Foot-Soldiers of Freedom
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July 22, 2014
https://ruralindiaonline.org/articles/panimara-foot-soldiers-of-freedom-2/
Panimara's foot soldiers of freedom - 2
TEN TALES OF FREEDOM – 3: The little settlement in Odisha that earned the name ‘Freedom Village’The last living fighters in Panimara at their daily prayers
There were battles on other fronts, too, that Panimara's freedom
fighters had to wage. Some of these were right at home.
Inspired by Gandhiji's call against untouchability, they acted.
"One day, we marched into our Jagannath temple in this village with
400 Dalits," says Chamaru. The Brahmins did not like it. But some of them
supported us. Maybe they felt compelled to. Such was the mood of the times. The
gauntiya
(village chief) was managing trustee of the temple. He was outraged and
left the village in protest. Yet, his own son joined us, supporting us and
denouncing his father's action.
"The campaign against British goods was serious. We wore only khadi. We wove it ourselves. Ideology was a
part of it. We actually were very poor, so it was good for us."
All the freedom fighters stuck to this practice for decades afterwards.
Until their fingers could no longer spin or weave. "At 90, last
year," says Chamaru, “I thought it was time to stop."
It
all started with a Congress-inspired "training" camp held in
Sambalpur in the 1930s. "This training was called `sewa' [service]
but instead we were taught about life in jail. About cleaning toilets there,
about the miserable food. We all knew what the training was really for. Nine of
us went from the village to this camp.
"We were seen off by the entire village, with garlands and sindhur and
fruit. There was that kind of sense of ferment and significance."
There was also, in the background, the magic of the Mahatma. "His
letter calling people to satyagraha
electrified us. Here we were, being told that us poor, illiterate people, could
act in defiance, to change our world. But we were also pledged to non-violence,
to a code of conduct." A code most of the freedom fighters of Panimara
lived by for the rest of their lives.
They had never seen Gandhiji then. But like millions of others, were
moved by his call. "We were inspired here by Congress leaders like
Manmohan Choudhary and Dayanand Satpathy." Panimara's fighters made their
first trip to jail even before August 1942. “We had taken a vow. Any kind of
cooperation with the war [World War II] in money or in person, was a betrayal.
A sin. War had to be protested by all non-violent means. Everybody in this
village supported this.
"We went to jail in Cuttack for six weeks. The British were not
keeping people imprisoned for long. Mainly because there were thousands
cramming into their jails. There were just too many people willing to be
jailed."
The anti-untouchability campaign threw up the first internal pressures.
But these were overcome. "Even today," says Dayanidhi, "we don't
use Brahmins for most of our rituals. That `temple entry' upset some of them.
Though, of course, most felt compelled to join us in the Quit India
movement."
Caste exerted other pressures, too. "Each time we came out of
jail," says Madan Bhoi, "relatives in nearby villages wanted us to be
`purified'. This was because we had been in prison with untouchables." (This
"purification" of caste prisoners goes on in rural Orissa, even
today: PS).
"When I returned from jail once," says Bhoi, "it was the
11th day ceremony for my maternal grandmother. She had died while I was inside
jail. My uncle asked me, `Madan, have you been purified?' I said no, we purify
others by our actions as satyagrahis.
I was then seated separately from the rest of the family. I was isolated and
ate alone.
"My marriage had been fixed before I went to jail. When I came out,
it was cancelled. The girl's father did not want a jailbird for a son-in-law.
Finally, though, I found a bride from Sarandapalli, a village where the
Congress had great influence."
Chamaru, Jitendra and Purnachandra had no problems of purity at all during
their prison stay in August 1942.
"They sent us to a prison for criminals. We made the most of
it," says Jitendra. "In those days, the British were trying to
recruit soldiers to die in their war against Germany. So they held out promises
to those who were serving long sentences as criminals. Those who signed up for
the war would be given Rs. 100. Each of their families would get Rs. 500. And
they would be free after the war.
"We campaigned with the criminal prisoners. Is it worth dying for
Rs. 500 for these people and their wars? You will surely be amongst the first
to die, we told them. You are not important for them. Why should you be their
cannon fodder?
