” Dalchapati whispered. 

Mama brought Bhanji to his state. , changed her ID. She was given a new
Aadhar Card. She was no longer a resident of Maharashtra. She now 
belonged to this province and therefore she could take exams of any hue 
and kind. Mama’s only fear was the possibility of her failing. It 
occurred to him that her Admit Card could be changed and someone else 
could take the exam on her behalf. Choughan gave this responsibility to 
Laxmikant...he was a past master at this game...and he was the 
favourite of Choughan...he had already served him as his Mines 
Minister... Choughan made him his Education Minister now. Laxmikant 
brought in Shukla as his assistant. Shukla was facing charges of many 
irregularities. But they were yet to be proved in a court of law. So 
long as they were not proved, he was innocent. Shukla was innocent and 
so he was made OSD of the Minister. On the advice of Laxmikant Choughan 
appointed Pankaj Tiwari the Controller of the Competitive Examinations 
and Tiwari enlisted the services of his sala (wife’s brother) as the 
head of the online branch. All nuts and bolts were tightened and 
everything seemed in order. But don’t they say there is always a slip 
between the cup and the lips, especially when one is intent on doing 
something good! Impediments and impediments! Mama got down to the 
business of removing impediments. He was hell bent on seeing Bhanji 
become deputy collector. The worrying thing was—who will write her 
papers on her behalf? Where to find a scholar who could do this? 

And the scholar was found in Chamarasur... 

It is said that if one craves for something earnestly, the thing falls
into one’s bag.  That ‘something’ was found in the form of Chamarasur 
who walked in leisurely into Laxmikant’s office. As it transpired, it 
was not quite a leisurely walk. Chamarasur had come to his office in 
search of Turkey quails. He was very fond of these birds. They were 
very special in taste and he was fond of kebab. Usually, he bought them 
from Laxmikant’s personal farm. No doubt, quails were available 
elsewhere too. But they did not taste as well as those he got from 
Laxmikant’s farm. They were well-fed and well looked after by way of 
medication as well. They were disease free at the minister’s farm. He 
imported them from Hissar. They were available at the Governor’s House 
too, but there were far too many security hassles there, far too many 
formalities of jotting down details in several registers. It was a time 
consuming exercise. Entries were more or less uninhibited at the 
minister’s farm. They could be had even from the minister’s security 
counter itself. Because of this convenience and accessibility, his 
birds cost more than those available at other places. The only drawback 
here was--one could not take live birds from here. Only the dressed 
ones were allowed and that suited Chamarasur well. Provisions were made 
for dressing them at the counter itself. There were people equipped 
with necessary tools. It was a matter of minutes--to peel and unpeel a 
bird. Easily slicing was done with sharpened knives. One stroke, one 
dash into the pit kept for the purpose, momentary flapping of wings 
followed by complete silence. Meat was ready to take: in pieces or 
whole? That was the only question to be answered by the procurer. 

He would always buy it whole and cook kebab in microwave oven. But he
never cooked it whole because the meat maker would generally remove 
lever while delivering dressed up quails. Lever was delivered in the 
kitchen of the minister. In fact, the minister had been told that if he 
wanted to improve his virility, he should eat quail lever. He had often 
seen the minister loitering about in the farm. He was short statured 
but of strong build. His hands were full of hair. From the look of it 
he seemed to be a man of strong physical prowess, and strong wrists. 
Occasionally, their eyes met and as a matter of courtesy Chamarasur 
would raise his hand in salutation to which he often responded with the 
slight nod of his head. 

Once he got an opportunity to see the sexual prowess of the minister. It
was some private news channel where he got a fleeting glance of the 
minister. It came and was gone. He saw the minister swinging a swing. 
The minister had leaned against a wall and above his head there was a 
portrait of some political leader. He had held in his embrace a 
relief-seeking woman. She clung on to his waist in a swinging posture. 
This was a unique way of providing relief. This posture appeared on the 
screen for a split second and vanished. He was filled with intense 
distaste. Following day he reached the farm and demanded lever of his 
quail. The meat dispenser roared: “It’s for the royalty only...” 

Chamarasur protested. Since he had paid for the whole quail, lever too
belonged to him. It was his right to get the lever. The meat dispenser 
jumped and held him by his neck and said if he talked of his rights, he 
would be shot. His nails had pierced through his neck. He jerked his 
hand away. 

“...why are you holding me by neck”? His eyes were red with anger. 

The meat dispenser called out for security guards. A guard came running.


“What’s the matter?” The guard demanded angrily. 

“He’s showing dadagiri... take him to Mantriji...” 

“Come...” The guard held him by his hand and began to drag him. 

“Why are you holding my hand...I have not stolen anything...I am only
asking for what rightfully belongs to me...” Chamarasur jerked his hand 
free from the grip of the guard. The guard took him to Laxmikant. 

“Right...?” The minister surveyed him from top to bottom and smiled
briefly, “...he’s himself a quail...” He asked him which caste did he 
belong to. Chamarasur remained silent. 

“How far have you studied...?” 

“Did Ph.D from JNU...” 

“Really...? Let me see if you can write an essay on Ambedkar...” 

Right there, he wrote down a brief essay. The minister had to deliver a
speech in a seminar one of these days. He liked the essay. He saw the 
prospects of a scholar in Chamarasur. He at once decided that 
Chamarasur’s photograph would be pasted on the Admit Card of Bhanji. He 
also engaged his services to tutor her at a heavy fee. But when he 
learnt that he had to impersonate for her at the examination centre, he 
took out his mobile from the pocket, looked at it briefly and with a 
sinister smile stayed put and put his mobile back into his pocket. He 
agreed to tutor Bhanji. 

Arrangements were made for his lodging in one of the outhouses attached
to the bungalow. In the morning breakfast he demanded fried quail 
lever, and it was readily agreed to. 

Rukmini was exceedingly beautiful....with her sparklingly glowing
face...craftily chiseled lips...enticingly reddened eyes behind silvery 
eyelids, she looked seductive... 

Charmasur kept looking at her with his wide eyes... 

He became acquainted with Rukmini in one of the programs on Ambedkar
annually organized. Sujata too was present in that program. She ran an 
NGO. A Trust was floated to promote welfare of the extremely backward 
classes. She had her access to the power lobby as well. Money flowed 
into this Trust from there. She was believed to be close to the Welfare 
Minister. She was regularly seen in the close proximity of Laxmikant’s 
bunglalow. It was there that she came in contact with Chamarasur. She 
was also interested in poetry and it was this trait that had brought 
Rukmini close to him. 

Rukmini was a poetess and was known for her sharp intonations. She
called herself a humanist. She strongly advocated for dismantling of 
all barriers of boundaries between nations. All human beings should to 
be tied to one thread of unity. She expressed herself freely and boldly 
on matters relating to caste. Rukmini took the stage when her name was 
called out. 

“...Ambedkar wanted to uproot the evil of caste. He began a movement on
educational reforms in pursuance of Mahatma Phule’s philosophy. Baba 
Saheb did not want a separate area for the downtrodden people, but a 
radically altered electoral system. But Gandhi ji did not approve of it 
and sat on dharna... This was a huge historical blunder...No doubt 
dalits get elected from the reserved constituencies, but they are 
elected with the votes of the majority votes of the forward castes. The 
majority forward castes elect dalit stooges who dance to their tune. 
Their loyalty lies with the forward castes, not with dalits. Since they 
are elected by the forward caste people, they serve their purpose. In 
the proposed electoral system dalits could have elected their own 
representatives through their own votes, and this way they would have 
succeeded in creating a leadership of their own. But Gandhi tricked 
them into continuing in a system where there was little scope for dalit 
leadership to emerge. They continue to be enslaved by the votaries of 
the ancient scriptures...They all do politics in the name of the 
downtrodden, but there is no leader from among them...No one wants the 
caste system to go...” 

The programme was presided over by the Welfare Minister. Sujata and
Chamrasur were also present. The minister called Sujata and told her he 
wanted to meet this girl. If she joined his party, he could make her 
the Press Secretary of the party. 

When Rukmini emerged out of the hall, Chamarasur inadvertently followed
her. He was magically drawn towards her. He was immensely surprised. He 
wondered how could a dalit girl be so beautiful ! After walking some 
distance, Rukmini halted and looked back at Chamrasur with a smile. 

“...are you of Mahishasur lineage...?” 

“How did you know that...?” 

“...from your look...” 

“.Amazing.” 

“ I have occasional bursts of visions...” 

“ You have a very strong ESP, Extra Sensory Perception.” 

“You may think so.” 

“Tell me something more.” 

“Will you fight a battle...?” 

“What kind of a battle?” 

“I can see you wielding sword.” 

“I have no enmity with anyone and I do not even have a sword.” 

“Maybe, my vision is wrong.” 

“Can I take you as a friend?” 

“Sure.” 

“Can we sip a cup of tea somewhere?” 

“Of course.” 

And they walked down to a restaurant. For quite some time they remained
silent in the restaurant. Rukmini took sips, and kept her eyes fixedly 
glued on the table. 

“Are you visualizing something?” 

“No, no...” Rukmini said with a sheepish smile. 

“You’re right...I have to wage a war.” 

Rukmini quizzically looked at him. 

“I want to revive the movement of Ambedkar.” 

“ Meaning thereby, you’ll take on the Manuvadis?” 

“Yes, I want the end of this caste system.” 

“It cannot happen...being Hindu means belonging to some caste...it’s
ingrained in their psyche, deeply embedded there.” 

“It is this embedded psyche that has brought us dalits to this
precipice. We can fight this battle for them, for their emancipation.” 

“This is an important battle...I am in favour of this fight.” 

“Are you a dalit?” 

“I am a Brahmin...but I am not a Manuvadi. I’ll be with you in this
battle...” 

Chamarasur looked at her in amazement. She smiled. 

“I believe in humanity”. 

Chamarasur took her hand and kissed it. 

“I am immensely inspired by you.” 

“Tell me your name.” 

“I am Chamarasur.” 

“I am Rukmini Tripathi. But I do not use my title Tripathi as it betrays
my caste. This promotes caste system.” 

“Meeting you is a great pleasure. You are one from our own ilk.” 

In response Rukmini smiled; looked at his wrist where he had tied some
yellow and red threads and said, “How can I believe that you actually 
want to battle this caste menace?” 

“Why?” 

“These threads are evidence that you too are mentally enslaved to the
same psyche of the Manuvadis.” 

Chamrasur had no answer. A few beads of perspiration appeared on his
forehead. 

Rukmini then explained that according to Rig Veda even Krishna was asur.
Aniruddha was married to Usha, the daughter of Vanasur. Vanasur was the 
son of King Bali. Bali was deceptively annihilated by the Aryans. On 
the pretext of providing you safety and security, the Brahmins tie 
these colourful threads on your wrists and read out a mantra that means 
the security threads that were tied to tie down Bali are tied on your 
writs. Stay firmly committed. Do not ever renege. 

“These threads are the symbol of slavery. Your king was tied down with
these and now you are flaunting those very symbols of slavery on your 
wrist.” 

Chamrasur could feel the acerbity in Rukmini’s observation. He at once
removed the thread from his wrist. She fished out a thread—calling it 
friendship thread-- from her purse and tied it on Chamrasur’s wrist and 
the two took the oath of friendship. It became apparent to Chamrasur 
that Rukmini was greatly acquainted with the vicissitudes dalits 
underwent in their life. 

“Dalits should know their history. I am in agreement with the view of
Ambedkar that dalits’ lineage can be traced to Rajput Suryavanshis...I 
had read an article of Ambedkar in which he opined that there was 
tussle between Brahmins and Rajputs on acquiring the rights of 
priesthood. Vishwamitra was Rajput and saint Vashishta a Brahmin. There 
was a veritable war between them for the priesthood. Vishwamitra lost 
out to the saint and Vashishta saw to it that those who campaigned for 
Vishwamitra were ostracised. They were not permitted to perform the 
thread ceremony. Gradually they were eased out of activities of social 
importance and they ended up as shudras. And when Manu was born, he 
continued this practice. This practice was given permanence with 
incorporation in Manu inspired scriptures, which apportioned huge 
punishment on dalits. 

“This argument is incorrect. Why should we identify ourselves with
Rajputs or Brahmins? This breeds inferiority complex. We’ll fight them 
as shudras.” Chamrasur registered his disagreement. 

Bill was presented for payment. Chamrasur paid the bill and exchanged
one another’s mobile number. 

When Chamrasur returned to his lodge, he was ecstatic with unbridled
joy. He was confident Rukmini would abide by him. 

Meanwhile, a disturbing news trickled in. Some upper caste goons had
subjected a minor dalit girl to mass rape in the village Makhana and 
had clubbed to death three members of the family. The girl was brought 
half-dead to the district hospital. On hearing the news Rukmini burst 
into tears. She rushed to the hospital with Chamrasur and Sujata. The 
girl was in ICU. The bodies of the parents and brother were sent for 
post mortem. Some of the relatives were present in the ward. They were 
too scared to speak anything. The brother was killed horribly. His eyes 
were gouged out. Some sharp weapon was used to saw away his neck. The 
doctor informed that the condition of the girl was critical. Nothing 
could be said. Knife was pierced into her private parts. Rukmini saw 
the girl in ICU. Her face was swollen, eyes closed, lips contorted. The 
face was completely twisted. Rukmini glumly thought the girl must have 
tried to bear the pain, but finding it unbearable must have collapsed 
into coma. 

From ICU they moved to general ward. Beds were lined up on both sides of
the ward where patients were lying and some of them groaning in pain. 
One patient on the farthest corner of the ward had buried his face 
between his knees. A young lad stood nearby with his hands resting on 
his waist. To Rukmini he appeared to be of her own type. On being 
introduced, she learnt his name was Saiful Islam and he was related to 
Pahlu Khan who was assaulted by the cow protectors’ gang, and he had 
presently come to see his friend who had kept his face thus buried 
between his knees. He had made an abortive attempt to commit suicide 
and his mental condition still caused anxiety. 

Saiful told her that his friend still fondly reminisced and recalled
those invaluable words drawn from Manu’s scripture. He would sometimes 
start laughing and sometimes sober down to tears. Occasionally, he 
would leap in the air with all force he could command. Scenes enacted 
and captured on video, it seemed, came zooming before his eyes. 

When Rukmini insisted on knowing details, he related the incident that
occurred at Unnao. Four dalit youths were mercilessly assaulted by the 
cow-protectors’ gang. They were forced to eat dung and drink urine. 
This incident was video graphed and made viral on social media. On 
seeing this some dalit youths were mortified and tried to commit 
suicide. One of them died. Jagdish who barely earned four hundred 
rupees for his efforts was somehow saved by his relatives. Saiful told 
her that his friend too wanted to immolate himself. The scene captured 
in the video kept moving before his eyes and it filled him with intense 
dismay and unease. It seemed to him that the entire community was 
subjected to extreme indignity...and he was not able to do 
anything...he was helpless...the only way to salvage some dignity from 
the doomy prospects was by ending his life. At least it would galvanize 
the administrative machinery into action and culprits would be brought 
to book. He tried to commit suicide by hanging himself to a rope, but 
perchance his father came in, removed the rope from across his neck and 
saved him. When one reaches the depth of despondency, suicide seems the 
best way out to escape the indignity. 

There was anguish and anger on the face of Saiful while he narrated the
gory incident. He kept tightening his fist and kept repeating that they 
were professionals engaged to peel off the skin of dead animals, and 
they were doing this for these very upper caste people. They were 
engaged by them to do this. Then why were they treating them in this 
manner? What’s the meaning of heaping these indignities on them? By 
letting video go viral, they amply made it clear that the government 
was with them on this. Why was no one speaking up? Mukhia is silent. 
Perhaps, they want to convey to them that the social structure that has 
been set in the ancient scriptures is here to stay. They want to tell 
them: you are lower caste, you must stay so. There was no escaping from 
that—you have originated from the feet of Brahma, you must stay put 
there and remain subservient to the Manuvadi ways all the time. You 
cannot keep cows, but you must unpeel a dead cow of its leather. You 
must carry human excreta on your head. You must scavenge their 
muck...the upper caste people cannot do these menial works. Look at 
what you are. We have made the video viral. The whole world has seen 
it, watched it. You ate dung...you drank urine...you bloody... 

