BEDTIME STORIES FROM BIHAR

Chapter One: "Kill the bastard, kill him... maar saale haraami ke bachche ko..."

Jehanabad, February 16, 1998: "Kill the bastard, kill him... don't leave him... jaan maare do saale haraami ke bachche ke... chorna nahin saale ko." The crowd roars, chasing a man in a vest and trousers, clutching his shirt and running for his life. Over 50 people are running after him, throwing stones and sticks. As he crosses the main Arwal chowk, a stone hits him in the back, he falls down, grapples in the dust, gets up and races forward. As he reached the other side of the crossing, his friends take hold of him and begin a counter attack. More stones, bricks and sticks thrown.
As we turn left from the crossing on what is called the Unta-Madarpur main Jehanabad-Patna highway, two groups are facing each other on either side of the road. There is no policeman in sight and ours is the only car, slowly pacing up the road.
Suddenly, the group on the right rushes menacingly towards the one on the left. Hordes of them, yelling and screaming, stones, soda bottles in hand. They jump down the footpath and over an open, dry sewer and reach a cleared stretch of land. Rioting begins. One man probably the owner of a log factory, gets on top of a pile of logs, picks one up with both his hands, takes it right behind his back and hits his opponent on the head. The man falls down, bleeding from the skull.
Another man is dragged to the middle of the road, hit hard on the back by someone else and kicked by a third.
Nobody noticed the first blast but when the second bomb exploded some distance away, the group which came from the right side of the road began a panicky retreat only to be stopped by the sound of gunshots. One from the left, second from the right, a third and a fourth. Probably the bullets were fired in air or badly aimed. No one was hit. It is difficult to react in such situations. We didn't know whether the middle of the road where we stood partly camaflouged by the car was a better place or whether we should run to either of the sides from where the gunshots came.
A jeep screeches to a halt right behind the mob. Six constables and a sub-inspector spring out of it. The SI screams: "Maar ke barbaad kar denge saale, hatt. (I'll kill you, GET LOST FROM HERE)." Lathis are swung into action, on the shoulders, neck, legs. The sheer force of the blows brings the victims to their knees. Within minutes, the two sides return to their respective border.
"Bastards," the SI spits on the road and wipes the paan-stained mouth with two fingers. "Everyone is abusing the administration. You tell me, how can every booth be given static (stationary) force. We heard about this incident and came running from another sensitive booth. Bastards, they have posted a homeguard there who doesn't even know how to hold a stick). (pauses, looks around) Aye, bhaag saale yahan se (HEY YOU! GET LOST FROM HERE)," and the SI with a blue scarf around his neck rushes after someone, swaying his lathi.
This was Jehanabad at 12 noon. On the right side of the road were RJD supporters and on the left, Samata. And the dispute was who should control booth number 158 near the petrol pump.
It's amazing how foreign tourists still flock to Gaya in the worst of times, for a pilgrimage to Bodhgaya. Dressed in a bright red T-shirt, blue cap and blue jeans, one such truth-seeker is walking on the streets of Gaya at midnight, undeterred by the stony silence of the city waiting for a storm in the morning.
The early morning polling in Gaya is deceptively calm and heart-warming.
7.15 am, booth numbers 127-130, Mahavir Vidyalay: Two long queues of men and women wait outside the booth, voter slips firmly in their hands but the ballot papers are yet to come.
7.35 am, booth numbers 136 and 137: Peaceful polling. Families come in Maruti cars, park them inside the booth complex and stand in the queue. A lone woman in a burqa alights from a rickshaw and walks in.
8.30 am, booth number 132, Kijyapi village: A very old man, hands trembling, stamps the lantern symbol, clumsily folds the ballot paper and casts his vote.
9 am, booth number 271, Tekari village: 200 votes have already been cast and more men and women in bright sarees wait for their turn.
9.30 am: The first signs of trouble. Polling officer Suresh Prasad has brought a sack full of torn ballot papers to the Tekari police station and is giving his statement. "The goons beat us up, tore the ballot papers and ran away with the ballot box." Story of booth number 16 at Nisurpur. Someone has a different version: "Shivbachan Yadav (RJD MLA) started the fight. We ran away."
The wireless babu at Tekari PS tells more stories. "Booth number 4 at Konch, 300 ballot papers were torn. Polling stalled. Incidents of booth capturing have also been reported from Chakri and Kundi. There have been violent clashes in Bodhgaya also."
10.20 am: A booth is ransacked in Kurtha.
11 am, booth number 169: "Luteras (booth looters)" have walked off with 900 ballot papers. Only 39 votes have been polled. "There was not even one guard here," complains the polling office, now sitting comfortably on the verandah of the booth, smoking a bidi.
By noon we reached Jehanabad to witness the madness on the streets.
By 1 pm, word gets around about the first murder, at Amein village, 10 kilometres into the fields. Half-way through the distance, we are told that the body has been taken to Kolapur by the angry villagers. Kolapur cannot be accessed by road. It's a there kilometre trek. We turn back to Jehanabad town after hearing stories of how Arun Kumar, Samata candidate, allegedly opened fire and shooed away the Bhumihar voters at booth numbers 76, 77 and 78 and Pinjora village. The booths are deserted.
2.30 pm: Back to Unta-Madarpur main Jehanabad-Patna highway. Arun Kumar alongwith hordes of Samata supporters have blocked the road. "DM hai-hai, DM hai-hai. DM booth-lutera hai (Down with the DM, down, down, DM is a booth looter)," a frenzy has gripped the mob.
We are mobbed by sweaty hands. "Sir, sir RJD waala goli chalaya. Candidate ke upar pachchas round fire kiya... Sir, sir DM ko maine apni aankh se booth lutate dekha, Krishna Medical College ke booth par... Sir, sir DM dekhta raha aur RJD waale firing karte rahe... Sir, sir... (sir, sir, the RJD people fired at us, they fired at the candidate, they fired 50 rounds, sir, sir, we saw the DM looting a booth, the Krishna Medical College booth... sir, sir...)"
Two CRPF jeeps arrive and are immediately gheraoed by the crowd who bang at the window panes and doors. The jeeps scoot away and the mob again sits down in the middle of the road, frenetically chanting: "DM hai-hai (DM down, down)."
SP Manmohan Singh arrives with a truckload of policemen. Arun Kumar is taken to a corner, the crowd watches silently.
"Saale abhi arrest kar lunga. Danga karte hein, ye jeetne ka tariqa hai?" (Bastard, I'll arrest you right now. is this the way to win elections??) The SP screams at the top of his voice. Arun Kumar is left alone and makes a hapless plea: "But what did I do? They (pointing to the RJD side of the road) fired at me. 100 rounds were fired."
Tempers are soaring high. The policemen accompanying the SP are getting agitated. A constable narrates his version. "Sir, his secujritymen fired ." The SP is now in a rage. "Get lost from here. Take your supporters and go away. If you have been attacked, give me a written complaint but leave the road NOW, understood?"
The candidate gets into his ambassador mumbling that he will send a fax to the Election Commission immediately. Both sides of the road are now back to where they were before it all began. We leave Unta-Madarpur reluctantly, knowing there will be more action within minutes.
4 pm, Patna, Hindustan Times newsroom: "You missed some great action. Ballot papers were torn at several places, there was firing also, one injured... Police ko itna maara ke police rone lagi... (The policemen were beaten up badly, they started crying...)"

Chapter Two: "Haq maangte hain bechaare... dekho kitna toofan hai..."

