ELECTIONS '98 COMMENTARY
SPECIALS
INTERVIEWS
CAPITAL BUZZ
REDIFF POLL
DEAR REDIFF
THE STATES
YEH HAI INDIA!
ARCHIVES

Anyway, Dhamatriites seem sensible folk. They don't waste time talking or acting politics. At the hotel where you stop, the conversations are all about personal matters. No heavy discussions on elections here. In fact, most people seem satisfied with glaring gloomily into their plates while speeding through a meal of rice and dal. You do hear the terms BJP and Congress a few times, but those are references in passing, nothing more.

A visit to the collectorate produces nothing tangible. Manoj Goel is missing in action. And his deputy, a middle-aged scholarly-looking gent, belongs to the old school that believes rules are made to be obeyed.

"As an official of the government," he tells you as a kindergarten teacher would a three-year-old, "I cannot discuss polls. The rules prohibit it."

He asks you where you are headed. When you say Jagdalpur, he issues a warning. "Go carefully. Do not enquire about people's preferences. It is a Naxal-affected area. People may see other motives in your queries."

Kemkar is serene, despite the Naxalites. Formerly part of Bastar, this is a new district and a separate assembly segment. It is 1630 hours.

Somebody tells you there's a VIP in town. We ask him who, but he doesn't have a clue.

"Koi bade log hai," he says.

You go over to the police station to find the identity of the visiting bigwig. But it is deserted. Almost. The sentry says the 'TI' or three-star inspector, has taken all the forces and gone off to Komaldev Club. "Some VIP is coming."

Who?

No idea.

Komaldev Club is nearby. The maidan there looks done up for a BJP meeting. There's bamboo railing all over and lots of saffron, including a swagat banner. Plus, the cops, some 50 of them, standing in a semblance of attention, while the three-star inspector briefed held court.

You join the scraggly crowd that's splattered on the fringes of the maidan. The locals aren't here for the meeting. They're more like curious observers -- what on earth is going on here?

"Kaun aa rahe hain?"

"Kailash Joshi," claims an elderly bespectacled gent, who, sitting on his haunches, is surveying the activities with complete detachment.

Ah, Kailash Joshi. You nod your head wisely. But a youth interrupts: "Kailash Joshi nahin, Murli Manohar Joshi aa rahe hain," he tells you, adding, "Woh BJP ka bada minister hain Delhi mein."

The talk turns to who will win. Both the youth and the elder shake their heads. "Keh nahin sakte."

Kemkar segment has two main rivals. Yes, again the BJP and the Congress are at loggerheads. Shyam Druvey and Shiv Netam, respectively. The others in the fray are Rajendra Kumar (Janata Dal), Padamsingh Thakur (Shiv Sena), Indira Netam and Pilaram Netam, both Independents. All tribals.

The three-star inspector, meanwhile, has finished his lecture. He is Sujith Mukar. Murli Manohar Joshi, he tells you, is arriving from Bhanupratappur by motorcade at 1830 hours for a brief meeting.

"It's going to be neck and neck here," Kumar is saying, "There is no discernible wave for either the BJP or the Congress. Both parties are ridden by factionalism.

"The general public is impressed by the promise of Chhattisgarh, but the onion prices have undone all that." About 75 per cent of the voters, he adds, are from the backward classes, of them 50 per cent tribals.

The road beyond Kemkar is even more deserted than the one you have traversed. It is pretty cold. And dark, too, though it is only 1730 hours. Some 30 kilometres away comes the halt at Banjari Mata temple at Keskalghat.

All vehicles stop here. An educated-looking man, in a brown sweater that seems to squeeze the breath out of him, is standing beside his Rajdoot motorbike, and adjusting the straps of an old-fashioned helmet.

"What difference does Chhattisgarh state make to us?" he asks. "What difference does the poll make for that matter? Nothing!"

"Hum log ko koi farakh nahin padega," says his wife, looking even more breathless in an off-white sweater.

You note down their reactions faithfully, see them off and approach the temple. You pray long and hard. For the impossible, for a -- oh please god, let it be so! -- cybercafe in Jagdalpur so that you can escape another round of torture at the vintage typewriter you are lugging around.

By the way, you are now officially in Bastar district, though the constituency of that name lies ahead. Kondagaon is the next segment you pass. Dr Atul Jain, a doctor at the government hospital who has served in Kohua, a Naxalite-affected area, for six years before this posting, is glad to talk.

"The social make-up of this area is different. Only about 30 per cent of the people live in urban areas -- when I say urban, I mean by the side of the highway. The rest are all inside, some 30 to 40 kilometres away, on both sides of the road. There is absolutely no awareness among them. They don't even know how to vote. I have seen many of them holding the ballot in one hand and putting the seal on the desk.

"Because of the Naxalites very little polling takes place in the village. Of that, less than 19 per cent are valid.

"The BJP's Chhattisgarh promise has created some impression on the educated people. But in the villages, the people are not even aware of that. They still live in the Indira Gandhi era. They still vote for the Congress as a rule."

The reason for this, you find out, is that Indira Gandhi, a clever lady, had visited Bastar district, even the villages, a couple of times.

"The people think she's still alive. That's the kind of awareness they have there," Dr Jain says, and launches into an anecdote.

"Last polling day, my wife asked our servant -- she's a tribal -- why she voted for the Congress. She said, 'Khaana haath me rakhke khata hai, Kamal me rakhke nahin (Food is kept in the hand and eaten, not in a lotus)'. That's the kind of mentality they have."

Dr Jain says polling in the interior areas is only around two per cent. The Naxalites, who have banned elections, have threatened to chop off the voting finger of the villagers who vote.

Had Dr Jain come across someone who has lost his fingers to polls?

"No, the Naxalites don't do that. I have come across cases where they have beaten up poll officers, stripped them naked and told them to push off. They don't generally kill or main people unless you are a policeman," he says.

As you are about to leave, he provides you with the address of Stanley John. He's a lecturer who has done poll duty in sensitive areas. "He will be able to tell you where to go and what to look for," the good doctor says as you bid him goodbye.

Stanley John, you realise, is a potent source. He lives on the way, in Bhanpur village. It's while you are searching for his house that you hear something new, thanks to Jayaprakash, a local youth who's guiding you.

"Chhattisgarh agar nahin banega tho accha hoga (It will be better if Chhattisgarh is not declared a state)," he says. "It will make no difference to Chhattisgarhis. Life will be as poor as before. Moreover, the Raipur people will steal everything from us."

Stanley John is away, his house locked. The neighbours say you will find him in Jagdalpur, at his parents' home. He's a man to meet, they echo. He can help you a lot.

You thank them and set off again. By the time you reach Jagdalpur, it's late at night. You have a splitting headache, your hair, eyes and mouth are full of dust. And there's the redoubtable Stanley John still to meet...

Assembly Election '98

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