Saiful was writhing in anger, his body was vacillating. A doctor came
into the ward, made some enquiries from distance and went away. The 
attending nurse also came and quietly went away. Rukmini felt no one 
was willing to go near the patient. Only some relatives were around. 
Rukmini dragged a chair and sat near the patient. She wanted to talk to 
the patient but he shouted loudly : 

“...will cut off your buttocks...buttocks.” 

Rukmini stood up from the chair. She got tensed up. The nurse who was
watching from a distance burst into a peal of laughter. It annoyed 
Saiful no ends. 

“His condition is worsening, and you are laughing...aren’t you
ashamed...?” 

The nurse uttered a meek sorry and went away. 

“His head is preoccupied with Manu’s social structure...it keeps
disturbing him.” 

The patient peered at Sujata for a while and then stayed put with a
smile. 

“Sister, you are donning diamond tops in your ears...” 

And he vomited on the bed. 

Rukmini immediately requisitioned a nurse. She somehow took the bed
sheet away while she kept her nose covered to keep from retching. 

Saiful was sad to see this and said his condition was so bad and the
doctor was mollifying by saying that he would be all right. 

They stayed in the hospital till late evening. No government official
paid any visit to the patient. While leaving the hospital, Rukmini tied 
the thread of friendship on the wrist of Saiful as well. 

The following morning Sujata went over to Rukmini the first thing in the
morning. She conveyed the message of the minister to Rukmini. Rukmini 
said that she did not see any purpose in meeting the minister. She did 
not evince any interest in positions of power. Sujata explained to her 
that positions of power were of immense help, they resolved many issues 
that often looked insurmountable. 

On persistent request of Sujata, Rukmini went over to meet the minister
at his palatial bungalow. She was ushered into the very room where he 
met his special invitees. Rukmini did not find herself very comfortable 
or secure in this room. She felt she had come to a place that was 
infested with venomous snakes holed up in every cranny and corner of 
the room. 

The minister began very sweetly and softly. 

“I keep reading your poems. You have talent. I want you to write slogans
for my party.” 

Rukmini laughed at the suggestion. 

“Writing slogans is not the job of poets.” 

“Your name is on top of the list for this year’s Mahadevi Verma Award.” 

“I am not interested in awards...and why should I want to be honoured by
a government that is anti-dalit?” 

“Why are you speaking like this?” The minister was taken aback. 

“Day before yesterday an incident occurred...a minor dalit girl was
mass-raped. She is lying in coma, but no one from the government has 
cared to pay a visit to her...” 

“Why bother about rapes? Rape is part of the culture. Even Indra had
raped Ahilya.” 

It was suffocating for Rukmini. It brought tears to her eyes. 

“I must take your leave...” Rukmini rose from sofa and started to move.
The minister tried to dissuade her from going, but she did not want to 
stay there even for a minute. 

Rukmini returned a despondent individual from there. She vowed never to
visit a politician again. 

There was a sudden spurt in violence against dalits. The earth had
toughened up. The sky had become more distant. Ghettos were drowned in 
the wailing sounds of cries. 

Four dalit youths were mercilessly beaten up at Una. They were unpeeling
a dead cow. This was their vocation. But the cow protectors 
euphemistically called Gourakshaks caught them and beat them up. Two 
youths who were going to unpeel a dead cow of its skin were caught in 
Lucknow on 28th July were thrashed and were made to eat dung and drink 
urine. The whole exercise was video graphed and made viral in social 
media. At village Katha some youths were beaten up mercilessly for 
refusing to lift a dead cow. The goons also beat up a pregnant woman. 
On 30th July they disrobed a woman and assaulted her. A dalit girl was 
raped at Narkatiyaganj in West Champaran district. Another dalit girl 
was mass raped and bathed in acid which caused her death at Choudhary 
Sarai Kanshiram Colony in the district of Kannauj. Yet another dalit 
family was assaulted at Faridabad in Haryana for not voting in their 
favour in the panchayat elections. On 3rd August dalit students 
protesting against arbitrary lowering of scholarship amount payable to 
them were beaten up by the police. At Muzaffarpur they were not only 
assaulted in the name of bike lifting, but were also urinated upon. At 
Mainpuri a dalit couple was done to death for a measly amount of rupees 
fifteen. On 19th August at Hardoi a dalit girl was raped and her eyes 
were gouged out. A woman was raped and hung nude on a tree at Arwera in 
Kannauj. 

Thousands of dalits gathered at Gandhi Chowk. Led by Bhim Sena, they
descended here from Saharanpur in large numbers. Chamarasur too reached 
with his band of friends. They were all very agitated and their leaders 
took their turn to give vent to their anger. But it was the speech of 
Rukmini that set the tone. 

“The upper caste always keep dalits at bay. 

They never got their rightful place in history. 

Dalits do not find mention in any big events of 

history such as independence struggle. Their names 

never got mentioned in any movement launched 

or fought in India. Media too ignore us. Shudras 

are not weak. They are rendered and painted weak. 

Why call us dalit? I take strong exception to this 

word. This is a despicable word. This means 

suppressed and battered. Change this word. 

Replace it with a word that conveys the sense of 

strength and conviction. Call yourself asur and 

establish your identity with Mahishasur. He is your 

God. Brahma, Mahesh and Vishnu are not your 

Gods. You are not Hindu. These three castes are 

dominant amongst Hindus. Brahmin, Rajput and 

Vaishya spread the lie that you were born from 

at the feet of Brahma to keep you subjugated under 

their feet. So long as you regard yourself a Hindu, you’ll 

remain dalit. That’s the reason why Ambedkar took to 

Buddhism. He did not want to be known as dalit. You’re 

not dalit. You are asur—descendents of Mahishasur...” 

Saiful too spoke at some length. 

“Cow protection, Vande Mataram, love-jihad, surya namaskaram, 

and the slogan ‘mandir wahi banayenge’ are cultural and political 

symbols born out of Hindus’ furnace of imagination ...these are 
political weapons in the hands of those ensconced in the ivory towers 
and fuelled by the rich and the powerful. In the ancient scriptures the 
untouchables are not regarded as humans. They are unclean...unfit to 
socialize...they are bracketed with the sub-humans, not humans. 
Manuvadis deprive these sub-humans of their rights and privileges as 
humans. Therefore, they do not feel any sense of guilt while 
subjugating them. Now Muslims too have become part of this new 
suppression culture...democracy has been replaced by fascism. We have 
to fight it together.” 

Finally, a delegation marched to the Governor’s House to submit a
memorandum. 

Bhanji cleared the test. Laxmikant was delighted. He doled out rupees
two lakh and fifty thousand to Chamarasur to reward him for his 
efforts. Chaugan now played his part. It was mandatory to keep papers 
related to exam and results for ten years. He amended it to three 
months. Papers were destroyed after three months. Now there was no risk 
whatsoever. 

And Madam Chaugan was livid. 

“Chief Minister’s Bhanji has become deputy collector and those from my
own parenthood are idling away their time.” 

Madam was a Chandravanshi by temperament, was from the lunar dynasty.
Her parentage was in Maharashtra. She called up sixteen idlers from 
Maharashtra, got them a new voter ID. New Aadhar cards were made for 
them, scholars’ services were requisitioned. Dalchapati burst into a 
peal of laughter. Each one of them was adequately provided for. Every 
coffer was filled. Someone took up the job of a bus conductor...someone 
else Food Inspector...Supply Inspector...Flood gate was opened for the 
commoners...market was opened for the bidders...the sound of jingling 
coins was heard everywhere...the glitter of gold was a common 
sight...jobs became an openly salable commodity. Anyone could pay up 
rupees ten lakh and become food inspector...fifteen lakh to become 
supply inspector and twenty lakh to become police inspector...for 
admission to engineering and medical courses rupees fifty lakh and to 
become a bus conductor one had to fork out just rupees two lakh. 
Dalchapti kept laughing and went around the province with the swagger 
that was unseen before...She walked in a special gait, throwing up her 
locks in a seductive way. Her buttocks had grown in size and her locks 
had become all-encompassing. Choughan’s cup of joy and wealth was full 
up to the brim. Governor too got entrapped in Dalchapati’s love. Pearls 
dropped into the palms of his son as well. He became P.A. of Laxmikant. 
He specialized in finding scholars and in pasting and changing 
photographs in the admit cards. But the pearls that fell into his palms 
came with some thorns that pricked him. A thin layer of blood thickened 
on his palm, and Dalchapati smiled. She merely said, 

“This had to happen one day.” 

Where there is fire, there has to be some smoke. There was fire.
Initially, there was no smoke. Once fire spread, smoke too thickened. 
An ascetic woman too got embroiled in it. A scholar was brought in for 
her nephew’s admission in medical college. The heat of it reached the 
corridors of Choughan as well. Dalchapati’s advice was to immediately 
clear these thorny things. Else, everyone could get caught in this 
fire. Governor’s son Aziz was privy to many secrets. An insider can 
always be the spoiler in chief. He went for a walk one day, and his 
dead body was discovered in a hotel. There were more insiders, more of 
those who knew many secrets. Nearly two hundred bodies—some of them 
hanging from the roofs of hotels—on the railway tracks...floating in 
rivers...the heat had become so intense that it brooked of nothing save 
a CBI probe. 

“Choughan is gone...” 

“Nothing will happen to him...” Dalchapati declared, smiling with
confidence. 

“Nothing ever happens to leaders. Committees are theirs and so are the
agencies...the police belong to them. Earlier, you were enslaved by the 
English...now you’re slave to them. They celebrate the killers...made 
temple in Godse’s honor. Everyone was exonerated in Sohrab 
encounter...and bosom swelled to 56 inches. No matter who is the ruler, 
it is the people at the grass roots who must take the brunt and suffer. 
Common man is nothing more than a quail and I have seen them all...I 
have been in all ages and will remain in all ages. I am the product of 
leaders’ semen. I am immortal...I am in every department...in every 
nook, in every cranny and in every corner of the street...I am present 
in every man’s heart...I reside in them. My tentacles have spread out 
from Bofors to the sporting events and arena. I was present in the past 
and I shall remain present in future too. Didn’t you see how skilfully 
Sushma ji went past the Lalitgate unscathed? It is all because of my 
compassion and patronage...whether it be Sushmaji or Scindia...my locks 
are irresistible and they land on every shoulder... 

Dalchapati glided into the skyscraper in her usual gaiet and became
oblivious to humans. 

The billowing smoke had thickened and scams took lives too. CBI was
entrusted with the task of investigating the scam. In order to escape 
the dragnet, Laxmikant sued his assistants Shukla and Trivedi. But the 
charge sheet filed by CBI contained the names of Laxmikant and his gang 
of assistants. Chaughan was given a clean chit. As a matter of fact, 
Choughan was the member of that club of privileged people who would go 
to any extent to save their people. It was universally known that the 
power was in the hands of the privileged people residing in the 
skyscrapers and it was neck deep in corruption. Raid any minister, and 
you will need machines to count the currency notes. But the leader’s 
lips were sealed. He would only declare, “I’ll neither eat...” 

Chamarasur no longer wanted to work for them. His association with
Laxmikant could spell danger for him as well. He was privy to many of 
his secrets. His own life may be in danger. Chamrasur quietly escaped 
to his village and never again looked back to this farm or the outhouse 
he had occupied. 

He returned to his village for good. The village had mixed population.
Dalits had their own locality in which they had seventy houses closely 
knit together like in a ghetto. Yet there was a threat of insecurity 
haunting them permanently. There was a Brahmin locality and a Rajput 
locality too in the close proximity and they outnumbered dalits, and it 
was a source of constant anxiety. A section of Muslims was tucked away 
in one of the segments of the village. The Chamrasurs were more-or- 
less well-off. They were in fishing business. There was a pond which 
was usually under control of Rajputs. Fishing contracts were usually 
bagged by them, but per chance this time the contract was bagged by 
Chamrasur’s uncle Mohandas, and this was not to the liking of the upper 
castes. How could they tolerate the progress and prosperity of dalits? 
Mohandas began to receive threats. Whenever he went to the pond to 
spread his fishing nets, Umesh Singh armed and with his henchmen 
descended there and slapped Mohandas, warned him if he ever looked 
towards the pond, his eyes would be plucked out of their sockets. When 
Chamrasur came to know of this, he took Mohandas to the police station. 
The custodian was a Lala by caste. He refused to record his complaint. 
He said he did not want to get embroiled in this fishy affair. They 
were powerful goons and he did not want to risk his life by registering 
a complaint against them. Chamrasur was boiling with rage. He wrote 
down a petition and went to the office of BDO hoping to put pressure on 
the police official to register his complaint. 

When his eyes fell on the BDO, his anger vanished like camphor. There
was a mild and sobering whiff of fresh air on his face. His anger was 
at once replaced by a pleasant feeling of surprise. Seated on the chair 
was Bhanji. He expressed his happiness on seeing her installed as 
magistrate of his block. He then handed the petition to her and stated 
the reason of why he was here. There was a wrinkle on the forehead of 
Bhanji. The first words that emerged from her mouth was—I now know you 
are a dalit. To this Chamrasur replied that she should know that even 
Shudras are from the lineage of Rajputs. 

“Rubbish...” Lips of Bhanji twirled and twisted in rotund shape as she
spoke. 

“That means you accept the superiority of Rajputs...reason why you are
identifying yourself with them...” 

Chamarasur smiled and began to relate that part of history he had learnt
from his friends--that those carrying human excreta on their heads now 
were actually bona fide members of Rajput. When Muslims conquered 
India, the residents had the habit and practice of defecating in the 
open. But Muslims did not defecate in the open. They did it in their 
homes. So they engaged the defeated Rajput for scavenging their 
excreta. They were given clear option: either clean up what they eased 
out or convert to Islam. As they were brave, they preferred scavenging 
to becoming Muslim. After facing this indignity, they avoided mixing 
with mainstream caste people and gradually veered away from their 
caste, and soon they became a separate entity. Upper caste Hindus kept 
them at bay and they became scavengers for good. In reply the Bhanji 
said that by stating this dalits have shown their real worth. In 
response to this Chamrasur fished out his mobile from his pocket and 
put it before her face like a mirror and said acerbically, 

“Your worth is captured in this phone...” 

Bhanji looked at him quizzically. 

“Look at this admit card that has your name imprinted and my photograph
pasted on it...and look at the facsimile of the answer sheet written in 
my hand...all I have to do is to viral it on the social media followed 
by a press conference where I vomit it out how you became 
magistrate...not only your Mama will lose his chair, you too will be 
lost into oblivion...” 

Her face turned pale. She contorted her lips in anger. 

Waiving his finger at her, he said in a stern voice; 

“Listen to what I say now...You’ll arrest Umesh Singh...you are posted
here in the capacity of a magistrate...maintenance of law and order is 
your responsibility...tomorrow morning I’ll go to the pond and cast my 
fishing net there...you’ll be there with the custodian of the police 
station with full force. You’ll arrest Umesh Singh if he came there 
with his goons. My people will also be fully armed. You’ll not take any 
action against them. If there is any blood-bath the responsibility will 
be yours. And if you did not do as I tell you, the world will see how 
you became magistrate.” 

With a venomous smile on his, Chamrasur walked out of the chamber. So, a
war has begun..., he mused. He was sure Umesh Singh would come to the 
fishing pond with his armed gang. Clash was inevitable. Police may not 
even come. He too had to come armed and well prepared. This battle had 
to be won at any cost. He recalled the battle that the British had 
fought on 1st January in 1818 with Baji Rao Peshwa at Kore Gaon Bhima 
village. The English contingent had a large number of dalits. The 
English had won it. That battle was actually between the forward castes 
and dalits and dalits had won that battle. 