On board Laloo's Garib Chetna Rath, February 11, 1998: It's 6 pm and husband Laloo Yadav with wife and chief minister Rabri Devi have just finished their last public meeting in Biharsharief. The helicopter has been sent back to Patna and the two now board the Garib Chetna Rath for a return journey by road.
As he makes himself comfortable on the seat next to the driver, Laloo wipes his face with a pink towel. Rabri sits next to him on the engine box covered with a mattress.
"Dekho kitna toofan hai (See, such a storm of people)," he points to the tens of thousands of people surrounding the olive-green matador, decorated with flashlights, slogans and blaring Bhojpuri songs in praise of Laloo-Rabri.
Picking up the wireless set, he directs the pilot jeep: "We will go to Hilsa via Ekangar. Don't tell me that the road is bad. Turn right. Clear?" "Clear, sir."
With "Anwar, khaini (Anwar, give some khaini)," the two begin the five-hour-long journey covering 70 kilometres and innumerable halts at roadside villages and small towns.
"Paswan, musahar, barhai, everyone is with me. See, see that's a Paswan," he points to a man, wearing only a loincloth, menacingly dancing and running along the rath as it leaves the meeting ground, throwing up huge clouds of dust.
Turning to the candidate Ram Swaroop Prasad who has the daunting task of taking on George Fernandes from here (Nalanda seat), Laloo says: "There is wave everywhere. Just make sure that all the votes are polled. In every booth at least 300-400 votes should be polled." "Sir, you jusht don't worry. I will win by a huge margin," replies Ram Swaroop, brimming with confidence.
6.30 pm: We reach a small hamlet, Noorsarai, on the outskirts of Biharsharief. A group of men and women are standing on the roadside, parts of their half-naked bodies illuminated by the headlights of the matador. Seeing the glittering cavalcade of police jeeps, cars and the rath, they rush to stop it. "Aao, aao (Come, come)," Laloo beckons them through the microphone. "Mahila log ko aage aane do. Aao mahila log, aao-aao, aage aao. Dekho yahi hai mukhya mantri, dekho, dekho (Women, come forward, hey you, let the women come forward, come women come, see, see, this is your chief minister, come, see)." And he points to Rabri, telling her to get up and do pranam.
"Speak, speak," he directs her. Nervous and coy, a tired chief minister holds the microphone in both her hands and softly delivers her three lines:
"Sabhi bhai-behnon ko pranam karti hoon (Pranam to all brothers and sisters)."
"Haan ( Yess)," says Laloo.
"Laltain pe mohar lagana hai (Vote for lantern)."
"Haan," says Laloo.
"Dilli pe charhai karni hai, apni sarkar banani hai (We have to form a government in Delhi)."
"Haan," says Laloo.
Someone starts complaining. "Sir, sir we don't have houses." "What can I do? Laloo replies. "When I was making houses for you musahars, the BJP put me in jail. How could I have constructed homes for you?" The handful of people nod sympathetically and the caravan moves on.
Someone else asks, "Sir, road is very bad."
"Why do you need roads? Do you travel in Ambassador cars?" Laloo replies. Everyone laughs.
"Haq maang rahe hein bechaare (Poor people, asking for their rights)," and he turns to Anwar, the loyal aide. "What cassette is this? Throw it. Play the one about Dilli (Delhi)." Anwar springs into action and does the needful.
The tension is palpable. The charisma is waning, the crowds are thinning. In 1996, on the same rath, the same people made the same complaints and Laloo Yadav has no new answers to give. The only difference is that he is losing his cool more often than before.
Softening a bit, he turns to Rabri. "Will you eat some puris?" The chief minister blushes and says a polite, no. "Kuchch kha lo. Aye Anwar, puri laao (Please eat some, aye Anwar, get some puris)," he insists. A steel tiffin box is fetched and Rabri makes neat rolls of sattu-filled puris them to Laloo.
7 pm, Madhopur: Another roadside hamlet. The same act is repeated. "Come, come, see the chief minister, she is the chief minister, come see." But the people want Laloo Bhaiyya. "Sir, sir, one minute sir, please come down, sir, just one minute sir," they plead him to come down and see their huts. Laloo, already late by three hours for a meeting at Hilsa, promises to the huts on his way back. There is no way back. He goes to Patna from Hilsa.
7.30 pm, Nagarnausa: A crowd surrounds the matador. Laloo takes hold of the microphone. "Dekho, yahi hai mukhya mantri aur main? Main hun Laloo Yadav (See, see, she is your chief minister and who am I? I am laloo Yadav). Aao dekho (come, see). I will now give the mike to the chief minister, she will speak to you." The same three lines are repeated: "Apni sarkar banani hai.. "
Someone rushes up to Laloo's door, climbs up and pleads: "Sir, Rabriji ka phool sa chehra nahin dekh paye. Ek baar dikha deejeye. (Sir, sir, can we see Rabriji's flower-like face, just for a moment, sir)" Laloo laughs hysterically and asks Anwar to get a torch but a TV cameraman accompanying us does the needful and focuses the camera spotlight on the chief minister who smiles and bows with folded hands. The man is ecstatic and probably drunk on country liquor. He almost falls down from the door, gets up and starts dancing maniacally, shouting: "Laloo-Rabri zindabad."
There's something unnerving about a drunk farmer or labourer dancing. The hands and legs go in all directions as he tries to copy the films he has seen. I don't think that a farmer or labourer in Bihar ever dances except when they are drunk, and it's scary. Laloo tells the driver to move on, asks for khaini.. "What kind of khaini is this?" "Sir, SP sahib gave it," Anwar chacha replies apologetically. "Throw it, get fresh one. Get water."
We have now entered Barh, Nitish Kumar's constituency. The cavalcade is stopped at Tarora village. "We will come back from Hilsa," Laloo waves at the crowd and tells the driver to move fast. A petition is pushed through his window. "We the villagers of Tarora village beg you to give us electricity, build our houses under Indira Vikas Yojana, give irrigation facilities et cetera..."
At 8 pm, the motorcade gets stuck in a small lane in Hilsa town. We walk through a pitch dark lane lined with an open, stinking drainage, accompanied by a posse of policemen showing the way with torches. The meeting here was scheduled at 4.30 pm but some people are still there. As news of Laloo's arrival spreads, others rush in to the ground. The only illumination in area are a couple of tubelights lighting up the stage.
The chief minister adds one more line to the three she has recited everywhere. "Bihar ke beti hone ke naate mein aapse appeal karti hoon, laltain pe mohar lagayein. Ek haanth mein laltain leejiye aur doosre mein jharu. Jharu se sab koora-karkat saaf kar deejiye. (I am the daughter of Bihar and that is why I am appealing to you, vote for lantern. Keep the lantern in one hand and the broom in the other. Clean up all the muck with the broom)"
Laloo launches a frontal attack on the BJP. "Nobody is talking about unemployment. They are talking about mandir. Nobody is talking about inflation. They are talking about mandir. Nobody is talking about housing. They are talking about mandir," he screams, everytime saying "mandir" in a sing-song tone, generating enough laughter to see the meeting through.
"Wahi puraana mandir-masjid ka jhagra shuru kar diya hai. Sola-hazaar log maare gaye dangon mein. Bum-bai jal gaya tha (The same fight over temple and mosque has begun. 16,000 people were killed in riots, Bombay was burning)," he yells.
Strangely, the crowd started laughing. Agitated, Laloo shouts back: "Is this a joke? Why are you laughing? You will not be able to go to Bombay to give your job interviews. Agar mein jhoot bol raha hun to mat dena mujhe vote. Mera kasoor kya hai? Pure desh mein maine arakshan diya, garibon ke aanson poche, yahi? (If I am lying, don't vote for me. What is my fault? I gave you reservations, I wiped your tears?"
Sensing that he was going over-board and showing lack of confidence, he returns to the BJP. "Aye Ram ko jaananey waalon, Ram ko dhoondhana hai to garibon ke dil mein dhoondho. (Oh you people, if you want to look for Lord Ram, you'll find him innthe hearts of the poor people)." This had the desired effect and he got a roar of applause.
Some 20 kilometers from Patna the cavalcade is stopped by an angry mob of milkmen, Yadavs. "Sir, we were beaten up at Begumpur, Patna City. 2,000 tonnes of milk was thrown, police fired at us, the goons beat us up. We will not bring milk to Patna," everyone is talking at the same time.
Enraged, Laloo summons the DSP from the pilot jeep. "What is this?" The DSP mumbles something, tries to explain. Laloo picks up the wireless set: "P-I-R (Police Information Room) ko bolo ke Begumpur mein jo log doodhwaalon ke saath gundagardi kiya hai, unko theek karein. Tell the DIG to reach the residence, usko bula ke rakho. Bolo CM ka adesh hua hai. Clear hua? (Tell the PIR to fix those who have beaten up the milkmen. Tell the DIG to reach the residence. Tell him, CM has ordered)" "Jee sir, clear." Bleary-eyed, Rabri stares blankly at the angry mob.
Turning to the DSP, Laloo says, "Maar lathi ke girao jo saalon ko. Kal kuchch hua to dekh leejeyega. (Beat the bastards, okay? If anything happens tomorrow, I'll see you)." "Jee Sir," the DSP scrambles back to his jeep.
At 10 pm sharp, the music is switched off. At 10:10 pm Laloo realises that something is missing. To Anwar: "What happened to the music?" "Sir, it's 10 pm." "Arrey hatt, chala cassette. (Get lost, play the cassette)" The music is put on again: "Laloo tera jag hai diwaana. Hai Ram, Laloo ka hai zamaana..."
11.15 pm: The cavalcade zooms into the chief minister's residence. Eldest daughter Misa is waiting at the door and so is youngest son Kursi, in a yellow T-shirt, jeans and a cap. Rabri holds Kursi's little hands and him inside the house.

Chapter Three: Rome mein Pope, Madhepura mein Gope

Madhepura, February 13, 1998: At the beginning of the campaign, Sharad Yadav was getting 75 paise for one rupee and Laloo Yadav, 25 paise. By the end of it, it had changed to 25 for Sharadji and 75 for Laloo bhaiyya.
There are no bookies in Madhepura but this is one Lok Sabha seat where the Yadavs are willing to put everything at stake. The saying goes here: "Jaise Rome mein Pope, vaise Madhepura mein Gope (Like there is Pope in Rome, there is Gope or Yadav in Madhepura)." Today, a Gope fights a Gope to become the Pope of Madhepura.
"It is the question of the prestige of Yadavs," says Uttam Lal Yadav. "Whoever wins from here will be called the real leader of the Yadavs."
If nowhere else, election fever is at its peak in Madhepura. From the balcony of Hotel Madhepura, the city can be seen waking up. 5.45 am, the temple bells ring, the priest cleans the road in front of the temple, a morning train brings a line of men, women and children, walking quietly back to their homes. By 6.05 am, the tea shop opens and so does Hallo Doorbhash Kendra.
By 7.20 a.m., the first jeep with Janata Dal flags stops at the teashop. People get down and have tea. By 8 am, the city is alive. More jeeps, both "chakka chaap" and "laltain chaap" run up and down. The microphones are switched on, sloganeering begins. Songs are blared through mikes fitted on rickshaws and cyclists pedal up and down with flags in their hands.
Thursday is an important day for Madhepura. Both Sharad and Laloo will be campaigning today, a day before campaigning ends. Sharad Yadav has visited the constituency a number of times after filing his nomination but Laloo Yadav is coming for the first time after he filed his nomination.
"He doesn't need to come here. He will set a record for the Guinness book," says a local taxi driver. Ask the panwallah next to the taxi driver: "Nothing can be said, Sir. Sharadji is giving a very tough fight. You can't say anything till the votes are cast."
A local journalist has a "simpul arithmetic" to offer. "See there are 2.4 lakh Jadavs and 7.3 lakh nun (non)-Jadavs. Nun (non)-Jadavs (Yadavs) will never bote phor Laloo so usko aap minus kar deejeye. Bacha kya? (Non-Yadavs will never vote for Laloo, so you minus that. What is left?) Only 2.4 lakh Jadavs. Issme se ek bhee Jadav Laloo ke khilaf gaya to Lalooji saaf. Simpull arithmetic (Even if one yadav goes against Laloo, he will be wiped out)," he smiles and puts the pen down on our food bill.
There's a special brightness to the red colour of Hero Hondas in Madhepura. Dilip Kumar Yadav, black goggles, face covered with gumcha, black trousers and a orange shirt, stops his bike in the middle of a high school ground in Sahugarh, a village on the outskirts of the town. Dilip is M.Sc. from T.P College. Wiping the petrol tank of his bike with the gumcha, Dilip has his own "simpul arithmetic" to offer. "We need Lalooji for Bihar, not for the country. Sharadji is an intelligent man. he should go to the Lok Sabha. laloo is good for Bihar."
Sharad Yadav's helicopter is about to land as Sahugarh high school; grounds but Kasi Prasad Jadav will not go there. "See that road," he points to the kuchcha road our car has just been through. "This is the only link to the town. Everyday we walk on it. See my feet. Sab chila gaya hai. The MLA came, I said why have you come, to celebrate? Can't you fix the road? He just said speak to the MP."
According to Kasi Prasad Yadav, this election has nothing to do with caste. "Both are Yadavs. Where is the fight? Whoever does my work, will get my vote," he says.
The sound of the helicopter drives the village crazy. Children rush out from behind the huts, abandoning their play, women, struggling to keep their heads and face covered also scamper to the spot where the wonder machine will land, some men also leave the dais and join the children.
A neat circle is formed around the H-mark where the chopper will land. After circling the ground once, it lands to a round of applause. Sharad Yadav gets down and walks straight to the dais. Speeches begin, even Sharad Yadav begins to speak but nothing disturbs this neat circle of men and women and children who continue to gaze at the helicopter some distance away from the main dais.
"We have never seen a helicopter in our lives, everyone has come to see it," says Rajender Yadav. It's not a very happy situation for Sharad Yadav who is left with a handful of people to address while the rest study the helicopter from all possible angles.
Putting up a brave front and after a tiff with a photographer, Sharadji begins: "Sahugarh ko mein apna ghar maanta hun… Ladai bilkul seedhi hai. Ek taraf hai tantra aur doosri taraf Loktantra… Iss hare jhande ke liye bahut logon ne jaan de, aaj jo laltain leke ghum rahe hain, unko bhee iss hare jhande ne taakat de thee lekin jab bhai-bhai ka jhagra hota hai, to lehaaj nahi rehta… Ek inth bhee agar Bihar sarkar se madad milti to mein iss ilake ko bahaal kar deta…. raja aur runk ke ladai hai, Badshah aur fakir ke ladai hai… Jai Hind, Jai Bharat. (Sahugarh is like my home. The fight is very simple. On one side is mischief, the other side is democracy, many people have sacrificed their lives for this green flag, those who are roaming about with a lantern these days, they were also created by this green flag, when brothers fight, there is no politeness, if the Bihar government had given me even a little help, I would have developed this region, today, it is a fight between the king and the commoner, an emperor and a beggar)."
At another knot of huts in this vast landscape of wheat and maize crops, Laloo Yadav is also beginning his day, which will see 15 meetings. Unlike Sharad, Laloo Yadav comes straight to the point. He doesn't have time. "Laltain pe mohar lagana, Sharad ne mere saath dhoka kiya, usko haraana hai… (Vote for lantern. Sharad has betrayed me, you must defeat him)."
We miss Laloo's meeting at Kumarkhand but at least a kilometer long line of people returning from the meeting tell the story. "Heard Laloo's speech?" "Yes" a woman blushes behind her pink veil. "How was it?" "Couldn't understand anything, I just came to see him," another charming half-smile and she walks off.
Madhepura is the third most illiterate district in the country and the most illiterate in Bihar but Sharad supporters claim he has done a lot. The list is impressive: 44 primary schools, 24 roads, a university, an agricultural research centre, railway link etc.
Siripur Chakla is a remote village in the district. Standing at the corner of the village, it is difficult to spot another hut for miles, covered with fields. Rajo Prasad Yadav is not bothered about schools and road. "We work hard and earn our livelihood. laloo has give us self-respect, we will vote for him. The whole panchayat will vote for Laloo," he says insisting we have tea in his hut.
As dusk settles in Madhepura town, a frenzy grips the people. A tractor full of men and children blocks the traffic with: "Laloo tera jag hai deewana, Hai ram Laloo ka hai zamana, Laloo Yadav zindabad."
A jeep convoy blocks the traffic at another end of the town with: "Phoot gaya laltain, beh gaya tail, Buk-buk karoge to phir jaoge jail, Sharad Yadav zindabad." In between are cyclists with flags, rickshaws with banners and mikes.
As we leave the town, it is still "75p in a rupee for Laloo Yadav." "But it is still to early sir. If it was in our hands, we would have ensured that both of them win from here!" Dilip Kumar Yadav, Msc., T.P. College.

