It was a dry, parched landscape as far as the eye could reach. The long , treeless tar road struck the eye as it narrowed and vanished and re-emerged amidst the small rocky outcrops.Every now and then, I would roll down the windows and a blast of hot air would rush in, singing us all. We are going to Kharda from Jamkhed, where a 17 year old Dalit boy has been recently murdered over an alleged link up with an upper caste girl. We slowed down at a fork in the tree-less road. This is where Nitin lived, said our contact, pointing to a small tin shade about 20 meters off the road. A middle aged man, very dark, with a pure white beard was sitting outside the house, besides some metal water pots, all of them variously chipped off. The man was wearing a white payjama, a white banian and the usual gandhi topi that people in this area so commonly wear. This is Nitins father, introduced the contact. I did not need the introduction. The vacant eyes were full of unspeakable pain, in spite of the obviously blank stare. I saw the unmistakable stamp of grief that is humanly so very very difficult to bear, of the loss of a young child. I met the mother too and stepped inside the house, just to beat the sun. That did not help one bit. The 10 by 10 tin shade was like furnace. It was entirely bare inside, except for a motorcycle, a photograph of Dr.Ambedkar besides a photo of Nitin, all kept on the floor. Poverty and lack were strewn everywhere. I sold my gold and bought him the motorcycle, said his mother. he would go out riding other peoples bikes. I was worried there would be a problem. So I bought him this. She said. I looked at the post marten report which said that the cause of death was asphyxiation due to strangling. It mentioned several injuries on Nitins body, but technical aloofness of the PM report seemed so much diluted when I heard Nitins father, in a voice choked with pain, describe the injuries. Mr.Ghulekar, the deputy sarpanch arrived riding pillion with another person. The deputy sarpanch was the person who called the police when Nitins battered body was found partially hanging from a tree. He said it was a very unfortunate event, and the guilty ought to be punished. Ghulekars, caste Marathas who have recently been declared educationally and economically backward by Maharashtra govt, seem to be a powerful clan in Kharda. Even those arrested are mostly Ghulekars. We had a meeting later in a run-down guest house with Mr.Ghulekar, the deputy sarpanch. He started explaining Even Nitin should have thought before doing this..., his voice suddenly trailed off. there are so many different versions that the media has given, there is no pint in discussing this, he said with a finality. A heavily drunk man was sitting next to us all the while. He said taht he was driver by profession. our deputy Sarpanch, he is number 1,Such royal people, our deputy satrpanch he kept on interjecting. Is this caste violence? Many people in kharda said it was not. Everybody wants to deny this. nobody is coming forward to speak, even the dozens who witnessed it. If this is not terror, what other name can we give it? A terrible wave is unfurling itself in rural Maharashtra, the rise of identities, militant, aggressive, terrorising and threatening. why brand all muslims as terrorists?, Mr. Ghulekar, sporting a prominent tilak on his forehead and dressed in a well worn grey safari asked. We know only one caste is dong this, everyone knows the name, why mention? he spat out the words. You know who first drew Chattrapati Shivajis blood? It was Krishnaji Prabhakar, a brahmin. They never tell you this history. His eyes were now burning with hatred. I left in the late evening. I carried with me images of two pairs of eyes: the burning, hatred filled eyes of the deputy sarpanch when he spoke about :krishanji prabhakar and the empty stare of Nitins father as he described in a deadpan voice, the brutal injuries on his young sons body, as the mother sat with her back to the tin wall, peering intently at a seeming nothingness. To many of those with me, this was an instance of caste violence, which should never repeat. We all are To me, who has coped with similar loss, it was a vast, bottomless tragedy, an unending black hole, that can never be filled up, not even by god, let alone by tiny humans.
Posted on: Sat, 28 Jun 2014 05:00:48 +0000
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