Chamarasur assembled all dalit youths of his locality at the residence
of Mohandas. Some elderly dalits also graced the occasion. Chamrasur 
spoke at length and tried to arouse their self-respect. He prided on 
being the descendents of the asurs and spoke like a seasoned leader: 

“Every year we celebrate the Kore Gaon victory. Time has come to repeat
the history. Be it at the village level, we’ll, nevertheless, have a 
showdown with the upper caste tomorrow...the pond is ours, but they 
want to deprive us of what is ours. Better to be martyred fighting like 
asurs than to submit and die like cats and dogs... . We are asurs. It 
is always better to attain martyrdom fighting for our just cause...we 
aren’t cowards...all that is required is to cling together.” 

Finally, Chamrasur presented a survey report that said that it is the
manuvadis who subject dalits to horrid indignities every eighteen 
minutes in the country. Everyday at least three dalit women are raped, 
two dalits are killed and two dalit settlements are burnt down. Forty 
percent of them live under poverty line and fifty-four percent are 
victims of starvation. Out of every thousand children born into dalit 
families eighty-three die before completion of one year. Forty-five 
percent children remain unlettered and forty percent school children 
are made to sit in separate queues to partake of free meal. Forty-eight 
percent of them have to travel to distant places to fetch potable water 
for themselves. 

Chamrasur’s oratory had the desired effect on the youths. They hailed
him and raised slogans and when the meeting ended they collected 
whatever arms they could and re-grouped at the pond with war cry on 
their lips. Chamrasur himself carried a sword. His warning to Bhanji 
had done the trick. She was present with full police force in 
attendance. Chamrasur thanked her. After a few moments Umesh Singh 
arrived at the pond with his supporters. Police stopped him. Chamrasur 
rushed to a mound at the bank of the pond, swung his sword in the air 
and gave a full-throated war cry. 

“Jai Mahishasur...” 

He was in a strange frame of mind. He was not prepared for this war cry.
He himself did not know how “Mahishasur’ came into his mouth. Thus far 
Bheem was the only war cry slogan. Sure, there was some unseen power 
that was propelling him. He felt a sudden touch of warmth on his 
shoulder. He sprang up like a cheetah and stood up menacingly before 
Umesh Singh. 

“We have got the fishing contract...if you still want to make a fuss, we
are ready...” 

Never in the past did Umesh Singh see any dalit standing up so
menacingly, challenging him thus. Chamrasur was standing boldly before 
him as his equal...hair standing up on his head...dark as fiercest 
snake, eyes bulging out and brimming with fire...and hand wielding 
sword. This was an unusual sight. 

Bhanji ordered him to go. Sensing gravity of the situation, Umesh Singh
withdrew from the scene with his entourage. But the face of Bhanji was 
filled with a deep sense of hatred. It seemed she was finding it 
difficult to accept the eventuality. She was screwing up her lips in 
anger. But dalits were overjoyed. Mohandas lifted Chamrasur up in the 
air in a celebratory mode. 

“Jai Bheem.” 

“Jai Bheem.” 

They made a circle around the two of them and began to dance, expressing
joy and raising slogans. For a while it appeared to Chamrasur that they 
were celebrating the defeat of the Peshwas the English had inflicted on 
them with dalits as their main fighting soldiers. 

Till dusk they remained busy in catching fish. Chamrasur was seated on a
mound nearby. His eyes seemed to be gazing at the vacuum in front of 
him. He kept his eyes fixed on nothing in particular and soon it seemed 
he was falling asleep. A dreamy cloud began to hover over him, and he 
was in a snooze. 

Someone whispered into his ear,”At Mahuba there is a Mahishasur
temple...” 

“...whose voice is this...?” He tried to open his eyes, but his lids
appeared to have grown so drowsy that he could not open them despite 
trying his best. He sensed the presence of a hand that took his hand in 
his own.... 

“...Let’s go towards Mahuba...” 

This time he recognized the voice. It was the voice of Pramod Ranjan;
and the very next moment they were on the move. It was all silent, all 
around...and as they trudged along, the silence grew more and more 
pronounced...it kept deepening. There was a large platform up there. 
But there was no idol or effigy of any kind...On the platform stood 
four earthen pillars, freshly anointed with mud. There were cracks, 
caused by heat. Chamrasur had not yet steadied himself. Mahishasur 
temple ...and people going round and round  as if in a trance...! 

”...look, it’s up there too...” Pramod Ranjan whispered again. 

It was a dry and dying lake on the oceanic bank...there was a piece of
land with somehow erected walls around it...no roof over it...a mound 
of mud designed as a chabutara...i.e. platform in square shape, mud 
peeled off at places....livestock with some ailments in their 
hooves...Mahishasur becomes happy to see these animals play ... .he 
treats them of their ailments. A farmer comes with his buffalo. 

“Doesn’t yield milk... .” 

“Doesn’t allow even her offspring to suckle...” 

The saint gives him some bhabhoot (powder) 

Chamrasur moves on from the hilly tracts to... . What village is this...
? He sighted a large stone pillar dug deep into ground outside the 
village...It’s not Bhainsasur, I suppose... 

A temple is visible on a mound. A platform with cemented base and...four
pillars on four corners...and a triangular roof. Right on the middle of 
the platform, a small but triangular cage is built. There is no idol 
placed in the cage. Perhaps, MaIkasur resides here. On the left there 
is an idol of buffalo. On the right is the image of a woman atop a 
horse, holding its rein...and a peacock over it. Is it the same 
triangular cage where Karasdev had taken refuge? And is the same 
peacock that had saved the life of Karasdev? Karasdev was not dark 
skinned. He was fair complexioned earlier. When his sister was alone, 
she was very sad that she did not have a brother. She subjected herself 
to the rigours of a vow and Karasdev was born from lotus. Once when 
surrounded by enemies he went into the hive of serpents and took refuge 
into bamboo orifice. When pulled out of the orifice, it disgorged a 
huge quantity of poison. But then he drank all of it himself and thus 
became dark skinned. Karasdev is the brother of Mahishasur. Mahishasur, 
Maikasur, Karasdev, and Kariadev are all one. Here they are also called 
Golbaba. But who is that woman? What, paramour of Mahishasur? But the 
horse is Aryan. Is she not the one who playacted as Sangini and 
assassinated Mahishasur and got acknowledged as a deity? On the left 
hand side of the platform there is a vacant land where small pebbles 
are dug in. They do puja here. The stone is Maikasur and on the 
platform is Karasdev or maybe both of them are Maikasur. All dalits 
venerate them. Only those from Pal caste could become their priest. 
People throng here. They pledge to make offerings on fulfilment of 
their wish. They offer coconuts, cauliflowers. Buffalo is their mother 
deity. They are related to buffalo traditions. A stone is dug in on the 
outskirts of the village. This is Mahishasur. When Mahishasur goes over 
flowering crops, they bend down and the wind blows. 

A shepherd came. He made the offering of the first milk yielded by his
milch cattle. Chamrasur looked at him intently....black 
cobra...towering figure...curling hair... 

“Your name?” 

“Gamasur.” 

“Where from?” 

“Manbhum.” 

“Pal Yadav?” 

“I am Santhali.” 

And Ashwani Pankaj begins to read out from asura scripture... 

Bhainsa (he buffalo) and Bhainsi (she buffalo) chanced upon a baby
infant in a jungle once. They took her home. They reared the baby. 
Loaded with glittering glow she grew up into a unique beauteous thing. 
The king happened to see her once and became obsessed with the desire 
of coveting her. The king tried to kidnap her. Just then Bhainsa and 
Bhainsi arrived there. The king got infuriated and made her a captive 
and bolted the door from inside. Bhainsa cried and asked her to open 
the door. But she was held a captive. How could she open the door? He 
pleaded with the king to release her, but he did not give in to his 
request. Bhainsa and Bhainsi smashed their heads against the wall and 
died there. Then the king forced her into submission and made her his 
queen. 

And listen further... 

Santhals have a festival called “Dasai”. This is celebrated as a
parallel festival with Durga puja. Young Santhali boys are dressed in 
warriors’ robes. The group is led by an elderly Santhali who goes 
spying from house to house. As a matter of fact, they are in search of 
their leader who has gone missing. The group marches on in a warlike 
dance. The leader of the group is scouting for is Azariya who has waged 
a war against the tyranny of the foreigners. The foreigners are scared 
of his bravery. So they resort to deception. They want to kill him 
deceitfully. To achieve this objective they take the help of a 
concubine from a brothel. The concubine asked them as to what would be 
her reward for this job. The priestly class gave her to understand that 
if she helped them capture Azariya, she would be worshipped as a deity 
forever. Thus this concubine seduces him into her trap and he is got 
killed. The tribal people designate her as Azariya and from then on she 
began to be worshipped as their goddess. It took nine days and nine 
nights to have him killed. Therefore, Navaratri is celebrated. This way 
the practice of worshipping Azariya came into being. One particular 
province became the epicentre of this festival. For making of Azariya 
Idols, mud taken from brothels is also used. 

Gamasur takes leave. 

“Will meet in Diwali”. 

Mohandas gave a pat on the shoulders of Chamrasur....it seemed Chamrasur
woke up from a reverie. He opened his eyes and looked around. They were 
collecting their fishing nets. Bhanji was also readying to leave with 
the inspector. While exiting, she looked into the eyes of Chamrasur and 
said with a poisonous smile, 

“Don’t forget that for every Mahishasur there is an Azariya.” 

The following Monday Chamrasur returned to the capital. He had also
brought his sword from his village. 

Spit and lick. 

This video too became viral on the social media. And Chamrasur’ eyes
were red. This incident had taken place at Rajpur village a few days 
ago and Chamrasur was deeply filled with indignities. He was a victim 
of a strange helplessness. He was very apprehensive about some dalit 
committing suicide. He was filled with a deep sense of despondency. 
Some people think that manusmriti is a matter of a distant past. They 
should understand that it is still relevant on social and religious 
platforms. That is the reason why Shudras are still looked down upon as 
low. It occurred to Chamarasur that during Ambedkar’s time the Brahmins 
had formed a committee to break caste barriers. He was even invited 
once there to address them. He did not go but he had sent his statement 
of intent. The Brahmins wanted some change in the agenda but Ambedkar 
did not agree. Ambedkar got it published in the form of a book entitled 
as Annihilation of Caste. Mahatma Phule had run a campaign against 
Brahminism which had been fanned by Ambedkar. Socialist leaders 
encashed the viewpoints of Ambedkar. No one had ever thought then that 
on the basis of Ambedkar’s philosophy political power could be 
acquired. The politicians pursued this course and succeeded in their 
objective, enjoyed the fruits of power but never took any steps to do 
away with caste system. Ambedkar often tried to do it but the 
beneficiaries and proponents of caste system did not allow him to, and 
he finally took shelter in Buddhism. Gandhi himself opposed it. And why 
not? He was baniya and Ambedkar a dalit. Manusmriti accepted only three 
classes as credible. Brahman, Rajpoot and Vaishya. Ambedkar was Muhar 
by caste. Muhar is Shudra and baniya Vaishya. Why will baniya accord 
importance to Shudra? But baniya will treat shudra as vote bank. In 
2014 elections the educated dalits had voted en bloc for this class of 
society. From then on they have been trying to entice dalits. They also 
began to take Ambedkar as their ideal. Azgar magazine expended hundreds 
of pages on Ambedkar while atrocities on dalits continued unabated. The 
government talks of taking stringent measures to check atrocities on 
dalits, but takes no action. Chamrasur was getting restive—how to save 
dalits from the crocodile-tear-shedding politicians? So long as dalits 
remained their vote bank, the atrocities will continue. Politicians 
treat them as vote dispensing machines. Dalit leaders became rich and 
Behanji began to adorn herself with diamond jutted ornaments while 
dalits are hell-bent on starving to death. As long as votes are cast in 
the name of caste and religion, one segment or the other will continue 
as vote bank. Need is to bring about consciousness in dalits. We have 
to float an organization where dalits could be knit together to 
extricate them from the clutches of manusmriti. Manusmriti is the 
foundation of the prevailing social system which has played its part. 
It has successfully divided humans into categories. Dalit category has 
been kept out of the purview of human rights. Their existence has been 
reduced to hatred and disdain. And the upper crust of society is 
silent. Silence sends out a message.... we are the ones from the upper 
caste...we shall perpetuate the philosophy of Hindutwa...and you...you 
just spit on the earth and lick it back... 

And the incident of spitting and licking had occurred at Rajpur village.


It’s a sin for a dalit to enter the premises of an upper caste without
knocking at the door. Budhwa chamar had not occupied anybody’s chair. 
He had entered the house of the Sarpanch (village head) without 
knocking at the door. The Sarpanch was Rajpoot by caste. Retribution 
was bound to follow. Together with choicest epithets, he was rained 
with shoes. Then he was ordered to spit on the ground and lick it... 
The son of Sarpanch video graphed the incident and posted it on social 
media that went viral. When Budhwa was bent on his knees to lick the 
spit, Chamrasur was brimming with rage. He could see it clearly that 
Budhwa’s body was trembling. His face was showing helplessness and his 
eyes were swelling with the tears of indignity. He was horrified. It 
seemed to him that entire community was bent on its knees to lick the 
sputum. Filled with a deep sense of remorse and helplessness, he then 
realized why Jagdish and the likes of him preferred to commit suicide 
to living this life of indignity. Video went viral but the government  
was (is) silent. None from the high pedestal of society even thought it 
necessary to condemn it. This is fascism and it is spreading its 
tentacles in the society with the tacit support of the government. 

Chamrasur proposed to float an organization which his friends endorsed.
It was proposed to name it Mahishasur Sangharsh Vahini. Rukmini wanted 
to start a magazine so that the matters of importance could reach a 
large number of people and would help unite dalits living in distant 
and far flung places. Saif laid emphasis on bringing dalits, backward 
class and Muslims on one platform to fight fascism together. Saif took 
the responsibility of preparing the manifesto of the organization. 
Rukmini was overjoyed that they would uproot the caste system once for 
all. She explained that formation of this organization was not aimed at 
replacing manuvaad with dalitvaad. We are not going to usher in 
dalitsmriti in place of manusmriti, rather we are going to do more for 
the betterment of our people. We shall have funds that will help create 
educational institutions. These institutions will be job-oriented so 
that after getting training, the poor get job. For example, we shall 
establish centres to impart training on assembling of computers and 
hardware. We shall have our computer centres where training will be 
imparted on programming and web designing. Saif was of the view that 
they should organize street plays at every crossing where political and 
social hypocrisies could be exposed through playacting. There will also 
be a choir group that will go from house to house singing dalit songs 
just as ISKON people sing paeans of Krishna. 

Chamrasur was listening to all of these. Suddenly he acquired a serious
tone and said, “First of all we have to form a warrior 
group....Mahishasur Army. We will respond in equal measure. We can be 
attacked any time and we have to be ready for retaliation.” 

“We shall require lots of money for all of these. Where shall we get
funds from?” Saif raised a fundamental question. 

A mysterious smile spread out on Chamrasur’s lips. He fished out a
mobile phone from his pocket and kept it down. 

Saif began the process of registration of Mahishasur Sangharsh Vahini
but it encountered a hurdle. Registrar had reservations about the word 
Mahishasur.It would send out a riotous message in the society, he 
contended. His advice was to change it to Dalit Sangharsh Vahini. But 
this was not acceptable to Chamrasur. Registrar was Brahmin by caste. 
He remained firm on his stand. Saif thought of a way out. Bribe him. 
Chamrasur and Rukmini gave their approval. With a bagful of cash 
amounting to rupees twenty-five thousand, Saif went to his residence. 
After initial hitch, he accepted the money. 