Chapter Four: Koshi Yadav ke haseen sapne

Sripurchakla (Madhepura), February 14, 1998: This is the story of Koshi Yadav, a small farmer who has sold his land for Rs 35,000 and is contesting for a seat in Parliament because he wants to give water to his village, a school, a hospital, pucca houses and a "cloth mill."
Sripurchakla is one of those remote villages in Madhepura accessed by a 10-kilometre stretch of kuchcha road which ends at the last hut in the village. Beyond it are endless patches of fields.
From the point we leave the highway, Koshi Yadav is known to everyone. "Just go straight. Where the road ends, you'll see Koshiji's house," directs a tea stall owner.
Dressed in a sparkling-white kurta-pyjama, Koshi Yadav walks next to a rickshaw fitted with a microphone and blue banner: "Vote for Koshi Yadav. Koshi Yadav zindabad"
"When I went to Punjab as a labourer, I saw the prosperity of the farmers. There was water in their fields, power, bijli-motor, sab kuchch tha. Then I thought that no political party helps the farmers of Bihar and I decided that I must fight for the rights of my village," says Koshi.
As he poses for a photograph, his supporters are asked to raise slogans but this is something which Koshi likes to do himself. Hands raised, he shouts: "Koshi Yadav zindabad." "Zindabad, zindabad," echo a handful of villagers gathered around him.
"It is the question of the village prestige. He (Koshi) will get some votes. Basically, everyone will vote for Laloo but Koshi will also get some votes," says Rajo Prasad Yadav, another farmer of this village.
Inside Koshi's kuchcha hut, his wife is busy packing a lunch box for her husband. From 6 am to 10 am Koshi works in a part of the fields he has kept with himself. From 10 am to 9 pm, he campaigns in the neighbouring panchayats and in the town.
Asked to bring his wife for a group photograph, a verbal duel breaks out between the two. The wife doesn't want to be photographed in tattered clothes but Koshi is adamant. The issue is settled when Koshi's five children and the government security guard (provided to every candidate) make up for the wife who coyly watches from behind the hut door.
Conceding that he has little chance of winning against Laloo Prasad Yadav and Sharad Yadav, Koshi says this is just the beginning. "I will not rest in peace till I get my villagers their rights. I pray to God and I will fight alone. Just do me asmall favour, somehow get me another rickshaw for campaigning." Small wants of a big man in Sripurchakla.

Chapter Five: Lal Salaam

Siwan, February 21, 1998: A crude mound of mud shaped in the form of a grave is surrounded by bamboo sticks. A few red flags flutter in the light afternoon breeze. A bush of wild flowers grows in a corner. A red banner says: "Amar Shahid Chandrashekhar ko lal salaam (Red salute to Chandrashekhar, the great martyr)."
The memorial, in the compound of his hut at Bindusar Bujurg village, the spot where he was cremated, is the end of the journey of a young revolutionary who left NDA, his studies at JNU and returned to awaken the people of Siwan.
"Everyone at JNU had warned Chandu to be careful," recalls Kavitha Krishnan, doing her PhD in English from JNU. Kavitha alongwith four other students and Prof. Chinnoy have come to Siwan to campaign for the CPI (ML).
It's past midnight and the party office at the bus station is deserted. People are sleeping and the gates are closed. Chandrashekhar's mother Kaushalya Devi is also sleeping in one of the rooms but wakes up the moment we enter. She has a story to tell but tears don't stop flowing down her aging, wet eyes.
Kaushalya Devi lost her husband when Chandrashekhar was only eight years old. She tilled the land and earned enough money to give her son a good education. He was sent to Sainik School from where he entered the NDA.
"But he didn't like it there," she recalls. "He said everyone is rich man's son, I don't fit in here, I want to come back."
Soon Chandrashekhar dropped out of NDA and joined JNU to pursue MA and then MPhil in political science. Late night cups of tea at the Ganga Dhaba, heated debates and the burning urge to strive for the rights of the poor and deprived led Chandrashekhar to join All India Students Federation, the student wing of the CPI (ML). His popularity shot in months and for the first time in the history of JNU, he became the student's union president for two consecutive terms.
In between his trips to Siwan, Chandrashekhar led student agitations throughout the country and when he visited Siwan, he organised rallies for mass awakening, tutoring the poor to stand up for their rights.
On March 31, 1997, Chandrashekhar was leading one such procession on the main street of Siwan leading towards the J.P. Chowk.
At 4 pm, when he was addressing the crowd next to the statue of J.P., a bullet hit him in the head. As he fell down, seven more bullets from various directions went through his chest. More bullets hit party leader Shyamnarain Yadav and rickshawpuller Bhuteli Mian. The three bodies slumped on the dusty road and the crowd ran for cover.
"My brother came to me, drenched in blood," Kaushalya remembers. "I knew what had happened. I screamed: Shahabudin has murdered my son. I ran to the hospital. Pappu (Chandrashekhar's pet name) was lying on the hospital bed. His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. There was no expression on his face. I ran my hands over his body and then put my head on his chest. He was dead."
The murder rocked Delhi and burned Siwan. Students took to the streets in Delhi. Nationwide seminars were held, memorandums submitted. Though Shahabuddin was in jail at the time of the incident, a case was filed against him under section 120 (conspiracy) on the basis of sworn affidavits submitted by Chandrashekar's mother and friends. A CBI inquiry is still underway.
"We tried so much. Nothing has happened. Today, the same goon is contesting from here," says Kaushalya.
Three kilometres from Chandrashekhar's memorial, Mohammad Shahabuddin is garlanding the statue of J.P. next to which Chandrashekhar fell to the assassin's bullets. With Shahabuddin are 5,000 men, part of a procession marching on the streets of Siwan on the last day of campaigning here.
There's a frenzy in the mob accompanying Shahabuddin. Young men run ahead, dressed in green, blowing whistles and clearing the traffic. Others holding lanterns chant: "Shere Shahbu zindabad. Veer Shahbu zindabad." Shopkeepers watch from behind their cash counters, residents are perched on rooftops and balconies. Shahabuddin, a six-foot tall, broad built man smiles at them and waves but for those on the rooftops, waving back at Shahabuddin is a brave act.
"Shahabuddin nahin aandhi hai, Bihar ka ye Gandhi hai (Shahabuddin is like a storm, he is the Gandhi of Bihar)," the crowd roars as the garland is placed around J.P.'s bust.
There are 29 criminal cases pending against Shahabuddin ranging from murder, attempt to murder, conspiracy to murder, threats, extortion, illegal possession of arms and explosives, disturbing peace and booth capturing etc.
According to a fact-sheet prepared by the CPI (ML) and based on police records, Mohammad Shahabuddin's life in crime began in 1985 when he was barely 20. In that year, he was booked under section 324, 307 (attempt to murder) and section 34 of the IPC. After five bloody years during which numerous cases were lodged against him, Shahabuddin contested the Assembly elections in 1990 and won as an Independent from Jeeradei constituency. Soon after that he joined the Janata Dal under the leadership of Laloo Yadav the then chief minister.
In 1993, he was charged under sections 143, 148, 149, 334 and 307 in Hussainganj police station. The charge: In one night, his gang members massacred CPI (ML) supporters Salaluddin Ansari, Lal Bahadur Bhagat, Jagdish Bhagat, Shivnath Bhagat and Lilawati Devi at Jeeradei. The incident came to be known as the Jeeradei massacre.
During the 1996 Lok Sabha elections, Shahabuddin was booked under sections 147, 148, 149, 327, 307 and 302. The charge: He led an armed gang and captured several booths including one at Ramnagar-Satpokharia where they killed Hiralal Manjhi, Chandrika Ram and Shekhar Sah. No arrest was made.
The day after the polling, the then SP of Siwan tried to arrest Shahabuddin but he and his men opened fire on the police officer. The SP lodged a case against him but he was soon transferred from Siwan.
In 1997, on the basis of a PIL, a warrant was issued by the Patna high court to arrest Shahabuddin, then a Janata Dal MP. After months in hiding during which he also attended Parliament sessions, Shahabuddin surrendered in Siwan. For 11 months, he was lodged in Siwan jail and was later released on bail.
Irony has a cruel face in Siwan. On the roof of the RJD office here is a statue of Mahatma Gandhi holding a stick in one hand and a lantern in the other. Next to him are the proverbial three monkeys.
Inside in a small room is 32-year-old Mohammad Shahabuddin or "Bihar ka Gandhi." Well built and over six-feet tall, Shahabuddin has an impressive personality. But there's something in his deep-set, big and expressionless eyes which evokes fear.
"Shahabuddin apne aap mein ek mudda hai (I am an issue on my own)," he says when asked what are the issues before him in these elections. This is no answer so I ask again: "But what are the issues of this constituency that you want to raise?" He stares, unblinking and smiling. "Shahabuddin apne aap mein ek mudda hai (I am an issue on my own)." Silence.
We move to subjects closer to his heart. "What about the criminal cases against you?" The smile vanishes and the stare turns into a glare. "After these elections I will go to court and challenge the Election Commission for tarnishing my image by calling me a criminal. No one is a criminal till proven guilty. What is crime? Tomorrow if a woman is being raped and she kills the rapist, is she a criminal? Self-defence is no crime."
After a brief pause, he starts again. "Ashraful makhluqat (serve the people, the best of God's creations). This is what Islam preaches and this is what I am doing. And if in this good work, someone dies, there should be no regret."
Fahim Jogapuri sells automobile parts during day and does shaiyari by night. At a late evening nukkad sabha near Town Thana, Fahim holds the crowd in rapt attention.
"Gul khil udhe hein, chaa-ee hai charon taraf bahar, Charon taraf hai Shahbu, Shahbu kee pukaar." "
Subhan-allah," roars the crowd.
"Gar chahte ho shahr mein aman-sukoon ho, Qatil ke haanth na qatlo-khoon ho, Phir aap bhai samajh lein, Lazim hai aap par, Apna mohar lagan laltain chaap par."
"Subhan-allah."
"I have known Shahabuddin for several years. Till today, whatever confrontation he has had, it is because of the people of Siwan, he was fighting for their rights. The police has failed here, there is no work for them or the administration. Shahabuddin sahib has a grip over the people here. The people know that if they want peace, they must vote for him," says Fahim Jogapuri.
Guddu is an old associate of Shahabuddin. A former student of JNU, Guddu returned to Siwan first as a CPI (ML) sympathiser and worked with Chandrashekhar but later left the party to join Shahabuddin. "He is the true Robinhood of Bihar. Before him, people used to run away the moment they would see a red flag. The traders were petrified of the ML. Shahabuddin put an end to all this. Today if the entire country is gripped with riots, there will be absolute peace in Siwan," says Guddu.
Fear cannot be just felt in Siwan it can also be seen on the streets of Siwan. There is not a single flag, poster or banner of any other party except for that of the RJD. But no one is willing to speak. All they can say is that peace is more important, whatever price it comes with.
"Let's see for how long Shahabuddin terrorises the people of Siwan. Siwan is crying for another Chandrashekhar. You see that kid playing over there, maybe he will become a Chandrashekhar one day. who knows," says Puran Chandra Sharma, a pesticide shopowner, pointing to a child playing on the road.
Before we leave Puran Chand, a childhood friend of Chandrashekhar, he suddenly grabs our hand, points a finger at the face and looks intently into the eyes: "I'll tell you one thing: He will return. One of these days, Chandrashekhar WILL come back." Silence.