"After a while, they began to listen to us. [They used to call us
Gandhi, or simply, Congress]. Many of
them dropped out of the scheme. They rebelled and refused to go. The warden was
most unhappy. `Why have you dissuaded them?' he asked. `They were ready to go till
now’. We told him that, in retrospect, we were happy to have been placed
amongst the criminals. We were able to make them see the truth of what was
going on.
"The next day we were transferred to a jail for political
prisoners. Our sentence was changed to six months of simple imprisonment.”
What was the injustice of the British Raj that provoked them to confront
so mighty an empire?
"Ask me what was the justice in the British Raj," says Chamaru
with gentle derision. That was not a smart question to have put to him.
"Everything about it was injustice.
"We were the slaves of the British. They destroyed our economy. Our
people had no rights. Our agriculture was ruined. People were reduced to
terrible poverty. Between July and September 1942 only five or seven of the 400
families here had enough to eat. The rest braved hunger and humiliation.
"The present rulers too, are pretty shameless. They loot the poor as
well. Mind you, I won't equate anything to the British Raj, though. But our
present lot are also awful.”
Panimara’s freedom fighters still go to the Jagannath temple every
morning. Where they beat the nissan (drum) as
they have since 1942. At an early hour, it can be heard for a couple of
kilometres around, they say.
But on Fridays, the freedom fighters try to gather at 5.17 p.m. Because
"it was Friday that the Mahatma was murdered." At 5.17 p.m. It's a
tradition this village has kept alive for 54 years.
It's a Friday today, and we accompany them to the temple. Four of the
seven living freedom fighters are present. Chamaru, Dayanidhi, Madan and
Jitendra. Three others, Chaitanya, Chandrashekar Sahu and Chandrashekar Parida,
are out of the village just now.
The foyer of the temple is packed with people, who sing a bhajan favoured by Gandhi. "In
1948," says Chamaru, "many in this village shaved their heads when
the news of the Mahatma's murder came. They felt they had lost their father.
And to this day, many fast on Fridays."
Jitendra Pradhan, 81, and others singing one of Gandhi's favourite bhajans
May be some of the children are here in the little temple out of
curiosity. But this is a village with a sense of its history. With a sense of
its own heroism. One that feels a duty to keep the flame of freedom alive.
Panimara is a village of small cultivators. "There were around 100
Kulta (cultivator caste) families. About
80 Oriya (also cultivators). Close to 50 Saura Adivasi households, 10 goldsmith
caste families. Some Goud (Yadav) families and so on," says Dayanidhi.
That, broadly, remains the village’s . Most of the freedom fighters were
members of the cultivator castes. "True, we have not had too many
inter-caste marriages. But relations between the groups have always been fine
since the days of the freedom struggle. The temple is still open to all. The
rights of all are respected."
There are a few who feel some of their rights have not been recognised.
Dibitya Bhoi is one of them. "I was very young and I was badly thrashed by
the British," he says. Bhoi was then 13. But since he was not sent to
prison, his name did not make it to the official list of freedom fighters. Some
others were also badly beaten up by the British but ignored in the official
record because they did not go to prison.
That colours the names on the stambh
or pillar to commemorate the freedom fighters. Only the names of those who
went to jail in 1942 are there. But no one disputes their right to be there.
Just sadly, the way the official recording of "freedom fighters"
went, it left out others who also deserved recognition.
Showing a visitor the full list of Panimara's fighters
August 2002, 60 years later, and Panimara's freedom fighters are at it
again.
This time Madan Bhoi – the poorest of the seven, owning just over half
an acre of land – and his friends are sitting on a dharna.
This is just outside the Sohela telephone office. "Imagine," says
Bhoi, "after all these decades, this village of ours does not have a
telephone."
So on that demand, “we sat on a dharna.
The SDO [sub-divisional officer] said he had never heard of our village,"
he laughs. "This is blasphemy if you live in Bargarh. This time, funnily,
the police intervened."
The police, who knew these men as living legends, marvelled at the SDO's
ignorance. And were quite worried about the condition of the 80-year-olds.
"In fact, after hours of the dharna,
the police, a doctor, medical staff and others intervened. Then the telephone
people promised us an instrument by September 15. Let us see."
Once again, Panimara's fighters were struggling for others. Not for
themselves. What did they ever get out of their struggles for themselves?
"Freedom," says Chamaru.
For you and me.
Photos: P. Sainath
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