After registration, the organization opened a bank account with the
initial amount of rupees two lakh fifty thousand. It was the same 
amount that Chamrasur had received from Lakshmikant. Rukmini became 
treasurer. It became necessary to start a magazine representing the 
organization. Rukmini proposed Asurvani as the name of the magazine, 
which was duly approved by all. But garnering fund was an issue. 
Chamrasur did not think this was a difficult job. He was confident that 
some fund will be generated through membership and the rich dalits 
would gladly contribute. He was keen to prepare a data base of dalits 
containing their name, their postal and email addresses. Saif was keen 
to have it published at the earliest. If the magazine was published in 
a regular periodicity highlighting the problems of dalits with critical 
observations on political matters, people would automatically get 
connected with it. 

Magazine hit the stand in June. The cover was quite attractive. In the
background was dark silhouette delineating a picture of a half-nude 
youth covered in a loin cloth. There was a white pigeon on his arm; his 
one hand was touching the ground while the other was raised skyward. On 
his head was tied a horn-shaped pugree. Articles of Prem Kumar Mani, 
Pramod Ranjan, Ashwini Kumar Pankaj and Gauri Lankesh were carried in 
the pages within. One of the articles of Ambedkar was also printed. It 
was translated by Saif. It also carried poems of Kanwal Bharti, 
Ramanika Gupta and Musafir Baitha. In the editorial Rukmini gave a 
brief introduction of Mahishasur and threw some light on the aims and 
objectives of Mahishasur Sangharsha Vahini. 

“It is said that Brahmins achieved cultural and social superiority over
asurs through mythical means. By changing the names of tribal deities 
they made them their own and the intellectuals of our times agree that 
Aryans did not have any history of their own. No history has ever been 
written in Hindustan. In its place there is a plethora of mythical and 
imaginary puranas. Hindu writers gave priority to myths, used symbols 
and created a structure of Hinduism. They did not have one form of god 
in their imagination. They destroyed our real heroes and our real 
history and imposed their Brahmanism on us. Psychological pressure was 
applied on us. Ambedkar had discovered that asur kings were 
assassinated with the help female deities. Devi Shakti annihilated 
Raktabeej, Kanyakumari annihilated Vanasur and Mahishasur was killed by 
Durga. Whenever Indra is scared, he sends apsaras to save his kingdom. 
Women are the ultimate weapon of the Aryans. Pramod Ranjan has raised 
the question that if disrespect of Durga is a crime, why then 
disrespect of Mahishasur is not a crime. It’s rightly said that 
Mahishasur is not a myth, rather he is lives on even today and he is 
the real hero of asuras. But a deception was played on him. How can one 
write history so full of accounts of deception and falsehood? 
Therefore, Aryans did not write their history, they wrote myth. On the 
contrary, asuras were very civil and decent. They respected their women 
and lived in complete harmony with nature.” 

It got decided that the magazine would be formally launched on 10 June.
Chamrasur wanted to bring youths within its ambit. Invitations were 
sent out to to young students, both girls and boys. Professor Madan was 
made chief guest of the inaugural programme. Prof. Madan was a Marxist 
and was known for his Leftist views. A nine year old dalit girl 
formally launched the magazine. Prof. Madan in his speech said that the 
tentacles of caste system are so deep-rooted in Hindustan that it would 
be well-nigh impossible to end it. Slavery to manuvaadi philosophy will 
remain forever. We cannot rid ourselves of cultural slavery. Cultural 
slavery forces us into social and economical slavery. Nature has 
created humans sans fears but the religious masters want to see them 
fearful. That is why Brahmins scare us with curses and scare us with 
evil visitations of the deities forcing us into cultural and mental 
slavery. 

Rukmini distributed the manifesto of M.S.V. (Mahishasur Sangharsh
Vahini). Programme was successful. Everybody congratulated. Magazine 
was sold out immediately. Some people took membership as well. One 
among them was a young man named Salim Kashif and a young girl Nilima 
Khetan. Salim was a programmer. Nilima was a web designer. Chamrasur 
was very happy to meet them. While Salim took on himself the 
responsibility of preparing the data base and Nilima offered her 
services for constructing the portal of the organization. Sujata too 
filled in the membership form, but she looked somewhat upset. Sujata 
was accompanied by a lad named Gautam. Sujata complained that the 
speeches that were delivered today gave her an impression that caste 
system was receiving encouragement. Rukmini strongly rebutted the 
charge and said that the objective of their organization is to 
completely uproot the caste system. Sujata sarcastically observed that 
the organization may disintegrate but caste system will remain where it 
is and Hindutva will have complete sway. Rukmini too acquired a 
sarcastic tone. She said that Hindutva never, at any point of time, 
took everybody together. Today it faces challenges from dalits and 
bahujans. They will drag it towards oblivion. Its status will be like 
that of Jews and Persians. Whenever Hindus have acquired power, they 
have tried to destroy other religious communities. They fear that 
Shudras may desert them and align with Muslims. That is why they commit 
atrocities on Muslims. This is a subtle way of telling dalits to steer 
clear of Muslims lest they are also subjected to the same kind of 
atrocities. 

Sujata blurted out, “Strange...you are saying all this being a Hindu
yourself...?” 

Rukmini’s reply was that she was a human being, not a Hindu. Sujata was
rendered speechless and Gautam puckered a smile. Chamrasur did not like 
that smile. This man was not appealing to him. There was a think mark 
of vermilion on his forehead. He noticed the sacred thread behind his 
shirt’s collar. On his left wrist were tied some red and yellow 
threads. Chamrasur enquired about him and it transpired that he was a 
member of the Sangharsha Vahini. His father was a doctor in the Gulf 
country. He lived alone in his mansion. He paid up annual subscription 
for Asurvani and evinced interest in getting the membership of the 
organization. Chamrasur was not at all impressed by him, and he was 
rather not feeling happy while communicating with him. Sujata too 
subscribed for the magazine and declared that she would speak to 
Lakshmikant ji and arrange for advertisements for the magazine. 
Chamrasur could not help a smile on hearing the name of Lakshmikant. 

Nilima was not beautiful. Salim Kashif was not handsome either. His eyes
were rotund and small. His laughter was like a fountain that had 
stopped flowing.  He guffawed as he laughed. Nilima’s laugh was like a 
flowing fountain. She had a meaty body and her buttocks were high and 
heavy. There was a mole on the right side of her upper lip. Initially, 
Kashif had not noticed this mole, but now it had begun to make its 
presence felt on Kashif. Whenever Nilima smiled her mole also smiled 
and it seemed to beckon Kashif. Kashif felt like touching the mole to 
have the feel of it. 

There is one Shambhu who stares with the eyes of hyena. He is a Azgari
hero born with an apology. He can pick up any lowly person from the 
road and crush him. This is a new name given to patriotism. Last year 
Akhlakh had come under the wheels of this Azgari hero. Then Junaid, 
Pahlu Khan, Afrajul and Akbar became his victims. 

And Nilima was unaware that the colour of the sky had gone red. 

Nilima evinced keen interest in Islam. She used to watch Zakir Naik’s
video. She was sad that Naik had left India. If he were here she would 
have met him and asked him questions. For instance, she would have 
asked him what was ‘Masavat’ and why if a son died in the life time of 
dada (grandfather), was that son called ‘mahzoob’. She asked such 
questions to Kashif as well. Kashif did not have much interest in 
religious matters. When he expressed his inability to answer her 
queries, she would burst out in exasperation, “Who else do I ask?”. 
Kashif would smile. He liked this exasperation of Nilima. On occasions, 
he intentionally expressed his inability. But when once she asked as to 
what was ‘jihad’, he related an incident relating to Hazrat Ali. Once 
he defeated his enemy and wanted to put dagger into his chest. When the 
enemy could not do anything, he just spat on his face. Hazrat got very 
angry, but contained his anger, threw away the dagger and stood up. He 
said, “Won’t kill you.” The enemy was taken aback that despite this 
kind indignity heaped on him, he forgave him. Hazrat Ali explained, 
“That is why I won’t kill you. If I kill you now, it won’t be jihad; it 
will be revenge...it will only satisfy my ego...” Nilima corrected him, 
“This incident is related to Hazrat Umar.” Kashif asked as to how did 
she know. She replied that Rajnish had mentioned it     somewhere. 
Kashif said he was confused and that he would now try to get correct 
information. Nilima repeated the word ‘confused’ and burst into a 
laughter There was that musical flow of fountain. 

Azgar heard this laughter. 

“Find out where she lives”. 

When Nilima left her office that day, she felt she was being shadowed by
someone. He was on a bike, the speed was slow. Nilima maintained the 
distance. She entered a shop. The man shadowing her stopped his bike. 
She looked back at him. He was reading a newspaper, seated on the bike. 
He had covered his face with the newspaper. Nilima emerged out of the 
shop and took an auto rickshaw and once again looked back. He was now 
starting his bike. Nilima got scared. But he could not follow her for 
long. Auto rickshaw had crossed the traffic signal at the crossing 
while he remained stuck at the signal. 

She alluded to this the following day with Kashif. 

“Azgari is shadowing you. These chaps keep tab on all girls. When a girl
goes out, where she goes, whom she meets, how long she spends time and 
with whom, they keep track of all of their activities. They get their 
mobile number from the outlet where they recharge their mobiles. They 
have their network in every town. They run their outfit under different 
nomenclatures, but their objective is the same everywhere.” 

Kashif then told her about a book called Love-Jihad Missing Women
published in Kerala. That book is a book of instructions for parents. 
It tells them to keep a tab on their daughters’ mobiles, know their 
email passwords and tells them to be accessible to their computers, 
which should be kept at a place where it could be easily found. It also 
advises them to keep an eye on all friends of their daughters. 

“Very soon they will descend on your doorsteps”. 

“Someone must have informed them about me”, she looked concerned. 

“You are not at risk. Risk is mine. They counsel girls and kill the
boys. They talk to the parents too asking them to keep daughters under 
control. But girls usually do not toe their line and continue to mingle 
with the boys, which ultimately leads to the lynching of boys”. 

“Interesting thing is that they encourage M.H”. Kashif smiled. 

“M.H. means Muslim girl and Hindu boy. They also incentivize such
marriages. Their organization is very strong. They have spread out 
their tentacles all over. They are backed by the power that be. They 
are helped out by the rich. So, they carry out lynching fearlessly and 
make them viral too”. 

When Nilima came out of her office one evening, she sighted that man
again. He had parked his bike near a house and he was standing by. 
Nilima hurriedly retreated back into her office. She spent some time 
there and after a while escaped through the rear door of her office and 
glided into a lane. She took a rickshaw and reached home. That very day 
she received a message from one of her friends Santosh cautioning her 
that she was traversing the wrong path. Consequences will be dire. She 
messaged him back that she liked Islam. Santosh took the screen shot of 
the message and made it viral on the social media. 

Love-Jihad is included in the agenda of Azgar. Their conduct has now
become beastly. Crushing the opposing views has become their pastime. 
In this game, the person in their lens is identified on the basis of 
their caste and sub-caste, even their pedigree is traced. In this 
exercise government’s role is taken over by individuals. They become 
law unto themselves and they decide when and how to crush the 
identified person. 

Azgar entered the house. 

“Where’s your daughter”? A baton came crushing down on the back of the
ageing father. 

“She has become corrupt”. 

“She is playing dating game with a Muslim”. 

“Counsel your daughter...else we will cut her into pieces”. Baton came
heavily down again on his bosom...some of the expensive pieces of 
furniture were also smashed. “We will raze the whole building down”. 

Nilima filed a complaint in the police station. 

She was at a loss that when 1954 Special Marriage Act permitted two
individuals from different communities to get married, why could they 
not do it? 

“You can’t do it”? 

“Why”? 

“They have termed it Love-Jihad”. 

“I will convert to Islam”. 

Kashif kissed her on her eyelids. Nilima rested her head on his chest. 

And mist began to float before Kashif’s eyes...emerged from the mist the
visages of Shambhu Nath...Azgari Hero...adorning jeans and saffron 
shirt, dark glasses covering eyes...white shoes...and a stiletto in 
hand.... And Kashif notices an unidentifiable back of a man pasted with 
the pages of history of Muslims... that back did not belong to any 
toiling worker...it was the back of a Muslim...that Muslim who razed 
down many temples...plundered Somnath...who trapped Hindu women...who 
wants to wean away Kashmir from Hindustan...strike at him...he is a 
lowly man...he is a dispensable thing...killing him is as punitive an 
action as killing of cats and dogs. Hero strikes him with his 
stiletto...Musalman falls down...Hero strikes again...and strikes 
continually...and bends down to see if he is dead or alive...He keeps 
striking at him even after he has died...then turns towards the camera 
and delivers a spirited speech on Love-Jihad...sprinkles kerosene on 
the corpse and sets it on fire...comes before the camera and makes a 
clarion call for victory. 

This is the victory of Hindus over Mughals. 

This is not Shambhu Nath. This is Rana Pratap from the house where the
power resided. Thousands of Ranas descend on the street. They hail 
their hero and hoist saffron flag on the mast of the High Court. 

The Chief is silent and Kashif wonders who brought Shambhu Nath to this
height of power. Azgari group has made his existence a 
possibility...the other side of the same coin...picture of the other 
side...Shambhu is aided by Whatsapp groups....articles are being 
written in honour of Shambhu....deposits are being made in the account. 


So long as the likes of Shambhu Nath are on the loose they will enjoy
power in the House, for Shambhu is the symbol of hatred represented by 
the power that be. After all the stamp of fascism is put by the house 
that wields power. 

But Nilima and Kashif were not scared. They were lost in auscultation,
smitten with love for one another. Nilima advised Kashif to go 
underground for a few days. Kashif replied that then he would not be 
able to fight his battle. They will somehow or the other track him down 
and kill him like a pariah dog. The war is being thrust on the 
minorities. The war will be fought. 

Kashif bought a gun and Nilima’s eyes sparkled with sundry colours of
gold. 

“I am proud of you”. 

Kashif planted some stars on her eyelids. 

Nilima converted to Islam. Her name became “Jainab Kashif”. 

Their nikah (marriage) was solemnized at Jama maszid. Armed with
nikahnama (certificate of marriage) they went to court to get marriage 
registered whereupon they reached home. 

It was a beautiful night. Moon had spread its brightness in full bloom.
Leaves were dancing to the windy tunes in their trees. Unaware of the 
squeals of wolves they were locked up in one another’s arms. The night 
was engulfing the pious moments within its grasp... 

Suddenly a noisy uproar was heard. Stentorian voices were piercing
through the atmosphere. Kashif took the gun in his hand. He opened the 
door and came out in the open. Jainab phoned Chamarasur and acquainted 
him with the goings-on. 

Azgari crowd was welling up. 

Kashif loaded his gun. 

The war had begun. 

Chamrasur arrived soon on the scene. Wielding his sword, he charged
towards the crowd. Kashif fired gun shots. The sound of ‘Jai 
Mahishasur’ began to rent the atmosphere. The crowd began to run 
helter-skelter. Some went this side, and some that side. In minutes 
everyone was gone. 

Chamrasur accompanied by Kashif and Nilima went to the police station.
They filed complaint against unknown people. 

“What is your enmity with them?” Asked the inspector. 

“They are upper caste, we are lower caste”, replied Kashif with a smile.


Inspector stared at Kashif. 

“Either you arrest them or leave us free... We will tackle them.” 

“You cannot take law into your own hands”. 

“They can because they are upper caste”. Chamrasur’s tone was bitter. 

Inspector remained silent. 

On returning from the police station, Chamrasur went to the house of
Kashif. 

“We will stay here for the night. If they come again, we will battle
them”, Chamrasur said. 

“They won’t come now”, Kashid said with a smile. 

They did not come, but Chamrasur spent the night at Kashif’s. 