Chapter Six: A stone-crusher's dream: Make me the Prime Minister and I will give you water for your fields

Gaya, Feb. 10, 1998: Her aggression is charming. "Why can't I become the Prime Minister? I can run the country better than anyone else. Just make me PM once and see what I do. Everything aside, I will first give water to the fields. When the faremer is happy, everyone is happy.
Illiterate, a stone-crusher, a daily-wage earning farm labourer, 70-year-old Bhagwati Devi made history when she was elected to Parliament in 1996. "It's the last seat of power in the country. People kill for it, steal, commit all kinds of sin for it. I just quietly entered Parliament. Quietly I entered Parliament, breaking stones," she says with an impish, toothless smile.
This time, Bhagwati is not just planning to return to Lok Sabha but is also nurturing a silent dream: to become the Prime Minister. "Why not? Who is the Prime Minister? The same man, no who signs on the fiels? I can also sign. The Cabinet will help, secretary will help. I will make the policies and I will sign," the determination in her soft, aging eyes evokes an embarrassing pause.
"But you can't read or write?" "Which college did Devi Lakshmi and Devi Sarswati go to? Isn't Saraswati the goddess of education? Which college did she go to?" pat comes the reply.
It is difficult to spot the road leading to Alipur village in Tekari sub-division, 40 kilometres from Gaya town. The road exists in patches, in between the gaping potholes. But it's a familiar route for Bhagwati.
A small knot of huts, surrounded by fields. Three men, dressed in various shades of poverty are waiting with bamboo sticks and drums for Bhagwati Devi, MP. A fourth is desperately trying to bring back the glitter to his trumpet, rubbing it with edge of his loincloth.
A jeep is spotted a kilometre away, surrounded by a cloud of dust. The men spring to life, maniacally beating the drums and playing the trumpet. Bhagwati is not in the jeep. She will come later. This was the "advance party" — the local MLA and the village mukhiya.
A cot is hurriedly brought out from a mudshack. women, children and more men suddenly appear from nowhere and like a ritual take their positions around the cot, waiting for another ritual which often begins with: "bhaiyon aur behnon, maataon aur buzurgon."
"Will you vote for Bhagwati?" "Let's see what happens," says Purki Lal. "Deviji has done a lot of work but people say the BJP will win. Where everyone will vote, I will also vote."
Bhagwati's supporters claim that she is perhaps the only MP in the entire Lok Sabha who has spent almost the entire amount of Rs one crore from her MP Development Fund. Statistics for Rs 98,89,000 are easily available: Rs 40 lakh for rural roads, Rs 15 lakhs for drainage cleaning in Gaya town, Rs 14 lakhs for an irrigation canal etc.
"Whatever money I got, I gave it to the people. What do I need money for. I work hard on my fields and earn my own living," she says.
Even today, Bhagwati's three sons are tilling the land and earning Rs 50 per day for crushing stones. She herself works in the fields whenever she is in Barachatti, her home. "I gave my entire salary to buy this jeep. I also took loan from the bank to fight the elections. You want to see how much money I have on me right now?" And she fishes out Rs 25 and 40 paise from her waistcoat pocket and proudly displays. A few days ago, she knocked at the door of a local Gaya friend and borrowed Rs 400 to fill petrol in her jeep. The next day she returned Rs 300. "This is the way I won the last elections and this is the way I will win this also."
Contrary to popular perception, Bhagwati's political career began in the 1940s when she saw her father "fight the British on the GT road." "The entire GT road was full of people. There was so much of suckus that the chowkidar (village guard) came. Everyone was afraid of the chowkidar. The soldier used to be avery big officer those days," she says.
In 1956, Bhagwati went to jail, fighting for the release of Madhu Limaye; in '60 she fought for Lohia's "karo ya maro"; in '62 she contested her first election from the Belagunj Assembly constituency but lost; she lost again in '66 from Imamganj but won from Barachatti in '69.
"I didn't want to fight in '69 but these people forced me (pointing to Ram Pyare Singh and Shankar Dayal Singh, old friends). One day when I was tilling my land, they came and gave me Rs five and said, 'Bhagwati, go and file your nomination,'" she recalls.
After 1969, Bhagwati won again from Barachatti in '77 and '95. In 1996, she approached chief minister Laloo Yadav for a Lok Sabha ticket. "He could not refuse. He is very junior to me in politics," she says with pride.
In and around Gaya, Bhagwati, over her thirty years in active politics, has earned a rather notorious image. Some years back, she stormed into the then district magistrate P.P. Sharma's office and flogged him with her slippers. "Chappal se maara aur bol diya ke arrest karna hai to kar lo (I beat him up with my slippers and challenged him to arrest me if he can). We had asked him not to go ahead with a plan to vacate one of the villages for some project but he didn't listen. What else could I do?"
In another such incident, during the Sixties movement of "Angrezi Hatao," Bhagwati blackened the face of another district administration official K.M. Dwivedi because he refused to remove the English nameplate from his office.
In 1969, around 60 policemen surrounded Bhagwati's village where she along with her supporters had blocked a road, again agitating for a political cause. "I beat them up one by one with broom, stick, anything which came in my hands. I can never tolerate injustice. Sab goonda ki Bhagwati mooch-munda (Bhagwati alone can shave off the mustachio of any goon). If they don't listen to me, this is what they will get."
Today, Bhagwati Devi is back to her farmlands and back to working on the fields. Her dream to become the Prime Minister may never come true but she continues to work to fulfill the small wants and little dreams of the people of Gaya villages.

Chapter Seven: Journey of a ballot box: From the polling booth to the village well

Hajipur, February 22, 1998: You can do several things with a ballot box in BIhar. You can fling it in the air and scream in delight when it falls on the ground. You can empty a bottle of ink in it or better still, you can also urinate in it and destroy the ballot papers. You can pick it up and run away or you can simple throw it in the well.
At Diggi village, around 15 people surround a well, looking down. "See, see it's moving," someone points down. "Nah, that's a snake," the other dismisses. Our photographer takes out and extra-zoom lens and focuses his camera on the filth and green water, hoping for a magic. But the ballot box of booth number 201 has decided to remain in water. A short while ago, an angry mod had ransacked the booth and thrown the box in the well.
The box at booth number 202 is luckier. With dignity, it is tied to the back carrier of a cycle and polling officer Shyam Kishore Prasad Singh pedals his way to the district magistrate's office..
Both the booths were ransacked by armed miscreants and polling was stalled at 11.45 am. Half-an-hour before this, we witness another more gory sight of a day of elections in BIhar.
Mahesh Prasad Singh is a teacher in a primary school in Garaul. He never wanted to be called for election duty but he had no option. On Sunday, Mahesh is crying bitterly. It's an embarrassing sight to see an old man, a teacher cry to bitterly. Tears don't stop rolling down his cheeks. He wants to hide them so he covers his face and in a muffled, broken voice tells his story.
"They beat me very badly, threw bombs, not a single policeman was here," and he breaks down again, almost shivering with fear. "They stamped all the ballot papers and left." The headmaster of the same school, Yadanath Prasad Singh sits next to him, stunned. He has nothing to say. He can't say anything. He's completely paralysed.
A jeep full of RAF security men has arrived but Mahesh Prasad Singh will not start the polling again. The old man begs to us: "Sir, please don't go. If you go, the force will also go and then the goons will return. Please don't go..."
At 3 pm, DSP (Town Area) of Hajipur is sitting alone in his small office. Fear writ large on his face. An hour ago, near booth numbers 106 and 107 at Gadaisarai village, an angry mob attacked his jeep alongwith the car of a TV crew. The windscreen and side windows of both the vehicles were smashed to bits, ballot papers torn and the boxes thrown in the nearby fields. The DSP and five other armed constables were too shocked to open fire. The cameraman and a photographer captured on film the DSP and his men standing next to their smashed jeep near a pile of torn ballot papers.
"I have become very famous today. What do you think the home secretary will say when he sees my picture? I think I'm gone now," he says, leaning back in his chair.
11 am: Our car is stopped a man at Arra Chanrani Panchayat Chowk. "The administration is a total failure here, sir. The entire booth has been peacefully captured," the man complains, unmindful of a crowd which has gathered around him and is listening to him silently.
Someone from the crowd holds the man's collar and says: "Arrey, if the entire village is agreeing to it, what is your problem, get lost from here, go, go home)."
The police wireless set is a sensational object during elections. The frequency is so low that even a shoddily made local transistor catches the signals. Every crackle of the set promises a thrill but at 12 noon, the wireless babu is a very angry man. Taking charge of the entire Hajipur control, he screams: "Everyone stand by. EVERYONE STAND BY. Sab log ek saath bolenge to kaise chalega. Chupp rahiye sab log aur jo mein bol raha hun suniye. Haan, Sadar PIR (Police Internal Radio) suna jaaye (If everyone will talk at the same time, how will I listen. Everyone shut up and listen to me. Yes, Sadar PIR, are you listening?). Have you verified what happened at booth numbers 40 and 43?"
"No, not yet," is the reply. "What are you people doing?" the wireless babu screams again. "There is so much pressure from Patna, home secretary himself is asking for a report. You haven't gone to 40, 43 as yet, you have to go to 167 also, what trhe hell are you guys doing out there?" We lose the signal.
Taking a superintendent of police and the DM for a ride is not an easy task but the villagers in Bihar have mastered this act. A crowd stops the huge cavalcade of the SP and the DM at Imadpur. Pointing to a road leading into the fields to almost nowhere, the crowd directs the cavalcade to booth numbers 223 and 224 saying they are being looted at that very moment and rival gangs are firing at each other.
We rush to the spot only to find a neat line of people waiting to cast their ballots. "Everything is peaceful here sir, everything, sir, nothing happened here," they tell us.
When we return to the main road, the crowd had vanished but the wireless babu informed us that a booth was looted on the other side of the road.
In between the comic relief, there are gory tales of people being killed, bombs exploded, landmine disasters, ballot papers torn to bits and people brutally beaten up. On Sunday, the police wireless set had some gory tales to tell, almost every five minutes.
10.10 am: "Garaul police station has been surrounded. SP sahib has ordered, please go there and control the situation.
10.15 am: "Sadar PS, control calling. Is there any force at Dhasna police station where a bomb has been exploded?"
10.25 pm: "Rustamganj PIR, please tell us if anyone has been injured in the group clashes at booth numbers 155, 156. The home secretary is asking for a report." In reply, there's only a dead crackle of the wireless.
10.30 am: "Sadar PIR, control calling. We have go information that at Dhobghatti bombs are being exploded and rival gangs are firing at each other. Please rush there."
10.45 am: "Midnapur mein booth number 42, 43 mein situation control mein nahin aa rahi hai, force ko bhaga diya gaya hai (we can't control the situation at Midnapur booth numbers 42, 43. The securitymen have been chased away)."
12 pm: "Soochna mili hai kee booth number 95 loota ja raha hai, Chandralay gaon mein jhanjhat ho raha hai, Arun Chowdhary aur unke aadmi Paswan logon ko maar rahe hain... (We have heard that booth number 95 is being looted. There's a clash reported from Chandralay village. Arun Chowdhary's men are preventing the Paswan voters from voting)."