Chamrasur expressed his desire to meet Lakshmikant. An appointment was
fixed at five in the evening two days from hence. But Rukmini was 
sensing danger. She was certain that Lakshmikant would snub him. But he 
along with Rukmini reached the minister’s residence. Lakshmikant 
enquired as to where was he hiding all these days. Chamrasur handed him 
the latest issue of the magazine and explained the objective of the 
organization. He explained that his objective was to create a casteless 
society and to work for the welfare of people and that he wanted to 
start a training centre to educate those below poverty line. 
Chamrasur’s words did not seem to have impressed Lakshmikant. He was 
particularly peeved at the use of the word ‘Mahishasur’....why was the 
organization named after a demon? What kind of message does it send out 
in the society? Was he, as a demon, going to annihilate gentry? Was he 
out to disturb peace? 

Chamrasur vehemently denied that Mahishasur was not a demon. He was a
glorious king who protected his subjects from external aggressors. 
Women were respected in his regime. But Aryans stole our folklore, 
turned them into their own mythology, and labelled Mahisashur as demon, 
and arbitrarily designated Azariya as goddess. 

“You are insulting the deity. You will receive no aid. Your organization
will be shut down for ever. Through its name you will spread hatred. 
Get the hell out of here at once”. 

Chamrasur’s eyes were burning with rage, but he said nothing and rose
from the chair. On reaching M.S.V. office, he messaged the photocopy of 
the admit-card and the answer-sheet on whatsapp. 

“I am sending you a photo. Take a serious look at it. If I release it in
the press and make it viral...just imagine the consequences that will 
follow. It’s in mutual interest to keep the friendship going and help 
one another”. 

Rukmini termed this move as dangerous. But Chamrasur was not scared. He
wanted to lay the foundation of Mahishasur army. 

The following day Chamrasur went to his village. The atmosphere in the
village was charged. He learnt from Mohandas that the upper caste 
people have once again resorted to threats, but they were not scared. 
Rather they were duly equipped with arms and kept patrolling to keep 
them at bay. They patrolled at night as well in order to stave off any 
sudden attack at night. Chamrasur proposed formation of a peace 
committee that would have members from both sections. Chamrasur along 
with Mohandas went around the village and spoke to some of the elderly 
members of the upper caste and placed his views on peace committee 
before them. Umesh Singh too was called up. Chamrasur tried to reason 
with them that fighting amongst ourselves would not serve any purpose. 
In today’s world no one is weak. It was agreed that the group headed by 
Rajpoots would not carry firearms and the upper caste people would also 
maintain brotherhood. Enthused by this development, Chamarasur invited 
the entire village for a feast of ‘machchli bhat’ (fish rice feast). He 
got the food prepared by an upper caste cook. He was apprehensive that 
food prepared by one of them will not be consumed by the upper caste 
people. Quite a few did not come to partake of feast, but Umesh Singh 
did. Chamrasur observed that Umesh Singh had changed a great deal. 

The tension that prevailed in the village had greatly abated. This
enhanced the standing of Chamrasur in the village. 

Chamarasur picked up ten young men who had the gumption to take on
anyone trying to unleash terror. They were the first 10 soldiers of 
Mahishasur Army. He took them all to the capital. The members of the 
organization were hugely enthused. Chamrasur took a two-storey building 
on rent, and made arrangements for the stay of these soldiers on the 
ground floor and also fixed their wages. Office too was kept on the 
ground floor and the new address was duly advertised in newspapers. 
Information was sent out to S.P. and Collector and a meeting was 
convened with members. What would be the future course of action was 
the agendum. Rukmini opined that the first and foremost requirement was 
the establishment of a computer centre to impart training on hardware 
and programming. Space was found on the upper floor for establishment 
of computer centre. Kashif and Nilima were entrusted with the task of 
overseeing it. A dossier was prepared on the number of computers 
required, where to procure hardware from and whose services to enlist 
for imparting training. It was also decided that street plays would be 
enacted every week highlighting the thoughts of Ambedkar and tribal 
folklore. Task of writing plays was entrusted to Rukmini. Saif 
suggested that rallies be taken out as atrocities on dalits continued 
unabated. Dalit women were being raped and dalit boys were being beaten 
up in market places. But the government was not taking any action. 
Rukmini gave a schedule of one month’s programme on when to do what and 
at what pace. She wrote out a detailed schedule of all activities and 
sent it out for publication in various magazines and newspapers. Jainab 
uploaded it on the portal. Saif too wanted to get men from his village 
enrolled in the Mahishasur army. He obtained the permission of 
Chamrasur and proceeded to his village with this objective in mind. 

Now the latest trend is to crush. There are no mass murders now.
Crushing is done in unison. Akhlaq was crushed, Pahlu got crushed and 
the minister was worried as to where to get remaining ones from? One 
cow yields about 60 kg of meat. Akhlaq could have consumed at best one 
kg of meat...how about the remainder...? And why did Pahlu Miya take to 
smuggling of meat? When there are restrictions on the smuggling of 
cows, how did he dare to do this? Cow protectors will try to stop this. 
Writings on the wall were clearly discernible: ”Keep off the cows, 
else...” 

Moazzam Khan was the first to read this warning and he donated both of
his jersey cows, which he himself had received as gift. Saif’s grandpa 
too had a jersey cow which was gifted to him by Krishna Murari. Murari 
was his old time friend. Whenever in distress, Murari would put on 
two-pronged cap and urge his grandpa to pray for him. Grandpa would sit 
on the pulpit and Murari with the cap on would kneel down under 
grandpa’s feet. Grandpa would thus seek benediction...” Ya Allah, just 
as you extricated Hazrat Yunus Aallaihissalam safely from the belly of 
fish, so also you deliver my friend from his distress”. 

He gave Murari some evil driving threads to wear. Sometimes rings with
holy invocations engraved thereon that bring fortune were given to him. 
Once when he was bestowed with very specialized ring called algani 
naksha, his business flourished. Murari had grown old. There was no one 
to look after him. When he left for America to reside with his son, he 
gifted his jersey cow to grandpa. Fifteen or sixteen year old Machna 
too came along. Long faced Machna was harijan by caste. He was 
exceedingly dark but had bright and shining teeth...whenever he laughed 
his face puckered into a dark horizon while teeth sparkled brightly. 
Murari had retained him right from his childhood days. He was the one 
who looked after his milch cattle. Bathing cows, tending them and 
picking and disposing dung were all part of his job. However, milking 
of cows was done by someone else. He was not a harijan. Machna was very 
keen to have an opportunity to milk the cows. The sound of milk 
spraying into buckets with lather emerging on them had an intoxicating 
impact on him. Then he would wish if only he could.... 

No sooner Murari had handed him over to grandpa than tears began to
stream down from his eyes....”take care of him....he is the star of my 
eyes...” Saying thus Murari embraced grandpa and wept bitterly. 

Grandpa got a cowshed in the corner. For Machna too, he got a small room
built and decreed that he would milk the cow. This brought tears into 
the eyes of Machna. No one had ever given him so much respect. He 
dropped on the feet of grandpa and kept weeping for quite some time. He 
used to address the cow as mother. Grandpa too began to address her 
thus. Machna began to attend to other domestic chores as well and soon 
he became darling of all. But grandpa secured him for himself. His cot 
was placed on the rear side of the verandah. He himself used to sleep 
in verandah. Make-shift roofing was done to escape from sun and rain. 
His cot remained here throughout the year and he usually spent time 
while drawing on hookah. Occasionally he would rise from his cot, would 
do some gardening,, feed jaggery to cows and often incant shayari. 

Rab ka shukra ada kar bhai 

Jisne hamari gai banayi 

Us malik ko kyon na pukarein 

Jisne pilayi doodh ki dharein 

Machna would roll his head in appreciation. Mother too would give her
head a shake or two. Machna tried his best to memorize it, but he could 
not understand the sequence of words. Then grandpa simplified it in his 
own dialect. 

“Rab ka sukar manaya bhaiya 

Jisne hamro gai banaya”. 

Machna would recite these lines as he milked the cow....surr...surr...
see the flow of Mata...She used to yield ten kilos of milk every day. 
One day it was found that flies were disturbing her. Grandpa got a 
table fan installed for her. 

The old do not have future before them. If you sit by them, they would
relate tales of the days past. But cows were ingrained in grandpa’s 
past. In the evening when he would draw on his hookah seated on his cot 
as Machna massaged his feet, he would dwell on the past. He recalled 
how Vinoba Bhave had spearheaded a movement for enactment of law 
against cow slaughter way back in 1966 and how Indira Gandhi had 
ordered massacre of those participating in the movement. Grandpa would 
explain to Machna that cow was very important for BJP. In fact, they 
try to unite Hindus in the name of cows. In 1882 it was Dayanand 
Saraswati who had laid foundation of Gauraksha Sabha. Soon thereafter 
there were communal clashes in Azamgarh and in Mumbai; ..... and that 
in 1925 RSS...By the time he came to RSS, hookah pipe would slip out of 
his hand and he would start snoring loudly whereupon Machna too would 
roll over his feet. 

All of a sudden, Jogi Mahesh shut down his butcher shop. The government
placed restrictions on sale and purchase of cattle. Mahendra Narayan 
was incensed that 80% of those engaged in cow slaughter business were 
Hindus. Then why only one community was being targeted? 

That very day a bull forced itself onto grandpa’s place and grandpa had
one of his ribs ruptured. 

The shadow on the wall grew deeper. Grandpa was in sound sleep when the
sound of a grunting bull disturbed him from his sleep. Saif too woke 
up. Seeing the bull he brought out his camera. Grandpa found the bull 
jostling with the cow. He chased it with a stick. The bull leaped in 
frenzy. Stamping on the flower plants , it entered the verandah and 
upturned grandpa’s cot. Grandpa moved up and banged his stick on the 
bull. The bull went berserk and lifted grandpa by its horns and 
catapulted him on to the guava tree from where grandpa fell on the 
ground with a thud and ruptured his ribs. He cried out in pain. Hearing 
him thus crying, all rushed out. All of them together somehow managed 
to drive the bull away. He had to be admitted in a city hospital. It 
took full two months to make a recovery. 

Saif had video graphed entire incident. He kept ruminating for two days
on whether or not he should post it on social media platform. Finally 
he created a fake I.D. and posted the video with a title “Sand ne Haddi 
Todi” (Bull Breaks Bone). Reactions began to flow in. Next day a video 
emerged that showed Vinod Bhaskar in white shirt and khaki trousers. 
His loud rant ran like this: 

“We let loose just one bull now and it broke your bone. We have lakhs of
them. If we let loose all of them, you all will be crushed....cow is 
our holy mother and you eat it...bloody mean fellows... 

Saif was delighted. It made him immensely happy that foolish Hindus took
his bait of false I.D. as that of a fellow Hindu. But grandpa got 
scared. He felt it was better to maintain a safe distance from cows. He 
had seen the video clips of lynching of Akhlaq and Pehlu Khan. Batons, 
swords and axes were raining. Someone was striking at waist, some 
others on heads, some on legs, and still some others on chest. Even the 
dead were not spared. Grandpa was shaken. At that point of time it did 
not occur to him that it was a message to his community that they need 
to keep away from cows. Now he was feeling dread of his Mata. He was 
sanguine that the bull would attack again and that was the warning writ 
prominently on the wall. Statement of the minister that smuggling of 
cows is unlawful and that people often forget there are cow protection 
committees too frightened him a great deal. It meant the one that got 
killed was the perpetrator and the killer the peace-loving. 

Bull had become an issue for all. It destroyed the standing crops of
all. There was no way to stop this. Cattle sale purchase was 
prohibited. Cattle fair had long ceased to be. Useless cattle could not 
be disposed. People left them to roam around wherever they wished and 
they destroyed standing crops. The sick and ailing cattle would squat 
on school premises, fill verandahs with their dung. Children would 
clean up the verandah, and only then the classes could resume. Earlier 
people used to complete their morning chores first, now they would go 
out wielding batons top ensure that cows did not enter their field. No 
matter how strict the vigil, some straying cattle would invariably 
sneak in. All waited for the death of the bull. No one would kill it 
for the fear of becoming a sinner. 

Cows had moved out of grandpa’s past. Now, while smoking on his hookah
he would no more tell Machna that this was not an issue at the time of 
Nehru. When BJP used to be Jansangh, it had made cow a political issue. 
Grandpa was worried on how to get rid of this Mata. It was not 
advisable to donate it to someone in the village. It will be easily 
found out that the beneficiary had got it from a Muslim family. It once 
occurred to grandpa that he should go to the police station and tie it 
there. Police would do what it thought best. But such an eventuality 
did not arise. Ramesh Razak, the accountant of Saif’s college was ready 
to buy the cow. Machna became restive. If the cow went away, who was he 
going to serve? He became sad. His hunger was gone. He would sit out 
watching his Mata from a corner. Grandpa assured him of goat-rearing 
job. Hindus did not have any religious connect with goats. Goat-rearing 
is Islamic. The prophet was a shepherd. But Machna fell ill and kept 
calling out Mata Mata. Then grandpa decided to send him along with his 
Mata. He had come with Mata, he will go back with his Mata to his own 
community people. 

Saif got sale papers made. Mata’s photograph was also attached so that
no case of smuggling was brought against them. But there was a problem. 
Ramesh Razak wanted to take this cow to his own village, which was 
about 200 kilometres from here. Ramesh arranged for a truck.The truck 
was parked at the door step. Curious onlookers thronged to see what was 
going to be transported. In minutes it spread out that grandpa had sold 
his cow. The village head was a Brahmin. His curiosity was to know who 
the buyer was. On learning that some Ramesh Razak had bought it, he 
became wild.....Shudra and cow? 

Ramesh possessed necessary sale papers. He got the cow lifted into the
truck, took Machna along, he too took a seat and set off. The village 
head informed the Cow Protection Committee that a shudra was smuggling 
a jersey cow out of the village. The truck could not go beyond Balua 
Chowk. Cow protectors were armed. Barriers were put on the road. Ramesh 
showed the paper from the window of the truck. 

“Come out, you rascal...” 

Instead of looking at his papers, someone pulled him down from the
truck. The air began to rent with the slogan of ‘’ Long live Mother 
India .’’Ramesh pleaded with them with folded hands. 

“I am not Muslaman, brother.... I am not Musalman”. 

A heavy blow of landed on his head, ”Shut your mouth...” 

And the Operation CRUSH began. He kept pleading, “I am not Musalman...I
am not Musalman...” For the last time he cried out with all strength he 
could muster. 

“I am Hindu...” 

Pleading thus he forgot that he was a dalit and that he had sprung from
under the feet of Brahma. He did not have the authority to maintain a 
cow. He could peel the skin of a dead cow, but he could not draw milk 
from her udder... 

And a new message had emerged on the wall. 

“If you co-operate with the lowly then...” 

And one day Chamrasur was astonished.... 

Bhanji stood before him. Sujata too was with her. 

“Why...are you surprised”? Bhanji smiled. 

“Fortune has smiled on me today ...”? Chamrasur returned the smile. 

“Sujata is all praise for you. I am happy that you are trying to change
the life of dalits”. 

“Are you, really...? That’s wonderful....” 

“I am indebted to you. I should therefore extend help to you”. 

“What kind of help...?” 

Bhanji took out a cheque from her wallet and put it on the table.
Chamrasur  glanced at it. It was a cheque of Rs. 5 lakh. 

“Take it as a donation to this organization. I also want to associate
myself with you all and put in some efforts to improve the life of 
dalits”. 

“Which way the moon has risen?” 

“Don’t trust, but give me an opportunity to work for the organization”. 

“What do you want to do?” 

“Want to be in the thick of the activities of the organization. Took a
copy of Asurvani from Sujata and read it.... Want to write something 
for the magazine.” 

“How come this sudden outpouring of love for dalits?” Chamrasur smiled. 