Chapter Eight: "Sab normal hai, please don't believe in public complaints..."

Patna, March 11, 1995: At least a dozen polling booths in Gaya-Jehanabad-Patna area were captured by hoodlums, ballot papers snatched and forcibly stamped, and violent clashes between rival groups erupted on Saturday in the first phase of polling in Bihar. Here is an eyewitness account:
Patna to Jehanabad to Gaya (12.30 am to 3.30 am): There is not a single police checkpost along this 110 kilometre route. Police stations en route wear a deserted look. In one such police station near Jehanabad, not a single policeman was on duty. A eerie calm encompassed the whole of Jehanabad town and Gaya. Despite being the eve of a crucial election here, neither was the Patna-Jehanabad border sealed nor was a policeman in sight.
Polling booth at Mahabir Vidyalay, Gaya (9 am): It appears from outside that polling is going on peacefully, but as we enter the booth, we find three men in a secluded room busy stamping a pile of ballot papers. Not a single policeman is in sight.
Booth number 137, Electricity Board office, Gaya (9.10 am): A three-year-old girl has just cast her vote. "Tamasha ho raha hai yahan (It's a joke)," complain a polling agent. Four police constables arrive in a jeep, put the queue in order, and leave. No police force at the booth, in the heart of Gaya town.
Booth number 135A, Urdu Prathmik Vidyalay, Gaya Town (9.20 am): A ballot paper has just been snatched from one Nirmala Devi. A group of hoodlums rummage through the pile of ballot papers. No policeman is on duty.
Booth number 343, Gaya High School (9.30 am): Rigging is very peaceful and systematic here. Three men, one of them called Aslam, are handling the show. One of them is tearing the ballot paper, the other is stamping on the CPI symbol and Aslam is casting the ballots. This goes on for full 15 minutes without any complaint from the voters who camaflouge the entire proceedings by surrounding the ballot box. The moment we become visible, Aslam shouts: "Form a queue, hurry up, form a long queue." The crowd disperses and forms a neat queue. After a while, Aslam and his men get back to the job. "Don't take the photograph now," he says sternly. No policeman in sight.
Wireless message at 9.50 am: "Koi shikayat nahin sunna chahte hain. Static force nahin mil sakta. Patrolling party se hee kaam chalaya jaaye... (I don't want to listen to any complains. Static force can't be given. Take the help of patrolling parties)."
Another wireless message at 10 am: "Sab normal hai (Everything is normal). Please do not believe in public complaints. Check facts and only then report. Clear?..."
Booth numbers 24 and 25, Fatehpur village, Gaya (10.30 am): An agitated crowd has surrounded a ramshackle two-room school building in the middle of barren fields which is now two polling booths. In booth number 24, the polling officers on duty have no work. About 150 ballots have been cast and there no more ballot paper left. The voters of booth number 24 have conveniently shifted to the adjacent booth, number 25. Lathi-weilding men stand on guard as two men are busy stamping the ballot papers inside the room.
Suddenly, there is an uproar from outside. "Hum chaar lathi laayein hein to pachchas bhee la sakte hein, lekin koi mai ka laal humka bote giraye se koi nahin rok sakta (If we have got four sticks, we can get 50 also but no one can prevent us from voting)," shouts an agitated villager.
Another group of people are standing a little away, watching the tamasha silently, and getting ready for a confrontation. These people are from the neighbouring village of Bhagwanpur. They have the voters slip to vote in this booth but they are not being allowed to do so by the other group.
"Jaa re, jitna aadmi laana hai, le aa (Go, get lost, get as many men as you can, we will see you)," says a man from the other group and then turns and shouts at his colleague: "List mein naam nahin hai to maar saale ke muh paar bees rupa-eya (If the name is not on the voters list, slap a 20 rupee note on his face)."
As if from nowhere, a police jeep is spotted coming in our direction, about 5 kilometres away. "Bhaaga re, police aa gayee (Runnn, police is coming)." And there is a rampage as the villagers and the hoodlums rush towards a cluster of hutments a couple of furlongs away. "Ek do bum maar de saale ke muh par (throw a few bombs on the bastards)," was the last we heard from Fatehpur village.
Tekari Police station (11.30 am): Over 500 people have surrounded the police station. The atmosphere is palpable with tension as the agitated crowd raise anti-administration slogans. As our car is forced to stop at the gate due to the mob, the sloganeering intensifies. The crowd is carrying an injured man on a cot. Blood all over his clothes as he moans with pain. They raise their hands in protest and shout: "Tekari BDO chor hai (Tekair BDO is a thief)."
The injured, Kameshwar Prasad Yadav, was hit by a bullet when he was trying to stop the Beliabigha booth from being captured.
"The BDO and the Janata Dal candidate have gone to all the polling booths and captured all the booths," someone shouts.
"We will not move from here till the entire Tekari division polls are canceled."
Five CRPF jawans and a SHO look on hopelessly as passions soar and voices reach a crescendo. The BDO, Kamleshwar Yadav, says booth numbers 170, 171 and 172 have been looted and that he has sent a wireless message to the district magistrate. "I did not even go near the booth, so how can I capture it?" he says, perspiring heavily inside a closeted room full of torn ballot papers.
"Go to Beliabigha and see for yourself. Janata Dal candidate Shivbhajan Yadav and his supporters have captured the booth with two six-rounder pistols," a man shouts from outside the room.
Booth number 5, Beliabigha (12 pm): A run down mosque-like structure houses this polling booth. As our car approaches, there is hectic activity. A man first goes inside the booth and then comes rushing out. "Dekhiye kitna peaceful voting ho raha hai (Look, how peaceful voting is going on)."
Indeed, the polling officers were eating rice and daal in a pattal (banana leaves), no voter was in sight and a white kurta-pyjama clad man was sitting on a chair in the middle of the room. Suddenly, the irate mob from the Tekari police station is heard and seen rushing towards this booth. Immediately, over 50 men emerge from almost nowhere from behind the booth. Sticks in their hands, they chase the mob away.
"These people are trying to create trouble. Otherwise sir, the voting is absolutely peaceful." There is not a trace of a policeman or a patrolling party.
Booth number 184, Cheralee (Konch) (1 pm): BSF jawans are guarding this booth which was looted an hour ago. Naginder Singh, a CRPF jawan on leave led a group of hoodlums and tried to capture the booth. When their efforts failed, they snatched the ballot papers and tore them into pieces.
A truck full of 20 BSF personnel and commandos escort the sack of torn ballot papers to the district magistrate's office. A senior BSF officer complains: "I have never seen an election like this before. We are expected to cover 200 booths in one jeep and with five men. There is no static force anywhere. It's a joke and it's being deliberately played on us and the people."
Says Gopi Singh, a constable in Bihar Police, "Main bataun sahib, Seshan ko pure Bihar mein chunav humesha ke liye radd kar dene chaihye (Seshan should countermand all polls in Bihar forever)," Laughter.
Wireless message at 2.10 pm: "MCC has captured a booth in Makhdumpur."
The reply from the other end: "Wait for the patrolling party."
Jehanabad civil hospital (3 pm): Thirteen-year-old Seema Kumari and 11-year-old Manju are lying on a bed, their bodies covered with blood and torn out flesh. Victims of a crude bomb explosion. Two more injured are brought in with several wounds on their heads. The girls were injured at Haridaspur while they were standing in front of a polling booth.
Thana Road, Murlidhar School, booth number 165, Jehanabad Town (3.30 pm): A police jeep is rushing through the three-metre wide Thana road. People huddled in groups line the road in front of shops whose shatters are all down. Just a minute earlier, there had been a loud explosion in one of the bylanes.
The jeep screeches to a halt in front of a lane leading to booth number 165 in Murlidhar School. Smoke is bellowing out of the building adjoining the booth. Ballot papers are torn and strewn everywhere. People watch from rooftops. Polling officers allege that Janata Dal men tried to disrupt the polling and threw bombs.
BSF jawans run down the lanes scanning the area for the culprits. "Pakra gaya (caught him)," shouts one jawan from the main Thana Road. We all rush to the spot. Five constables are mercilessly beating two men sprawled on the road. The two are howling and writhing in pain. After beating them for about 20 minutes with lathis , the two are bundled into a jeep and taken away. The torn ballot papers are despatched to the DM's office.
Wireless message en route to Patna (4 pm): "Net ko disturb mat kariye. Bare sahib ne bola hai aur force nahin mil sakti (Please do not disturb the wireless net. The senior officer has said more forces cannot be provided)."

Chapter Nine: Love story divides village voters

Hendegarha, March 4, 1995: A rusted cycle wheel hangs over a dry well in Malti Mahto's house. The house has been sealed with a brick wall and there is an abundance of wild growth in the small courtyard where 13-year-old Malti used to play with he friends.
A narrow lane divides Malti's house Malti's house from that of Mahabir Prasad, a 22-year-old harijan boy who used to run a provision shop in the house.
Malti would often go to the shop to buy ration. Soon, the two fell in love and resolved to marry. As they belonged to different castes, Mahabir a harijan and Malti a kurmi, they had no option but to elope and get married.
Their love story met a brutal end when the kurmis of the village hunted down the couple, stoned Mahabir to death and raped Malti. This happened a year ago. Today, the two-feet wide mud road that divides the two houses symbolises a bigger wedge between the two communities and there is palpable tension which has been abetted by the election trail.
Villagers still recount the horrors of 31st May 1994 with exacting details.
After the couple was searched and nabbed by the villagers, a meeting of the village panchayat was called in the night in a garden at the foot of a small hill on the outskirts of a village. On top of the hill is a Devi temple.
"They had brought Malti and Mahabir to the garden," recalls Naresh Ram, a villager. "Five petromax lamps were burning and khichdi was being cooked on the chulha. All through the night Malti and Mahabir were interrogated and threatened that if they don't decide to stay away from each other, they would be killed."
"Mehra se shadi rahayegi. Tu Mahto hai, teri jaat unchi hai (How can you marry a harijan? You are a Mahto, your caste is higher)," a village hoodlum threatened the couple. But Malti kept weeping and repeating that she would either marry Mahabir of kill herself.
By early morning, the villagers were losing their patience and passions were soaring. The meeting ended with the decision that Mahabir should be killed in order to warn other harijan boys not to commit a similar "sin" of trying to marry a Mahto girl and Malti should be raped by as many men as possible "to cool her down."
Mahabir began fleeing for his life but was soon dragged back and killed by crushing his head with a big stone. After killing Mahabir, the hoodlums turned to Malti who was stripped and raped by 10 people and burnt by sticks simmering in the chulha.
By sunrise, an agreement was written out and the villagers were forced to sign it. According to the document, Mahabir's parents killed him in a fit of anger and Malti was raped by her father and brother.
Some arrests were made and Malti was sent to a government remand home in Patna where is she was took lessons in stitching.
Much has changed for the villagers of Hendegarha since then. The kurmi-dominated village has only 10 harijan families left. The rest have all left over the years and the ones who remain find themselves surrounded by over 200 kurmi families.
"Before this incident, all of us used to play together and share the village well," says Baleshwar Ram. "Today we are forced to fill water from the neighbouring village. There is an atmosphere of fear and terror. Anything can happen anytime."
Malti's father, Puran Mahto and his wife, Gulachan Devi live in a mudshack two kilometres outside the village and their original house which has been sealed by the police. Living in abject poverty, with no means of livelihood, they survive on food given by the caste brethren on a weekly basis.
Their only son, Jaleshwar Mahto, was arrested on charges of raping his sister and of being an accomplice to the murder of Mahabir. His three-year-old daughter, Rina, plays in the mud outside her grandparents house.
"Tell sahib if papa doesn't come, what will we eat?," Gulachan tells Rina who clutching her grandmother's saree, smiles impishly.
Gulachan Devi has visited Malti only once since she sent to the remand home. "It costs a lot to go to Patna. Will you tell her that I am not keeping well and she should come soon, that she should behave well and learn everything that she is being taught, and that she should not worry..." Gulachan pleads with us.
The first house as we enter Hendegarha bears a slogan: "Hendegarha ke kaand ke hatyaron ko sazaa do (Punish the culprits of the Hendegarha murder)." A grim reminder of the brutal murder of Mahabir and rape of Malti. But as you move further, the slogan is not repeated as most of the house belong to the kurmis.
"We are not sure whether we will vote but if allowed to cast our vote, we will vote for CPI (ML)," says Chota Ram.
Being in the minority, the harijans have not been able to put up a candidate for the elections. The seat has been represented thrice by Tekram Mahto, an influential kurmi who is now recontesting. Though the harijans accuse him of being the main culprit in Mahabir's murder, no one is willing to publicly talk about him.
Like rabbits caught before the headlights of a car, the 50 harijans of this village rush inside their houses the moment they see Tekram's election convoy in the village. There is fear, but also simmering anger, talk of revenge, of justice, of an awakening as CPI (ML) cadres fan into the harijan households, converting the poor harijans with promises of justice.
Ironically, as we passed Mahabir's house on our way back to the main road, a radio set in the neighbouring hut blared: "Ek ladki ko dekha to aisa hua...." A popular song from a Bollywood hit 1942, A Love Story. A furlong away, we saw the stone on which Mahabir was crushed to death.

Chapter Ten: Luteron ke vediyun pe lagenge hazaaron varsh mele

Biharsharif, February 18, 1995: On the outskirts of a remote village 25 kilometers away from the town of Biharsharif stands a martyrs memorial. The three-feet high whitestone structure is a popular landmark in this village of 2,000 Rajputs.
The epitaph dedicates the memorial to Nand Kishore who died while attempting to capture a polling booth in the 1990 Assembly elections in Guladia village in Nalanda district.
Every year, on his death anniversary, villagers flock to the memorial and pay floral tribute to the 'shaheed (martyr)' who laid down his life to the call of duty. Similar memorials dot the scenic landscape in the interior of Nalanda district in the foothills of the Rajgir range.
This is the land of luteras - gun-totting gangs of shikshit-berozgaar (educated-unemployed) youth who capture booths to earn a living.
"We will die but we will not surrender the booth," says Sushil Singh, leader of a gang of 80 booth looters in and around Biharsharif.
When I met Sushil, he had still not got a "contract" for this year's elections. "A few people have sent us feelers but I finalise the deal only a week before the polling. My rates have also gone up due to Seshan (Chief Election Commissioner T.N. Seshan). This is the last elections before photo-identity cards would be issued so I intend to make as much money as is possible," he says.
Fearing heavy security, Sushil has already placed an "order" for an AK 47 and a self-loading rifle with an arms dealer in Gaya. The deal has been fixed at Rs 25,000 and the weapons are to be returned after use.
"Seshan kya kar sakta hai. Yahan par chaar kos par to diya jalta hai. Yahan police pahunch he nahin sakti (What can Seshan do here? Over here, you can spot a light only after five kilometres. The police can't reach here)," he says. "Even if I die, people will remember me as a martyr."
His face glowing in the flickering radiance of a dimly-lit lantern, Sushil breaks open a countrymade pistol, snaps it shut and pretends to aim it at my photographer friend.
"I loved studying political science and wanted to be a police officer," says Sushil, who has studied till the intermediate level. "I made no less than 20 attempts to pass the examination, but on all occasions I was rejected on some pretext or the other. I started this war in protest of this injustice done to me."
Sushil began his career as a lutera, local parlance for a booth looter, in 1985 as part of a gang. In 1990, he formed his own gang, and is today the proud leader of 80 committed men. Work comes to Sushil once in five years. "Off-season" he works as an agricultural worker.
"I am not a criminal," he reasons. "I only do this work during elections, and that too for money."
Sushil boasts of an unblemished track record. "It has never happened that a booth has slipped out of my hands. We have to be very careful to ensure that we capture the booths before the rival party. Otherwise, it gives us a bad name."
Giving a graphic detail of how he goes about capturing a booth, Sushil says that after getting the "contract or tender" from the concerned "party" to capture the booths of a particular panchayat (one panchayat normally has 8-10 polling booths), the gang begin acquiring, cleaning and repairing weapons, and stocking up ammunition.
"Tenders" are normally of two types: One in which the "party" gives half the money in cash and the other half in bullets, and the second type is where the entire payment is in cash. The biggest "tender" Sushil has got so far is for Rs 90,000 for looting 15 booths in the 1990 Assembly elections.
"Tenders" are allotted a week before polling. During this one week, Sushil and his men do a survey of the booths and assess the terrain, the approximate strength of the security force to be deployed, the routes of escape and an assessment of the might of the rival gang.
After an in-depth study of the terrain, Sushil calls a meeting of his most trusted men two days before the polling.
"We sit through the night and chalk out a detailed plan of action, allot duties and booths. Just as the police have sensitive and super-sensitive booths, we also have booths which are more sensitive than others and where more men are sent," he says.
On the eve of the polling, another meeting is called. Here, members are given arms and ammunition. The gang members are given final instructions. "Then we eat and drink for a few hours. At around 9 pm, the various groups leave for their respective booths and posts."
"Early morning, the booth is surrounded from all sides. If there is any force or members of the rival gang, they are warned to leave the booth. If they do not, we fire. The entire operation lasts till 3 am by when the booth should have been secured," says Sushil.
After securing the booth, members of the gang fire a shot from a flare gun. "This is a signal that a certain booth has been captured." After scanning the early morning sky for red lights shooting up into the sky, Sushil makes an assessment of the booths which are yet not captured and sends more men there.
By 5 am, a sinister silence engulfs the area. "Either the booth has been captured or my men have been killed," is how Sushil looks ate the day's work.
"The "voting" begins immediately after the ballot papers arrive after overpowering the polling officers. Within an hour, the boxes are ready to be taken to the collector's office.
In the morning, no one dares to approach the booth once he sees the gang's red flag and gun-totting men keeping a tight vigil. Election officials look on passively till it is time to take away the ballot boxes. In the event of more forces arriving, gang members have instructions to shoot at a handia (earthen pot), or a pitcher, hanging from a nearby tree and containing crude explosives. This is the last resort to defend or destroy the booth.
By dusk, the dust settles and the ballot boxes are taken to the returning officer. "Jo jeeta wahi Sikander (He who wins, is the hero)," says Sushil, gleefully.
"The man who wins because of us gives us thekas (contracts) for different kind of works and takes care of us till the next elections. If he betrays, we will kill him."
The youngest member of Sushil's gang is a student of Class 10 in a local Biharsharif school. "We are still training him. If he gets a job, well and good, otherwise he can always become a lutera," says Sushil, patting the young boy's back. A pensive silence follows as everyone nods in approval and the 15-year-old Raghav, smiles impishly, clutching a rifle about his own size.
On the way back, I stopped at Parvalpur police station, the only police outpost for the 10 villages in the region, spread in an area of 50 kilometers. "Elections is a big joke here," said an officer on duty. "Even we are in favour or against parties. We have to think about our transfer-postings. Come to think of it, the luteras do a good job." Silence.