“It’s my misfortune that you do not believe me.” 

Chamrasur did not respond. 

“At least accept this cheque.” 

Chamrasur called the accountant and handed over the cheque to him. 

“Thank you”. Bhanji was happy. 

Rukmini was watching Bhanji intently. Her face exhibited forebodings of
doomy prospects with shades of sadness. After Bhanji was gone, she 
turned to Chamrasur. 

“She came to release a copper crocodile in the water.” 

“Meaning...?” Chamrasur looked surprisingly at her. 

“Well, that’s all I could see for now.” Rukmini said this with a wan
smile. 

“What exactly did you see?” 

“Will tell you when I see it again, but I did not like this woman.
Maintain a safe distance from her.” 

“She could do us no harm. I have her medicine with me.” 

Chamrasur then told her how she became magistrate. He showed her the
image of the admit card he had captured in his mobile together with her 
photograph. This made Rukmini all the more worried. 

“Your life is in danger.” 

Chamrasur quietly told her that it was they who were in danger and that
these people could do him no harm. 

Yet another incident of lynching came to light. A certain Abu Kasim from
Chamrasur’s village was returning with a purchased cow when he was 
confronted by the cow protection committee goons. He died on the spot 
itself. A complaint was filed against unknown persons in the local 
police station. Police was not ready to accept that it was the misdeed 
of the cow protectors. No leader condemned this incident of lynching. 
Chamrasur sensed the pressure of powerful people on the police. He was 
forced to conclude that wherever these people were in power, mob 
lynching acquired legitimacy and the killers were safe. In the next 
issue of Asurvani Chamrasur wrote an article: 

“Horns become Swords.” 

Cows are not safe. News of their death in the protective sheds keeps
trickling in. These protective sheds are in pretty bad condition in 
parts of the country. Butcheries have been shut down. Restrictions are 
imposed on sale of cows, but there are protective sheds for the stray 
cows that are let loose on the streets. Lactating cows that do not 
yield milk any more are left to wander along. Such cows damage standing 
crops. Villagers have no money to build protective sheds for them. Even 
where such sheds are in existence, they are ill-kept, ill-administered 
as a result of which cows starve to death. There is always 
possibilities of epidemic breaking out. But there is no one to look up 
to for remedy. There is no one to tend these sheds. There are no 
veterinary doctors. Germs of the sick and dead cows infect the healthy 
cows. Not to talk of fodder even water is not provided for them. 

The worst condition prevailed in the cowshed close to the Bahadurpur
temple. Muck was all that was visible in the surrounding areas. As it 
had rained overnight, there was slush and mud everywhere. Cows did not 
have dry space to rest. There were forty cows in the shed. Two died of 
hunger. When police arrived, two were found dead and two deadly sick. 
Twenty-five cows and their calves were shifted to another shed close 
by. Post mortem was conducted on the dead and the sick were sent for 
treatment. 

It so happened that the cows that were moved to another shed were dying
of hunger. Police arrived there and were taken aback to see the 
condition. The moment gate was opened, the hungry cows scampered to the 
fields promising greenery. Three of them lay dead. They could not be 
buried. Carcasses were shifted to an adjoining hall. Soon the stench 
began to spread. The condition of the Acharya Gopal Sadan Trust was 
still worse. There were one thousand three hundred cows there. Thirty 
of them were found dead in a day. This was a newly constructed Gaushala 
and it had cost rupees fifty lakh to construct it. There were three big 
rooms and a long verandah. Three sheds were exclusively made for 
storing fodder and for calves. Entire amount was expended but windows 
and floors were yet to be completed. Windows did not have rods. Cows 
would take their necks out, masticate cud and make occasional bellows. 
These bellows greatly disturbed the villagers. The biggest problem 
was—where to bury the carcass. Ultimately, the village head took a 
unique decision. People were allowed to keep straying cows to their 
homes if they so willed. An incentive of rupees thirty thousand was 
given for maintaining the cows. And if any such cows were found 
loitering around, the owners of such cows would have to pay a hefty 
fine of rupees fifty thousand. The amount payable to the villagers was 
to be recovered from the villagers. 

A sudden announcement was made that sheds would now be constructed
inside jail premises and the jail inmates would be given responsibility 
of tending them. This would improve their character. 

Cows were not an issue during Nehru’s time. In 1966 Indira Gandhi had
even given shoot at sight orders to quell the cow protection movement. 
Vinoba Bhave had led a campaign in 1966 for enactment of law against 
cow slaughter. Srisant Prabhudutta Brahmachari and Jagatguru 
Shankaracharya of Puri had infused momentum to this movement by 
resorting to fast unto death. But Jansangh was using it as a political 
tool. In Delhi many saints and seers were brought together and Jansangh 
used them. Its objective was to create chaos to serve its own political 
purpose. At first, Jansangh goaded Prabhudutta Brahmachari to start the 
movement and when the moment of fructification came, it got him to 
suspend the agitation. To end his agitation Swami Kripatra ji was 
readied and sent by air. The agitation was suspended at a time when 
there was no assurance from the government. In view of the upcoming 
elections of 1967 Jansangh employed the services of Guru Gwalkar midway 
to break the agitation. This put paid to the sacrifices they had made. 
When NDA came to power in 1998, demand for cow protection law became 
more strident. In some states research works started on cow urine and 
other cow related matters were started with great fanfare, but when UPA 
came to power in 2004 this was brought to an end. 

Swami Dayanand Saraswati had laid the foundation of cow protection in
1882. Cow protection movement started from thence. The real motive was 
to unite Hindus. A few years following 1882 there were several communal 
skirmishes in Mumbai and Azamgarh. This movement did not have a long 
course, but when in 1925 Rashtriya Swayam Sevak (RSS) was founded, RSS 
took this forward. Vinoba Bhave was one of the leading names that 
turned cow into mother cow. He along with his followers marched towards 
parliament but Indira Gandhi halted it by opening fire on them that 
resulted in death of some. Morarji Desai had promised to look into the 
matter; but when he came to power, the matter was given a quietus and 
put into cold storage. There is no instance of capital punishment for 
cow slaughter in any age. Slogans like Bharat Mata and Gau Mata 
originated in the nineteenth century. Dayanand Saraswati stressed on 
cow protection while Bankim Chandra used the instrumentation of Bharat 
Mata. 

Today cow is a symbol of piety. If a low caste tries even to touch it,
he will be punished. Violence in the name of cow protection is now a 
reality. This is the color of fascism. For a society turning fascist is 
more dangerous than a regime becoming fascist. If a regime turns 
fascist, society can put a spanner and stop it. But if society itself 
turns fascist, it becomes a serious threat to democracy. The way police 
is ignoring the whole thing, it is tantamount to encouraging democratic 
instruments to turn fascist. The establishment seems to be winning in 
its efforts. 

When the magazine hit the stand, M.S.V. office began to get threats.
This alerted Mahishasur army. In his base phone Chamrasur fitted the 
recording system and put a soldier on guard asking him to record all 
calls and to keep his cool while responding. Chamrasur expected attacks 
any time. He kept his sword with himself. 

And the fateful day was here. The attackers renting the air with slogans
of Jai Shree Ram forced themselves into the office premises at 11 on a 
Saturday morning. On hearing the noise the soldiers of Mahishasur army 
descended on the scene with their own slogan of Jai Mahishasur and 
responded with batons, hockey sticks and spears. The attackers had not 
expected retaliation of this kind. They got frustrated. Mahishasur 
soldiers carried on their retaliatory attacks, fiercely breaking 
someone’s head, someone’s arms and inflicted serious and multiple 
injuries on their legs and on sundry parts of their person. Chamrasur 
too jumped into the fray with a war cry, swinging his sword and hitting 
one hard enough to make him flee. Others also took to their heels. One 
of them was grabbed by the guard. He was felled on the ground and was 
rained with spears and sticks. 

Rukmini shouted, “No lynching....no lynching...” 

Chamrasur intervened and stopped his soldiers. 

“Just break his knee”. 

One of the soldiers made several sorties on his knee with a hockey
stick. He cried in pain. Rukmini shouted again, 

“No more...no more...” 

“Who sent you?” Chamrasur held him at the point of his sword. 

“District President of the Azgar Group”, he replied, still crying in
pain. 

Chamrasur called up police and asked his soldiers to hide all weapons in
the store room. He deposited his own sword also in the store room and 
asked Saif to take photograph of all the injured ones and when the 
police arrived he should video graph the whole thing. The police 
arrived soon thereafter. Inspector’s eyes fell on the injured man as he 
entered. 

“Who is he? How he got injured?” 

“He’s from the same gang that had come here to riot. We fought and drove
them away. While fleeing this man fell on the ground and got injured”. 

“Really...? You people are so brave”. Inspector spoke with a sarcastic
smile. 

“We are the descendents of Mahishasur”. 

And suddenly Chamrasur raised the slogan of Jai Mahishasur. Others too
joined him. The inspector got frightened. Chamrasur was in full spirit. 
His fists were squeezed and hairs standing up on his head. 

“They used to issue regular threats.” He switched on the tape for the
inspector to hear for himself. He quietly recorded Chamrasur’s 
statement: how many were they, when did they come, were they armed and 
what arms they carried? He then took the injured in his jeep and went 
off. 

There were no CCTV cameras in the premises of the Vahini. Now cameras
were installed at all vantage points. A press conference was called and 
Saif was specifically instructed to record the proceedings. Chamrasur 
called Kashif and got the data base entries checked. More than a 
thousand names and addresses were recorded. Kashif had made a separate 
entry of those who came from more affluent section. Saif was of the 
view that Asurvani should be distributed amongst them. It was this 
class that could be the perennial source of fund. 

The conference began. Copies of the magazine were distributed first of
all. Chamrasur spoke about the data base and also highlighted the aims 
and objectives of the organization and dwelt at length on the 
activities that were aimed at improving the quality of dalits’ lives, 
which was not to the liking of the upper caste. Rising stature of 
dalits was inviting their ire and their office was receiving threats. 
There had also been an attack on their office two days ago. Audio tape 
was played out and video tape of the skirmishes leading to injuries to 
some of the members was also shown. Chamrasur expressed deep anguish 
that the administration had initiated no steps in this direction 
despite making available evidences. If the police wanted, they could 
elicit all relevant information about the attackers from the injured 
man they carried with them, and arrest the culprits. Chamrasur made it 
abundantly clear that if no arrests were made inside a week then they 
will sit on dharna. One of the reporters asked why was the organization 
named after Mahishasur who was a demon. Chamrasur’s reply was that 
Mahishasur was their ancestral god. He was a brave king and we are his 
descendents, he averred. 

“You mean you are not Hindu?” 

“We are Asuras.” 

“Why should it not be inferred that you are misleading dalits?” 

“Old scriptures mislead...dalits are not recognized as Hindu. They treat
them worse than cats and dogs. When we are not allowed to enter 
temples, why should we worship your gods? We will make our own 
temples.” 

“Why should it not be construed that you are trying to spread hatred in
the country?’ 

“We aren’t spreading hatred. The upper castes are spreading hatred.
Recently a Thakur (Rajpoot by caste) made an announcement that if any 
dalit dared to enter their temple, they should be kicked out like dogs. 
What is this? No leader condemned it. The village head also remained 
quiet. It would seem that the nation belonged to them and that our 
status is like that of dogs and cats. Therefore, I keep telling dalits 
that you are not Hindu. You are asuras. You do not have to worship 
their goddess. You should celebrate the Martyrs’ Day”. 

“You are trying to foment trouble?” 

“We want to bring awareness. Once they are awake and aware, power will
be theirs.” 

At the end of the conference someone raised the slogan of Jai
Mahishasur. One reporter asked him his name. 

“Baldev Asur.” 

“Full name?” 

“Baldev Asur.” 

Chamrasur explained it. “He was Baldev Paswan earlier. Titles like
Paswan and Razak are forced on them by the upper caste. He recognized 
his identity as asur and changed his title.” 

The reporter stayed put with a smile. 

Newspapers headlined their reports in bold letters. Titles were
interesting: 

“Dalits Beat up the Upper Caste.” 

“Dalit is Not Hindu.” 

“Advent of Mahishasur.” 

“Dalits Would Now Worship Mahishasur.” 

“Onset of Mahishasur Movement.” 

One thing was common in all newspaper reports. They all agreed that
Chamrasur was engaged in the act of raising the quality of dalits’ 
life. Their organization was going to estanblish training centres for 
giving free education to those below poverty line among them. Some 
papers even carried the cover page of Asurvani. 

Reports had the desired impact. More and more people began to move in.
More than a hundred young men enrolled themselves as members of the 
Vahini. There was a rapid growth of subscribers to Asurvani. Chamrasur 
realized that dalits had awakened to this reality and their eyes now 
sparkled with hopes of better days ahead and this increased the 
responsibility of the outfit they had floated. 

One day a mail came from an industrialist named Gopal Razak. His name
was there in the data base prepared by Kashif. Asurvani magazine was 
made available to him. Chamrasur also sent him booklets from time to 
time. He was kept informed of the organizational activities through 
emails. Gopal Razak was keen to meet him. It made Chamrasur immensely 
happy. He fixed the time for the meet and proceeded to his residence 
along with Saif. An immaculately dressed guard in blue stood at the 
gate. Gave his identity to the guard and went in. It was a huge mansion 
in the middle of which the statue of Ekalavya was installed. Chamrasur 
had not seen a statue like this ever before. It was a sprawling mansion 
decked with flower laden plants on all sides. At a short distance was a 
marble paved footpath. Walking on the footpath the two of them reached 
the portico where a white Mercedes was parked. A guard stood at the 
door. Chamrasur told him his name. It seemed he was just waiting for 
him. He ushered them in the drawing room. Gopal Razak was already 
present there. He at once rose, shook hands and indicated them towards 
sofa. 

“I had received your booklet. I keep reading your email as well.” 

“Many many thanks that you cared.” 

“Initially I thought that yours was just another NGO and that it was a
source of making money.” 

Chamrasur smiled. 

“It immensely pleased me when I read newspaper reports.” 

“The blessings of Mahishasur.” 

“Let me tell you I too am a follower of Mahishasur. There is a
Mahishasur temple at Mahuba. I keep visiting it every year.” 

Chamrasur looked at him in surprise. 

“You too should go there.” 

“We will construct a temple here.” 

“Sure, go ahead; I will extend all possible help.” 

“We are beginning Mahishasur movement with your blessings.” 

“I am sure you will succeed. There is fire within you.” 

“Many many thanks. Your words are energizing us.” 

“The way you people faced them, it was great. Nothing of this kind has
ever been recorded in history.” 

“We were ready beforehand.” 

“What’s the future plan?” 

“I want to awaken dalits. I want to change their life, ways of their
existence. I want them to realize that they are not weak. They are the 
descendents of Mahishasur.” 

“What will you do for this?” 

“We will organize social programmes. We will do dramatic performances on
streets. We will distribute copies of the magazine from door to door.” 

“Great.” 

“We also want to open education centres. We want to impart free
education to those below poverty line. That way we can bring about a 
change in their ways of thinking.” 

“I am confident you can do this.” 

“Thank you, once again.” 

“Give me the account number of your organization.” 

Chamrasur’s face lit up. He gave him the account number and said with
his hands folded. 

“I want to say one thing.” 

“What?” 

“Want to see your name as patron of Asurvani.” 

“No, please let me stay behind the scene. I can serve you better by
remaining in the background.” 

Gopal Razak went up to the door to bid them go. Chamrasur thanked him
once again before leaving. 