Chapter Eleven: Dalit women protect their votes with guns

Hasua (Nawada), March 9, 1995: You can hear the sound of intermittent gunfire after driving 20 kilometres off the main road and after crossing around ten sleepy villages. At the end of the dusty road is a tiny hamlet where one more militant movement is taking birth; an uprising of harijan women who have formed a disciplined army to fight exploitation by the forward castes and to protect their votes from being looted.
Welcome to the world of Dalit Sena's women wing. At the foothills of a small range, village women wearing green sarees, salwar-kameez and frocks, march in tandem to the "left-right" command from the area commander of Dalit Sena who is also a retired soldier.
"The first phase of training is complete," says Suraj Prasad, self-styled commander of the Dalit Sena women's army. "The women have learnt how to load a gun and how to strap it on their waists. The next lessons would be in firing."
"Even my mother can load a rifle," says Saroj Kumari, a class X student and an enthusiastic member of this training camp. "We are trained to fight against the opposite caste. If they try to capture our booths, we will kill them."
In Nawada district alone, there are 110 women who have completed this training and are ready to be posted on "booth duty." In 41 districts of Bihar, Prasad and his men have trained 80 women in each district, five in every village.
Started by Dr Satyanand Sharma, the Dalit Sena has grown in numbers and infrastructure since its inception in the early Eighties. The women's wing of the Sena was established in 1994 after the infamous Bhukli Devi incident in which a poor, harijan woman was paraded naked by bhumihars in Samastipur. She was raped, killed and her saree was stuffed into her vagina.
"We realised that unless the women themselves are taught how to fight such torture, they will continue to suffer," says Prasad. "Since then we have been giving arms training and today, our women cadre is equipped with all the knowledge to combat and assault."
"Insaniyat se baat maan jaayenge to theek hai, varna hum bhee goli chala sakte hain (If they don't fall in line, we can also shoot)," says Kumari Madhvi, "vice-president" of the Nawada Dalit Sena's women's wing.
The supply of arms and ammunition to these women is taken care of by the local village blacksmith and at times "orders" are places with the numerous gun factories which have mushroomed all over this region and the state.
"Women themselves pool in the money to buy arms," says Prasad, a proud tutor of a gang of 15 women.
With the slogan "booth luteron hoshiyar, mahila team hai abb taiyaar (beware booth looters, women gang is now ready)," these women parade the sensitive villages on poll eve, warning those planing to capture their booths.
Selection of women for training is done after a careful study of whether the woman is able to withstand the vagaries, if she is confident, has the firepower and is fearless and well-built.
From each village, six women are selected and taken to remote jungles where they undergo a 45-day training schedule. "We are taught everything - from holding a pistol and rifle, to exploding bombs and using a knife," says Shyamu Kumari. "this is the first time that we are being given election work. Earlier, we used to guard our villages and escort other women."
Though in a majority, the harijans and other backward caste people of this block live in constant fear of the affluent bhumihars who move about openly with the latest arms, terrorising the men and torturing the women.
"There is no fear of the police since the area where we operate in, the police has never visited. Moreover, we also have an intelligence wing. The village chowkidar keeps a tight vigil and informs us if they (the police) are coming," says Prasad.

Chapter Twelve: Robinhoods emerge from Champaran woods

Bettiah (Champaran), February 23, 1995: Forty kilometres from Bettiah is a small but densely-forested valley called Done. Shaped in the form a cone, the region is surrounded by small hills on the Indo-Nepal border. From the top, one can see a blanket of forests flanked by tall hills on all sides.
"Bhaggar Yadav is hiding somewhere over there," points a local resident. "He will come out in the night for campaigning."
An outlaw with a price of Rs 50,000 on his head, Bhaggar Yadav is campaigning for his brother Sattan Yadav who is contesting the Assembly elections from Nautan constituency of West Champaran.
A terror of West Champaran, Bhaggar Yadav is the undisputed leader of over 80 gangs active in this region. In the night, Bhaggar and his fleet-footed men tour the interior villages and campaign for Sattan. "Chain ke neend sona hai to Sattam ko bote dena (If you want to sleep peacefully, vote for Sattan)," he tells terrorised villagers.
Though an outlaw and a bandit for the police, Bhaggar is the "good Samaritan" for the people of West Champaran. "It is because of Bhaggar that we can sleep peacefully. Even a buffalo does not dare to go into someone else's fields for fear of Bhaggar. He is our anndata and our sangrakshak (our bread-giver and our protector)," says Mukhteshwar Tiwari, a local journalist and an expert on the region's history.
The "mini Chambal" as it was called by a district judge, West Champaran is the den of more than 80 gangs involved in crimes ranging from kidnapping to murder.
Kidnapping in this region is the most lucrative industry. Of these 80 gangs, 40 are active at any given time. Six of them are the most notorious.
Today, leaders of all these six gangs are in the fray for the eight Assembly seats in the district. Each of these six gangs have a well-defined area of operation and any encroachment on each other's territory often leads to bloodshed.
Like Bhaggar, other gang leaders are also held in high esteem by the people. "Only the police and candidates of other parties fear them. The people are totally with them," says Tiwari.
So mesmerising is the influence of these gangsters on the local police that they confidently believe that even if Mahatma Gandhi contested today from here, he will not win.
"In this land of Robin Hoods, even Gandhi who started the indigo revolution from this soil, will lose his deposit," says Vijay Kumar Pathak, a restaurant owner. "Last year, there was a robbery of Rs 4 lakhs from a cloth merchant's house in Bettiah. The police failed to do anything. We approached Bhaggar. Not only was the money recovered but the culprits also surrendered. "Why should we vote for anyone else when we have Bhaggar's brother Sattan? He has promised us peace and development and we trust him."
In 1994, the officer in charge of Bettiah police station, B.N. Sahay, was transferred. To stall the transfer, Bhaggar Yadav collected a crowd of over 10,000 people and surrounded the district magistrate's office. The transfer orders had to be revoked.
Over the past few weeks, Bhaggar and his brother Sattan have held three public meetings in remote cluster of villages. In all these meetings, at least 15 mukhiyas (headmen) were present alongwith hundreds of villagers. "I will give you peace, Sattan will give you development," Bhaggar told the villagers.
There are over 11,000 criminals in this district who are listed in police records and against whom cases are lodged and warrants issued. The total police force in this region is 5,000. Local people claim the police is also under the direct control of these gangs.
"In 1980, the then superintendent of police S.S.P. Yadav had reached an understanding with the criminals not to indulge in murders and switch to kidnappings. Yadav has since been called the father of kidnapping," says Tiwari.
Today, meticulously planned kidnappings of rich merchants has become the order of the day in West Champaran. The community which faces the maximum wrath of the criminals are the traders, mainly cloth merchants from Muzaffarpur.
"There are only two classes of people here - the rich and the extremely poor," says Tiwari. "The poor are protected by the likes of Bhaggar and Ram Bhajju (another notorious gangster) and the rich are their victims. The Police acts as a conduit, a link to see the success of kidnapping missions after securing their share."
Inter-gang rivalries in the past have led to the famous Mirchawa massacre in 1990 when 30 people belonging to the koeri caste were massacred by one Vasudev Yadav and his gang.
Earnings from kidnappings and other sundry crime have brought prosperity to these gangs. Bhaggar alone owns 100 acres of land and grows sugarcane in large areas which fetches him and annual income of Rs 50 lakh a year.
The money earned is spent in acquiring property in Bettiah and other towns on the Indo-Nepal border. Social obligations like conducting marriages of poor villagers and giving them loans are also met with this money.

Chapter Thirteen: A gunrunner's tale: Who cares who the Prime Minister is

Biharsharif, February 19, 1995: Lallan Mistry's wife would not let me talk to him. "My husband has lost his mind. Someone is trying to frame him," she wails hysterically.
This was not exactly what we had in mind when we set out to meet lallan Mistry on a seven kilometre trek through ankle-deep slush which cut across vast fields of mustard and a dry bed of the Mahani river.
Almost providentially, the village postman came to deliver a postcard to lallan's wife. "Achcha, first read this, then I will let you speak to him," the woman said.
"Ma, humko kuchch samaan ghutt raha hai, sabun, tel, kitab... Pitaji humko sau rupaye jaldi bhej dein, aapka, Deendayal Vishwakarma (Mother, I need 100 rupees urgently to buy soap, oil and books. Please tell Papa to rush the money, yours, Deendayal Vishwakarma)."
The one-paragraph postcard told the whole story. As Lallan's wife retreats into the dark recesses of their hut, we began talking to Lallan.
Lallan Mistry is the undisputed leader of over 500 illegal gun factories in and around this village on the foothills of the Rajgir hills. A lohar by caste, Lallan was the first to start a gun factory here in the early Eighties.
"Before this, I was in Orissa and used to work in a truck repair shop. I came to Patna for an appendicitis operation and decided to settles here. I learnt this job (making countrymade guns) in Jatipur and opened my own factory when all other avenues of making money closed. It is not out of will that I am doing this. It's a compulsion," he says.
Over the last 13 years, Lallan has produced over 1,000 rifles and more than 5,000 pistols or kattas, as they are called in local parlance. A rifle made by Lallan is priced between Rs 1,500-Rs 2,000 and a pistol between Rs 500 to Rs 700.
With four daughters and three sons to feed, Lallan works round the year, churning out crude but well-finished pieces. His work is the most popular among the other hun factories. "Our finishing is the best. Also, we make all the new models," he says.
When we met him, Lallan was trying to make a replica of the Leo toy gun. "I am studying this and will make an exact model based on this," he says.
Lallan's popularity brings him customers from the neighbouring districts of Gaya, Newada and Barh. "People come in marriage parties and take my stuff."
It takes three days to make a pistol and a week to make a rifle. Before starting his work, Lallan takes a good look at the bullet which has to be used. "The pistol will depend on the size of the bullet. We have to see the size of the bullet." After a weapon is finished, it is tested with live bullets and the customer is assured of repairs if anything goes wrong.
Cucooned in his house, Lallan rarely steps out on the main road, seven kilometres away. "I think the chief minister is Laloo Yadav," he says. He has not heard the name of T.N. Seshan and still thinks that Indira Gandhi is the Prime Minister.
Due to recent raids at gun factories, Lallan now works with a lock on his front door and has even invented a trick of fooling the policemen. "I climb on top of a tree everytime I see them coming. I stay there till they are gone."
Lallan began preparing for this year's elections in early November and has already made and despatched around 300 pistols and 100 rifles. Six unfinished rifles are still being worked out but he refuses to show them to us. "It's for a very big party. I cannot show them."
There are three other houses in the village where Lallan's brothers work on similar "big party" projects." "Sales have gone up but I am selling my stuff at a higher price due to a shortage of materials."
The best material which beautifully shapes into the barrel of a rifle is the steering rod of an Ambassador car, he explains. A steel gas pipe is also used apart from the rod of a bicycle. After filing it to perfection, the rod is mounted to a wooden holster and a trigger is fitted to it. The trigger mechanism is the trickiest part and sometimes, it takes days to set it right.
The day we met Lallan, he had just returned from an exhausting two day trip to the Biharsharif town. two days ago, his nephew fell ill. After medicines given by the village compounder failed, Lallan and three other men carried the boy on a cot and set out for Biharsharif on foot, covering a distance of 15 kilometres through fields and the highway.
The boy died on the way but they discovered this only when the doctor at the Biharsharif Medical College told them that he was dead.

Chapter Fourteen: "Vote maange to chot do, vote ke dalalon ko phansi do..."

Gaya, February 11, 1995: There was a sinister wail in the horn of the Dehri-bound Gaya-Dehri passenger train as it stopped at the Bhagalpur station at 4.15 pm.
Passenger trains are known to stop inadvertently, but for the DG 4 this was no ordinary stop. A group of 30 armed militants of the Maoist Communist Centre stood defiantly in the tracks holding red flags and .303 rifles. Panic gripped the passengers who were soon surrounded from all sides. "We have nothing against you. Just tell us in which bogey are the policemen," shouted one gun-wielding MCC activist.
Both havaldar (inspector) Vishwanath Singh and constable Abhay Singh knew their time has come and they have no way to escape. But they refused to give in without a fight.
On getting no response from the passengers, the militants barged into the train. The two policemen were unable to use their rifles which hung over their shoulders and tied to their belt with a chain when they were shot and killed at point blank range.
As their bodies slumped amid a stunned silence in the bogie number nine, the assailants began lynching at their belts to which the rifles and stengun were chained. In the process, Abhay's body was severely gashed with a knife and Vishwanath's navel was cut open.
Another group of militants cut off the arm of constable Doman Ram in order to snatch his rifle in bogie number four. two other constables Krishna Kumar Singh and Krishna Yadav sustained bullet injuries.
This was the second such incident in less than a week in which MCC activists snatched arms from policemen. Last week, about 500 armed MCC militants set fire to a police station in the Seelampur village under Tekari block. Though the police claim to have fired 500 rounds, they were unable to produce even a single used cartridge. The assailants got away with five .303 rifles and one stengun apart from several rounds of bullets and magazines.
The day after this incident, a hushed silence gripped Gaya town as groups of people huddled together, in fear.
"No one will be spared. If we don't listen to them, these bastards will kill us all." said Rajender Kumar Yadav, a tea stall owner. More than the people, it is the police who are petrified with the MCC. "Sir, we are petrified," said a constable at a police picket in Sewai village under Barachatti block, 40 kilometres from Gaya town.
The police picket at this village is the last outpost in Gaya district. A ramshackle building surrounded by 50 mudshacks, the picket has no wireless set, no telephone and the bunkers are made of cow dung. Five constables and one naik protecting several villages in a radius of 10 kilometres. The nearest police station is in Barachatti, six kilometres away.
As we approached the picket, we were asked to stop and give our identities; 20 metres a guard stood aiming his stengun at us.
"We are literally at the mercy of the militants. The senior officers are only interested in knowing how many rifles we have managed to save from the MCC> They are not bothered if we die," said one embittered constable.
There are 55 such police pickets in the remote areas of Gaya district which are not connected with wireless or any other mode of communication.
In Gaya city, the otherwise dead wireless sets are buzzing with activity. All through the night, the police control room keeps a tight vigil over the police stations falling in the militant-infested regions, fearing another attack by the MCC.
The crackled of "Tekari, PIR, all clear? Ismailganj PIR, give us the report, Konch PIR, all clear? Barachatti PIR, all clear? Belaganj PIR..." were the only sounds we heard through the night.
In the morning there was a 15-minute long message from the district superintendent of police P.R.K. Naidu, cautioning policemen, asking them to maintain a strict vigil, be in a state of preparedness. "They (the MCC) have links with the People's War Group and according to intelligence reports, they have acquired over 1,000 types of weapons including hand grenades and land mines from the PWG," the wireless message said.
Towards the evening, instructions were given to begin raids at all suspected militant hideouts.
Waiting for a revolution, the MCC movement has seen a radical change since the Barah massacre in which 32 upper caste villagers were killed by them in 1990. Am army of the lawless, ultra-leftist, lower caste landless labourers, the cracker-bursting MCC grown not just in numbers but also in their determination to fight against elections which they call "democratic torture."
And this torture is fought not just with guns but with slogans like "vote maange to chot do, vote ke dalaalon ko phaansi do (Beat up those who come asking for votes, hang those who trade in votes)," prominently written on the walls of houses in remote villages.
As with all leftist movement in Bihar, the MCC too enjoys a very popular support base. The banned militant outfits runs a parallel government in several districts of Bihar, holds courts and imparts justice (which often manifests itself in chopping off arms of a thief, hanging a murderer), capturing land of the rich landlords and freeing landless labourers from their clutches and also holding marriages without dowry.
In Karvangaon village, Gaya district, one such marriage is taking place in dead of the night.
At 4.30 am the silence of the night in this remote village, 20 kilometres off the main road, is broken with shouts of: "lal salaam, lal salaam." Fifty youngsters have just entered the cluster of huts, winding their way through a sprawling heap of people. With clenched fists and voices raised in a shrill, they shout a "red salute" to fallen comrades.
"Get up, get up, the baraat (marriage party) has come." We are shaken out of sleep after a five-hour wait for the bridegroom.
A gold-rimmed, glass-framed, handmade picture of Mao is reverently placed at the head of a martyrs memorial along which stands a bamboo pole with a red flag tied to it.
"Who is this?"
"Ma-aao," replies 11-year-old Pramod Kumar with a sheepish smile, nibbling his shirt collar.
"Who is Mao?"
"He used to live in China."
"And what did he do in China?"
"He used to lead..."
Under the shadow of their leader, Mao, on a makeshift platform, illuminated by four tubelights and two high-powered bulbs which draw their power from a generator placed some distance away in a paddy filed, an unusual marriage is about to take place in this wilderness.
There will be no dowry, no mantras (vedic chants), no mangalsutra (sacred thread), no fire, no pheras (marriage rites), no pandit (priest) and no band to add to the festivities. The bride and the groom will read out a five-line shapath patra (oath), garland each other and the marriage would be pronounced complete.
Feared for their militancy in Bihar and accused of a number of brutal massacres, the MCC has been conducting these marriages called "adarsh viwah (ideal marriage)" all over central and south Bihar.
"There are three ways to change a society - change its economy, it's polity and its culture. This marriage is one of the ways to change the culture inherited by us through centuries of samantvaad (feudalism) and rigged with numerous anomalies and frivolous superstitions," explains Vijay Kumar, a frontrunner in the MCC movement and an underground activist. "But at the same time we also adopt the good things of the samantvaad culture like this marriage. We could have always gone for a court marriage but it does not have the same sanctity."
A microphone is now put on the stage and everyone gathers around the portrait of Mao. Amid zealous slogans of "Mazdoor ekta zindabaad, lal salaam, lal salaam (red salute to workers unity)" floral tributes are paid to Mao. A minute of silence is then observed in the memory of fallen saathis (comrades), killed in police action.
Next, the grandfathers, fathers and uncles of the bride and the groom are called onto the stage. They shake hands and the bride's father gives a dhoti-kurta to the groom's father.
The bride, 18-year-old Susheela Kumari is tall by conventional standards. Draped in a lustrous yellow sari, she walks confidently onto the stage followed by other women singing traditional marriage songs. There is no ghunghat (veil) and Susheela is not hesitant to look into the eyes of his would-be husband Ashok Kumar. Ashok is dressed in a simple shirt and trousers with a yellow dhoti hung around his neck.
The couple take their seats on the stage and a comrade is called to address the crowd on the virtues of adarsh viwah.
"Today, our women are not able to get married because of samantvaad and dowry system. But there is no dowry in this marriage. There is no pomp and show. These are all part of frivolous expenses."
From the ills of dowry to the horrors of private property, the bourgeois culture to Marx and Lenin, young sathis conclude their speeches with a frenzied "lal salaam."
After an hour of this, the actual marriage begins with a patriotic song.
First, the two father-in-laws are called on the stage and asked to take an oath that they are willingly giving their son/daughter into marriage and that they firmly resolve to throw out feudalism and establish the "rule of people."
The couple now reads a shapad patra resolving to live together by choice. The two garland each other amid a roar of slogans: "Inkalaab zindabad, samantvaad pe hulla bol, hulla bol, hulla bol, Dilli, Bihar pe hulla bol, hulla bol, hulla bol, bhagwan pe hulla bol, hulla bol, hulla bol, lal salaam, lal salaam (down with feudalism, down with Delhi and Bihar, down with God)." Susheela and Ashok are now parried.
"Why do you need the fire, the pheras or the pundit? We are the witness and we will protect their marriage," says Vijay, his eyes glistening in the first rays of the rising sun.

Chapter Fifteen: "Gaari roko, SP sahib to kaala rasgulla chahiye..."

Vaishali, March 28, 1995: 7.20 am: "Hajipur calling Kanchpur, Sultanpur, harijan voters are not being allowed to vote at booth numbers 241 and 242 near Rajendra Rai cold storage..."
8.15 am: "Calling Biddupur... there has been a bomb blast in booth numbers 5 and 6. One woman has been injured and one has been hospitalised, vaise sab peaceful chal raha hai (otherwise, everything is peaceful)..."
8.20 am: "... Industrial (Central Industrial Security Force), please check booth numbers 241, 242, 243 and 250 in Kanchpur where harijans are not being allowed to vote..."
"...Industrial returning... it is not my booth..."
Wireless babu: "Whose booth it is? Industrial is saying it is not theirs. Ganga bridge (police post at a bridge over Ganga) is saying it is not theirs. Aise kaise chalega (how can we work like this?) Please go and see... Bara sahib ka adesh hai (the SP is ordering)..."
8.55 am: "Booth numbers 80 and 81, some hooligans are disrupting the polling. They are firing at the booth from the bushes..."
9 am: "Gari roko, bara sahib ko kaala rasgulla chahiye (Stop the car, SP sahib wants gulabjamun)." The cavalcade of the district magistrate and superintendent of police stops suddenly in the middle of a dusty, village market road. A constable springs out of the SP's pilot jeep and sprint across to a sweet shop.
9.05 am: "... Booth numbers 82, 84 and 235, voters are being prevented from coming to the booth..."
9.25 am: "Desri Mahanaar, booth numbers 110 and 111 are being captured. What is the order, sir?" We lose the signal.
9.45 am: The DM and SP's cavalcade is stopped by a crowd. People begin complaining. "Sir, sir, booth numbers 110, 111 have been captured..."
DM: "Patrolling party is on its way. Chalo driver (driver, move on)."
10.15 am: "... Chaitpura, Biddupur... booth numbers 44 and 45, people are being threatened not to vote..."
10.15 to 10.55 am: Tea break at Garauli police station.
11 am: "A certain Amrish Dubey's house has been burnt down by a group of supporters of a political party near booth numbers 8 and 9 in Mahua..."
11.10 am: "Ballot papers are being stamped by some anti-social elements in booth number 150 in Barauli..."
11.21 am: "... Mahender Singh, a voter, has been killed near booth number 69 in lalganj... ASP sahib has rushed there..."
11.35 am: Booth numbers 190 and 191, Jasparha, Khirjipur: The booth is deserted as our cavalcade approaches, a huge crowd hides behind a cluster of trees, huddled together in fear. The security forces accompanying the DM and SP's cavalcade assure the voters that they can vote fearlessly. A queue is made. Suddenly, the people break off and rush towards a man who is seen fleeing from behind some huts. The crowd roars: "Yahi hai, yahi hai (He's the one, he's the one)."
The police chase the man but he escapes. Voting begins. Later we were informed that the goons returned to the booth an hour after we left, threw bombs at the policemen deployed at the booth and tore up the ballot papers.
12.20 pm: "... A police party led by an inspector has been injured at booth numbers 190 and 191 in Jasparah. They (the goons) threw bombs, we fired, no one is injured, no arrests, sir."
1 pm: "... A booth has been captured in Garaul..."
1.15 pm: "The polling officer at booth numbers 195 and 196 in Garaul has been chased away by some people..."
1.45 am: "... Booth capturing reports have come from booth numbers 79, 80, 81 and 261 in Mahanaar..."
1.55 am: "... Booth numbers 137, 170, 180, 59, 110 and 111, Independent candidate Rama Singh has captured these booths in Mahanaar...."
2 pm: "... Booth numbers 82 and 84 in Hajipur, there are reports of somebody being shot at..."
2.01 pm: "... Booth number 98, Sadar Hajipur, pehle se ballot paper par mohar lagne ke khabar hai (The ballot papers have already been stamped)..."
ENDS