There was a sudden spurt in the account of the organization. Chamrasur
thanked Gopal Razak over phone. Nearly two hundred people had taken 
membership of the organization. They made contributions often beyond 
their means.. Among them there was a fair complexioned boy called 
Golden Ali. By caste he was halalkhor but was a stage artiste. He had 
his own group of stage artistes. When Golden Ali came to know that 
dramatic performances will be enacted in villages, he was very happy. 
He offered his services for the same. Golden Ali did some minor changes 
in the script Rukmini had prepared for a drama by including some of 
lyrics of Nazir Akbarabadi. The title was Quest for Mahishasur. Rukmini 
and Chamrasur liked the script. It was decided to launch it on the 
Martyrs’ Day. 

Salim Kashif prepared the dossier of the Computer Centre with a
provision for 15 computers. But Chamrasur slashed it down to 5 
computers and 1 hardware set. Mahishasur Computer Centre’s board was 
displayed on the door of a large hall on the ground floor. Jainab and 
Kashif took upon themselves the responsibility of imparting training on 
computers and programming. For hardware assembly training, Gopal Razak 
offered the services of one of his engineers. Meanwhile, Jainab came up 
with an attractive portal design. Some pictures and mythical stories 
were downloaded from internet. Mahishasur was shown dressed regally, 
but instead of showing him wielding sword in his hand, a lathi used by 
shepherds was shown in his hand and there was a halo of glow around his 
face. Picture of a buffalo was in the background. There was a brief 
introductory write-up about Mahishasur below it. 

“Mahishasur is no myth, but a god of asuras and other aborigines. Many
tribes and communities see Mahishasur as their hero. There are people 
who worship their Azariya goddess and also celebrate Mahishasur Day on 
during their main festival. There are many spots in various parts of 
the country where Mahishasur installations can be spotted. Tourists 
descend from distant parts of the country to show their veneration. 
Prominent among them are Uttar Pradesh [Mahuba], Maharashtra, 
Karnataka, Madhya Pradesh [Khajuraho] and Chhatarpur et cetera.” 

Special provision was made in the portal for questions and answers and
for giving information regarding the activities of the organization. By 
posting the report about the inaugural issue of Asurvani Jainab had 
updated the portal already. Kashif too was working diligently. He had 
posted more than a thousand members’ data. Chamrasur’s instruction was 
to prepare a separate data base of the oppressed dalits. Abu Kasim’s 
picture had got pasted in the mind of Kashif. How much confidence they 
had exuded in executing the lynching act of Kasim and had made it viral 
in the social media. Kashif could not help feeling that it was this 
kind of confidence that gave birth to the politics of fascism. 
Sometimes they kill Akhlaq, sometimes Pehlu Khan, sometimes Junaid and 
sometimes Tabrez. Whenever any criminal act gets political patronage, 
area of influence increases. Kashif reminisced how a catholic priest 
and his two children were burnt alive in Orissa, and an attempt was 
made to make it a case of proselytism. 

This time the editorial of Asurvani was penned by Kashif. 

Fascism 

Democracy is the route through which fascism makes its entry and it
comes with the intent of destroying democracy. Fascism can spread its 
tentacles in any country, especially where social fabric is weak and 
tattered. and where people are not aware of its ramifications. Fascism, 
by raising false alarm, tries to destroy democratic ideals. To achieve 
this end, the requirement is of a demagogue who can take ruthless 
decisions. The Head of the establishment is a leader of this nature. 
The moment he fixed his gaze on the Sabarmati Front, its water became 
red. People are getting annihilated, but his lips do not quiver. Such 
leaders present highly calibrated and enhanced image of nation’s 
strength. He creates a halo around himself. Religious dogmas are 
imprinted on the human psyche. Those that do not fall in line are 
penalized. There is a province here where schools in their syllabus 
have lessons that eulogise Hitler as a nationalist. This province is 
the laboratory for Hindu nationalism. Fascism always targets a 
particular community and generates community hatred towards them. 
Whenever atrocities are committed on them, the majority community 
remains silent. Silence breeds fascism. Fascism grows under the 
tutelage of the demagogue. The head of the establishment has grown in 
his stature as a demagogue. Efforts are afoot to raise his stature in 
demagogy. He believes in violence. There is no place for emotions in 
his heart. He has succeeded in projecting himself as the world leader 
and as the messiah of the poor. The opposition is ineffectual and 
therefore he has been successful. Atrocities on the minorities, dalits 
and tribal people are carried on in a systemic way. Whosoever rises 
against this tyranny is duly crushed. Gauri Lankesh was annihilated. 
Fascist regimes protect the interests of the corporate houses. He also 
did the same. Bank loans were waived off and the contract for fighter 
aircraft was tossed into the bags of Amdani. 

We have to unite. To effectively deal with the situation there is need
for effective policies. There is need for constantly organizing social 
programmes. People are in dire need of a popular front. This front 
should be able to counter corporate fascism. We do not need Hindu 
nationalism. We need the nationalism and patriotism of 1857 where 
Muslims were present too. To deal with anti-social elements on the 
streets, we need to float a group. Gurugwalker has promoted fascism in 
his book “We Are Our Nationhood”. This book justifies racism and 
advocates adoption of tough means and measures to tackle the 
non-Hindus. Fascism forces the acceptance of Hindu culture as national 
culture.” 

Dussera was round the corner. Chamrasur began the preparations for the
Martyrs’ Day celebrations. He wanted to start a nine-day programme 
starting from Chowk Bazar. He was apprehensive that the government 
would not accord permission, but Bhanji helped him. Bhanji recommended 
to Mama. Mama called up DM and SP and instructed them to accord 
permission for the programme at a distance of twenty kilometers at 
Hasanpur. Majority of the residents of the place are either Muslims or 
dalits. Three days prior to Purnima (Full Moon Night) Chamrasur got 
pamphlets distributed in the locality giving full details about the 
Martyrs’ Day celebrations. 

Martyrs’ Day is celebrated on a day of full moonlit night in winter. The
day comes five days after Purnima dussera. It is believed she (Azariya 
goddess) had accosted Mahishasur on the sixteenth day of Ashwin (7th 
month of the Hindu calendar) month. She was sent by the Aryans who used 
to fight with the locals. Armed with weapons gods were hiding around 
the fort of Mahishasur. On the seventh day he opened the gate of the 
fort. Gods launched the attack. Fierce battle ensued. It was not easy 
for gods to defeat Mahishasur. Therefore on the ninth day they brought 
forth Azariya. Mahishasur was under oath that he would always protect 
women and animals, would never attack them. They exploited this and 
deceitfully killed him. They celebrated this annihilation with 
religious gaiety and fervour, but after days of this incident on a day 
of full moon night the subjects of Mahishasur organised a massive 
programme and took a pledge to keep their culture alive and to regain 
the legacy they had lost. We should celebrate the Martyrs’ Day in the 
memory of that day. It is requested that all dalit brethren should 
gather in huge numbers at the Hasan Chowk every Purnima and take pledge 
to regain the lost culture and traditions. 

On the designated day a huge pandal was erected covered with tarpaulin.
It was painted blue and thermocol was extensively used to decorate it. 
Stage was decked with flowers and a sprawling platform was raised.The 
stage was duly decorated with electric bulbs and related wherewithal. 
The programme was to commence at 11 in the morning. Chamrasur had 
arrived with his full entourage and had not forgotten to bring his 
sword along. His soldiers too were brought together. Welcome song 
singing choirs went out in groups. Full throttled musical instruments 
played out to create the necessary ambience. When the groups returned 
to the stage, there was no space left unoccupied. Mahishasur banner was 
flying high on the stage. A massive portrait of Mahishasur was placed 
on the stage. Gopal Razak too registered his presence. The programme 
began with Chamrasur formally garlanding the portrait of Mahishasur. 
Everyone took turn to bestow flower on the portrait. This programme was 
actually a programme on Mahishasur philosophy. Idol worshipping was not 
permitted. Women were present in large numbers. 

In her opening speech, Rukmini gave brief introduction of Mahishasur.
She was followed by Saif who read out an article by Ambedkar. Sundry 
speakers spoke and expressed their views. Gopla Razak too spoke. 

After lunch recess, the programme recommenced. Lunch packets were
distributed. After an interval of an hour Golden Ali presented his 
drama in which Jainab and Kashif also took part. Young men dressed like 
warriors were singing and dancing and going around. An elderly tribal 
man was spying from house to house. He was looking for his lord king 
who was held captive. He finds the king in one of the houses. The group 
of young warriors attack and free their king. 

Villagers watched the drama with keen interest. Programme was successful
even as not many people had arrived. Chamrasur declared that a temple 
of Mahishasur will be built at Hasanpur. 

News trickled in that the programme was peacefully organized in other
towns as well. So, the wave was gradually spreading out. Membership of 
the organization also registered a growth. Some rich people also became 
members. They contributed substantial amounts of donation. But a cheque 
of rupees ten lakh from Rixon Builders was accompanied by a letter. It 
was mentioned that the amount was meant for computer centre. Chamrasur 
was greatly surprised as to who were these people and why had they 
become so sympathetic to the organization. Saif looked into the matter 
and discovered that the company had its links with Lakshmikant. 
Chamrasur contacted him over telephone. Lakshmikant conceded that he 
had arranged to send this amount. He is happy with the activities of 
the organization particularly for starting computer programme course 
for the poor girl students. Chamrasur smiled. In his rep[ly Chamrasur 
said, “So long as you remain friend, your secrets will remain secret.” 

A young man arrived at the office on the day of Diwali. It seemed he was
a familiar face. It appeared to Chamrasur that he had seen him 
somewhere. But despite trying his best, he could not recall where. He 
was a dark complexioned lad with curly hair. Chamjrasur sprang up when 
the lad said that he was a resident of Manbhum. He looked intently at 
the young lad. He began to drowse. It seemed he got lost into some kind 
of reverie and he kept staring blankly at nowhere in particular. A 
picture emerged before his eyes...small triangular cubicles...four 
pillars with roof atop them.... 

Chamrasur blurted out, “Gamasur...?” 

The lad nodded his head in agreement and Chamrasur was thrilled. His
face sparkled with an enigmatic delight. He hugged the lad. 

“You remember you had said you’ll meet on Diwali?” 

“I never met you.” 

“But I have met you.” Chamrasur smiled. 

“You had offered the first milk of your buffalo to the temple.” 

Gamasur looked at him in amazement. 

“Happy you came.” 

“I have come to get myself enrolled in the computer centre.” 

Chamkrasur gave him a form to fill in and enquired as to where he lived.
Gamasur informed that he hailed from the asur clan of Manbhum, but for 
the past few years he has been living in this town with his family. He 
also informed that this Diwali evening there was going to be a sedate 
celebration at his home to mourn Mahishasur and to pay our obeisance. 
He invited Chamrasur to attend the programme, an invite Chamrasur 
gladly accepted. 

Chamrasur along with Rukmini, Saif, and several other staff members of
his office reached Gamasur’s home. An elderly person welcomed them. It 
transpired that he was the priest of Mahishasur temple. There was a 
raised platform made of mud in one of the corners of the courtyard. It 
had a thatched roof over it. A buffalo tied to a tether post nearby was 
ruminating. Castor plant stems were strewn in the manger. Small earthen 
diyas were kept around. The platform had been plastered with fresh mud. 
Gamasur informed that on the last day of the dark fortnight they gave a 
decent bath to their cattle and put castor stems before them to eat. 

The elderly man began the process of worship. In an earthen pot boiling
castor oil was poured. Grains of black gram were also mixed in it. Each 
of them then applied and rubbed in this oil on their navel, chest and 
abdomen. Gamasur applied this oil on horns of the buffalo. Everybody 
gathered around the raised platform. The priest chanted mantras. 
Gamasur explained the meaning of mantras: “May we all be protected from 
the guiles of our ancestors’ destroyers.” 

Women did not take part in this worshipping ceremony. But Gamasur’s
small daughter participated. A hen was sacrificed by strangulating it 
on a Rau leaf. Children’s foreheads were marked with blood of the 
sacrificed hen. 

Thereafter the participants were served with cucumber. Womenfolk
prepared hadiya, a customary drink taken by tribal folk. It was served 
to all. Buffalo too was served hadiya mixed in its fodder. Rukmini 
avoided taking hadiya. 

When Chamrasur returned from there, he was overjoyed. Gamasur’s
friendship infused new energy in him. He was confident that Mahishasur 
movement will forge ahead and it will rid dalits from the clutches of 
Brahminism. 

The celebration of Mahishasur’s Martyrs’ Day had become a source of
anxiety for the upper caste. Realization had begun to dawn on them that 
dalits were becoming a force to reckon with. Forward front members were 
made to think of how to devise ways of countering this emerging force. 
In the meanwhile, Gamasur posted an article on Facebook: 

“Shurpanakha was the daughter of Bahujan society. Laxman snapped her
nose and ear, and you are celebrating it! This playfulness should stop 
now. We will henceforth celebrate Mahishasur Mourning Day. Every year 
we and Mahishasur are heaped indignities. This can no longer be 
tolerated. The upper castemen think it is their birth right to rule. 
Who gave them the right to disrespect Ambedkar saheb? Is this country 
only theirs, not that of the dalits? We will file F.I.R. against them. 
We will demand their arrest. 

Saif took the mike and addressed the crowd in a thunderously stentorian
voice. 

“If our complaint is not registered, we will sit on dharna.” 

“Bolo Mahishasur ki Jai.” (Clarion call to hail Mahishasur) 

The crowd too raised slogans. Police inspector filed a case against
Sudhir Pathak. Warrant of arrest was issued against him. Bhanji helped 
Chamrasur. Got both of them released on bail. Forward group wanted a 
compromise. Chamrasur too wanted the same. Both withdrew their cases. 

Chamrasur was exceedingly happy. His trust in Bhanji enhanced. But
Rukmini was forlorn. When Chamrasur wanted to know the reason for her 
sadness, she stayed put with a wan smile. 

“If you cannot defeat them by your might, use deceit...each one of them
were deceitfully killed...Bhishma Pitamah, Karn, Dronacharya...” 

“Didn’t get you.” There was some irritation in Chamrasur’s voice. 

“I am seeing you getting down into water.” 

“Really...and what else did you see?’ 

“I have told you earlier.” 

“What...?” 

“A woman released a copper crocodile in the water and it became a living
crocodile.” 

“Crocodile is here with me.” Chamrasur pulled out his mobile from the
pocket and showed her the photograph of the admit card. 

“This too is a deceit.” 

“Yes...it is this deceit that has defeated them. This cannot go against
me.” 

Rukmini remained silent and turned her forlorn eyes into a distant
vacuum. 

Next day she got a phone call from Sujata telling her that she was
required to attend a meeting of Dalit Welfare Committee. She said she 
was unwell, would not attend the meet and saying this she hung up the 
phone. As a matter of fact, she was not keeping well for the past few 
days. She felt sleepy all the time. She felt she was in dire need of 
some sleep; but when she went to bed, sleep would desert her. When she 
shut her eyes, she would swim into deep recess of some kind where her 
bodily strength would gradually dip to a low and her heart would sink 
deep and deep into depth of the unknown. 

Minister’s P.A. called her to say that her presence was necessary and
that she was being invited as chief guest. This important programme of 
Dalit Welfare Committee was being organized at Chamanpur at a distance 
of seventy kilometers from the town. Sujata was the convener of the 
programme. She came down with a car to pick up Rukmini. The programme 
was held under the presidency of the 

minister. Rukmini delivered her speech in a very subdued manner. 

“Kalavati and Ramkhelawan Paswan are not the representative leaders of
dalits. Ramkhelavan Paswan has become a very affluent person. Why was 
he then retaining the title of Paswan? In the social arrangement 
propagated by the Manuvadis, Paswans are those that engage in the 
business of toddy. Ramkhelawan Paswan was no longer selling toddy. He 
is no more a dalit. Title ‘Paswan’ is no longer their identity. It is 
their mental slavery. It is necessary to come out of this rut. So long 
as dalits do not come out of this systemic rut, they will continue to 
be regarded as mean and lowly. Ancient scriptures categorized society 
in terms of caste and this division became sanatan. This classification 
is done by the upper caste. Dalits will have to change their titles. 
What’s the use of suffixing Paswan, Razak and Manjhi to names? They are 
carrying the burden of these titles for ages. Need of the hour is to 
pluck them and throw them off.” 

The programme went on up to ten at night. By the time dinner was taken,
it was eleven. Meanwhile, Rukmini sensed some unease in the atmosphere. 
Some netas were whispering to one another. A few of them even stared at 
libidinously at her. When she went to wash her hands, she heard some 
unpalatable comments seemingly hurled at her. 

“Give her ration.” 

“Cool her down.” 

Rukmini was shocked. She sensed danger. She decided to return at once,
but at this hour of night she did not think it prudent to go alone. 
Sujata got a room booked in the government guest house for her, but 
Rukmini was scared of staying alone in one room. So Sujata shared her 
bed. 

There was a midnight knock at the door. Sujata opened it. The honourable
minister entered the room with a smile. 

“Since sleep wasn’t coming, I thought of talking to you.” 

Rukmini lay on one side of the bed. On hearing the voice of the minister
she got alarmed. But she did not think it wise to look back at him. She 
closed her eyes. Just then she felt some creep on her person. She 
thought the minister had sat down on the head side of Sujata. She began 
to shiver...what was the intent of the minister...? She became 
convinced that the minister was going to fiddle with Sujata. 

Sujata whispered, “Put out the light please...” 

“Let it remain on....It’s more enjoyable in light...” The minister
replied smilingly. 

Sujata too smiled. When she turned her side, the creaking noise
emanating from the shaking bed was invading the room. It appeared to 
Rukmini that Sujata was in the tight embrace of the minister who was 
panting like a dog and Sujata was breathing...Sujata continued to 
breathe heavily and Rukmini buried her head in shame. She was unable to 
understand as to what she should do. Should she remain a witness to 
this ugly deed or should she give them a rebuke...? Sitting quietly 
like this meant she was a party to this ugly deed. It was height of 
shamelessness. They did not even bother that there was a girl by the 
side...and light was on....but it is better she remained quiet...as 
though she knew nothing...else these people could cause her harm. Those 
that can do such things so openly can do anything. If she came in their 
way of love-making, she could lose her life too. She thus stayed put as 
though she were dead. Without changing her posture, she watched the 
spectacle with her closed eyes. Suddenly she felt as if she was engaged 
in group sex with Sujata....the minister was relishing her 
presence...in a way she too was being raped. She was feeling 
asphyxiated....before she could rise from the bed, she felt the hand of 
the minister on her breast. The minister was exploring her breast. She 
pushed aside his hand and sat up on the bed. 

She was trembling. 

“What happened? Why are you scared, humanist...?” The minister burst
into a broad smile. 

Rukmini’s ears heard the minister utter that oft-repeated hackneyed
statement, “Rape is in our culture. Lord Indra too had raped Ahilya...” 


“Let me go please...” Rukmini said with her hands folded. 

“Where will you go? You’ll find wolves outside. It’s good...to stay here
with me. I’ll make you a big neta.” Rukmini fell on his feet. 

Sujata went out of the room. No sooner she went out than a few netas
walked in. One of them with his two teeth protruding fondled Rukmini’s 
cheek and said, “You delivered so much bhashan (speech).... now take 
some ration.” He unfurled his dhoti with the swift jerk of his hand. 
The other neta picked her up and dropped her on the bed. 

Rukmini became unconscious. 

They all hovered over her. 

Someone clung to her legs. Someone dipped his nail into her
thighs...someone sucked her lips and a few of them kept cuddling and 
sponging her breast. 

“Wow...wow...Kashmir’s bud...so beautiful...humanist...would break free
from Manusmriti....hahaha...” 

The humanist was found in the morning lying almost dead on the bed. 

There was no trace of remorse on the face of the minister. He dialed the
civil surgeon of the hospital and said, “A girl is in coma. Admit her 
in the ICU. If she dies, announce her death after four hours.” 

The minister himself took the dead body of Rukmini to hospital in his
car. Civil surgeon got her admitted into ICU. The minister remained 
seated in Civil Surgeon’s chamber. Sujatha too was with him. She was 
under strict instructions not to inform Chamrasur about it. Sujatha’s 
face was getting pale. She realized she was trapped in the cave full of 
wolves. She shivered down her spine if she looked at the minister. She 
clearly read a message in the eyes of the minister: “You are the lone 
witness to this....you must die.” 

And after four hours, a formal announcement of Rukmini’s death was made.
The minister secured the death certificate from civil surgeon and took 
the body to his own official residence. Soon his lieutenants descended 
on the scene. A priest and workers were called in. In no time 
arrangements were made for the journey to the crematorium. A sizeable 
crowd assembled at the residence of the minister. Rukmini’s body was 
decked in red saree as the funeral procession started from his 
residence with the chant of “Ram naam satya hai” and taken to the 
electric crematorium. 

After disposing the body, the minister returned to his residence with
Sujatha. She was still very frightened. The minister counselled her. 

“Break every relation with Chamrasur otherwise your own life will be in
danger.” 

“All right...” Sujatha could merely mutter this much. 

“As of now you’ll stay in the outhouse. If you tried to escape the
security people will eliminate you.” 

“No one should know that you are residing here. Otherwise you know what
the consequences would be.” 

“When the situation normalises, you’ll be freed.” 

The minister instructed his P.A. to get the death report published in
newspapers. Following day the news headlined thus: 

Sudden Passing Away of the Renowed Poetess Rukmini 

Chamanpur 13 October: The renowed poetess Rukmini Tripathi was invited
as chief guest at the Welfare Committee programme where her speech was 
greatly appreciated. She was staying at the Ambedkar Guest House. She 
suffered a massive heart attack in the morning. The Welfare Minister 
rushed her to the Sadar Hospital where she breathed her last in the 
afternoon. It is learnt that her relatives are from U.P. who could not 
make it to the crematorium. So, the minister with the help of staff of 
Welfare Ministry performed the last rites. 

And Chamrasur was stunned into silence. His lips were sealed. For some
time he could do nothing save looking vacantly, fixedly at a blank. 
When he went silent, his friends got worried. Saif tried to make him 
speak. 

“Cannot believe that Rukmini is no more.” Saif said, looking sadly at
the face of Chamrasur. 

“We could not even perform her last rites,” said Gamasur. 

Jainab and Kashif also sat down beside Chamrasur. Bhanji too arrived.
Everyone began to talk about Rukmini. Chamrasur did not seem to be 
hearing anything. He sat like a statue. Jainab suggested that they 
should organize a mourning for her. Hearing this Chamrasur’s eyes 
filled with tears. Seeing him in this state, Gamasur shouted, ”We 
should ask of Sujatha as to how Rukmini died. She was with her.” 

Suddenly Chamrasur shouted at the top of his voice. 

“Rukmini has been murdered.” 

It startled everyone present. 

“We must trace Sujatha.” Bhanji said. 

“Let’s go now...” Chamrasur said grasping the hand of Bhanji. 

Immediately from there Chamrasur proceeded to Sujatha’s house along with
Bhanji and Gamasur. They were informed that she had called once to tell 
them that she was going out on an important assignment. Thereafter 
there was no news from her. Her phone was switched off. Bhanji 
suggested that they should call on the minister, but he declined to 
meet them. They went to the hospital. Doctor just informed them that 
her death had occurred because of heart failure. When Chamrasur 
demanded death certificate, it was declined on the plea that it was 
made over to the minister. Same thing cannot be issued again and again, 
doctor told them. 

Chamrasur walked out of the hospital. He was in tension. They reached
M.S.V. office. 

“Dead body was quietly disposed off and evidences destroyed.” Bhanji
declared. 

“I’ll call a press conference.” 

“Will ask for CBI probe.” 

“I’ll track down Sujatha with the help of Mama. He must know the truth.”


“I trust you.” Chamrasur said placing his hand on hers. 

When Bhanji left, Jainab turned to Chamrasur and said,”You may trust
her, we don’t.” 

“Rukmini too did not trust her,” said Saif. Chamrasur remained silent. 

The following day they received a phone call from Bhanji who informed
them that Sujaha has been traced. A number has been found whereon she 
could be spoken to. On Chamrasur asking where Sujatha was she replied 
that she did not know but it was possible to speak to her. As for 
herself, Bhanji informed them that she was at Hotel Sheraton at the 
moment. Welfare Minister and Lakshmikant were also present with her. If 
he could come now it would be possible to meet all of them. Chamrasur 
wanted to take Saif and Gamasur also along. When he rang up to call 
Gamasur, no connexion was available. Saif too could not be contacted. 
He proceeded to Hotel Sheraton alone. Bhanji was sighted in the lobby. 
Minister and Lakshmikant were also seen. He said his salutations with 
his folded hands. Lakshikant reciprocated it and said, “Right now I am 
busy in a meeting...will talk to you after a while.” 

Both of them headed towards the Conference Hall while Bhanji took
Chamrasur to a room on the third floor. 

“I had booked this room’” 

“Why?” 

“It’s my birthday today.” Bhanji smiled and then said in a subdued
voice, “There is no question of celebrating birthday after such a sad 
incident.” 

Chamrasur was silent. 

“Rukmini was my best friend. There was so much to learn from her.”
Bhanji’s eyes were moist, tears welling up. 

“We’ve been orphaned.” Chamrasur’s eyes too became tearful. 

“Uff...!” Bhanji sprang up in pain. She cupped Chamrasur’s face with her
hands and said planting a kiss on his eyes, “I wish I could suck up all 
of your tears...” 

“How can I forget the pains of Rukmini?” He burst into tears and kept on
weeping incoherently depositing his head on the shoulders of Bhanji. 

“We are all with you in this, Chamrasur...there is Nilima, Saif,
Gamasur.... all of us together will complete the work left behind by 
Rukmini.” Bhanji softly ran her hand through his hair. 

“I cannot forget her no matter how hard I try.” 

“Control yourself, Chamrasur. You have to wage a war.” 

Chamrasur cooled down, wiping his tears. 

“You did not get me to talk to Sujata.” 

“Note down this number.” Bhanji took out a number from her mobile. 

“Call her from my mobile or else she will disconnect if you called her
from your mobile.” 

Chamrasur called her. 

“Halo...” Response came from the other side. 

“Where are you, Sujatha? This is Chamrasur calling....” 

It was immediately disconnected. He kept on calling her out, but there
was no response. 

“That means she knows a great deal.” 

“Thank God, she is alive.” 

“But for how long...? If she is privy to it, her life is in danger too.”
Bhanji expressed her apprehension. 

“Where did you get her number from?” 

“She herself gave me, but did not disclose her whereabouts. She seems to
be frightened. That’s why she went into hiding.” 

“I suspect the Welfare Minister.” Chamrasur said with conviction. 

“I suspect him too,” whispered Bhanji leaning towards him. 

“But what can we do? He has destroyed all evidence. He has secured death
due to heart failure certificate from the doctor.” 

Chamrasur sat down clutching his head. 

“Come...let’s get over it...” 

Bhanji called the bearer and ordered some snacks, fished out a bottle
bearing the label of Portugal from her bag and put it on the table. 

“Mama has specifically got it imported from Portugal. The wine is
hundred years old.” 

Chamrasur quietly kept gazing at the floor. 

“What are you thinking?” 

“Sujata is a ray of hope...if she is found...” 

“With the help of Mama I’ll try to locate her.” 

“I shall remain indebted to you.” 

Bearer brought snacks. 

Bhanji brought out a bottle of beer from her bag. 

“I’ll take beer.” She smiled. 

“How long the conference will go on?” 

“Not long...the bearer will inform us... then we will go down.” 

“This is quail kebab, which is your favourite.” Bhanji pushed the plate
towards him. 

“Should I make Patiala peg for you?” 

Chamrasur nodded his head. She made a peg for him while she took beer
for herself and raised the glass. 

“This is for your success and health.” 

Chamrasur took the first drought of it. The taste of this wine was
different from that of whiskey. 

“I am really much indebted to you. You’re being so helpful.” 

“We are friends.” 

“Earlier we were foes.” He smiled. 

Bhanji burst into laughter. 

“Yes....earlier we used to hate one another.” 

“And now...?” He gulped down another drought. 

“Now...?” Bhanji very affectionately put her hand on his hand and
pressed it. 

He gulped down a few more droughts. 

“Its taste is peculiar.” He took the first drought of the second peg. 

“Peculiar...how...?” 

“Its taste is sweet like Rukmini and bitter like you.” 

Bhanji guffawed. 

“It’s getting better of me.” 

“The wine is hundred years old.” 

“Old is gold.” 

“You did not check one place.” Bhanji added some more beer in her glass.


Chamrasur looked enquiringly at her. 

“The guest house where Rukmini had stayed overnight.” 

He felt restlessness. He gulped down a big drought of wine and said,
“You’re right.” 

“You can get to know from the caretaker of the guest house as to which
room she had occupied and how many people were there.” 

“I certainly made a mistake. I’ll go there tomorrow.” There was remorse
in his voice. He took yet another big drought. 

Bhanji extended to him yet another piece of kebab. He took a mouthful of
it and gulped down yet another drought. 

She made third peg for him. 

Chamrasur’s eyes were getting closed. He was getting drowsy. 

He was getting to hear the voice of Rukmini. 

“...they were all killed deceitfully...Bhishma Pitamah...Karna,
Dronacharya.” 

Bhanji made fourth peg for him. 

After downing the fourth peg, he began to slowly descend and drown in
water. 

“Rukmini...” He indicated towards the door. His voice was unsteady. 

Bhanji smiled. 

She made fifth peg for him, then sixth.... 

Chamrasur descended deep down into water. He espied in the hands of
Bhanji a copper crocodile. It was steadily advancing towards him and 
Chamrasur found himself drowning in the water. He saw Bhanji releasing 
the copper crocodile into water. And in no time it got converted into a 
living crocodile and swiftly it started to advance towards him. Scared, 
he called out for Rukmini...Ru...ka...mi..ni...his voice was breaking 
up...it got stuck in his throat...he tried to open his eyes...he could 
see Rukmini standing at the door...he called her out once again in his 
broken and sinking voice...tried to move up and embrace her into his 
arms, but in his efforts to get up from the chair, he stumbled and 
dashed against the table, fell heavily down on the bed. His legs 
remained dangling down from the edge of the bed. 

And Bhanji leapt onto his chest. For a while before his eyes Chamrasur
could see something sparkled sharply and the very next minute a sharp 
stiletto was thrust into his chest. A heart piercing cry rose from his 
mouth and blood gushed out like fountain... 

Bhanji’s face was smeared with blood. The taste of blood that spilt on
her lips spurred her on; and she kept striking his chest relentlessly 
with the stiletto in her hand. Chamrasur writhed in pain restlessly 
like a slain quail...and for the last time he made an effort to leap 
out of it and then collapsed, and his body went still. Then Bhanji 
extricated the knife from his heart and stood up with her hands on her 
hips like a victor. Her face was turning blood red. Her eyes were 
disgorging fire and the blood on her face was dripping down on her 
dress. The knife was still in her hand and blood droplets were dripping 
down from its sharp edge. For a while she stayed in this posture 
staring down at the corpse; then went into the wash room, washed her 
knife and face clean, changed her clothes, put the bloodstained clothes 
and the knife into a bag, called someone on her mobile and quietly 
walked out of the room. 

The following day the body of Chamrasur was found in a sack floating on
water. 

This set dalits on the boil. There was a huge gathering at the M.S.V.
office. Mohandas and other relatives from his village also arrived. The 
body was handed over to them after post-mortem. But chamrasur was not 
cremated. He was buried in his village. Saif convened a meeting to 
mourn his death. Gamasur occupied the chair of Chamrasur. Gamasur’s 
eyes were teary. He could barely speak out... 

“The war will continue....” 

Xxxx xxxx xxxx 

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