Manavi Deopura
09.03.2010
When Rainu Sadmek became part of the Naxalite movement, he hadn’t thought what the consequences would be, or the conclusion. Spurred on by revolutionary literature, he set to rebel against an ‘incompetent’ government by way of Naxalite anarchy. “I had a passionate idea that by joining the Naxal movement, I was servicing the people who had been betrayed by the government. I was young and wet behind the ears,” Rainu admits.
Originally of the Gond tribe, one of the prominent tribes in Gadchiroli, a district in the eastern region of Maharasthra notorious for poor development and Naxal trouble, Rainu is fluent in Telugu as well.
His stay at his uncle’s school in Hindewada near Lahiri in the southern region of Gadchiroli was the first occasion when he came under Naxalite influence. He was in seventh standard then, about 14. The Naxalites had come to his school and told him about their work, their ideology, their purpose and procedures. “I was very impressionable. I was also very scared. They part persuaded and part pushed me into joining the camp.” That was how Rainu came to join the Balana camp near Bhamragarh in southern Gadchiroli.
Since he showed the qualities that would make a good entry-level commander in the ranks, he was appointed to be one. “They usually look for someone who is organised, decisive, can effectively co-ordinate with the other dalams (cadres), authoritative and firm. They thought I provided a good choice. I started off doing routine chores in the cadres. But the party leaders thought I was dependable, so they started involving me in bigger operations,” Rainu says.
Around this time, trouble had begun to set in. For his family, more than him. Born in a family of seven siblings – six brothers, Rainu being the fourth one, and a sister – the pressure from his family to sever his Maoist ties and return home was immense. “My father was ashamed for me. They would tell me now and then when they could contact me to surrender. But I believed in what I was doing.”
The shame that Rainu’s father, Lalsai felt, escalated as the village inhabitants attributed Maoist motives to the entire family. Rainu’s Naxalism was deduced to reflect upon the family’s loyalties too. “People thought my entire family was involved with me.” The most vulnerable to such a misplaced inference turned out to be Rainu’s father, his disquiet the most ghastly of consequences for Rainu, issuing from a choice he had made six years earlier. “He was mortified that the family was now tainted as a Naxal family. The villagers shunned them. The police suspected them. They would raid the house regularly and threaten my father.” Lalsai was jailed for two years. One of rainu’s brothers was similarly harrassed and booked under TADA. “They would accuse and abuse the family. My father was exhausted. He wanted out,” Rainu says.
So he charred himself to death. The social ostracism and vilification led the patriarch to douse himself in kerosene fire one night not long after he was released from jail. That, however did not put an end to the stigma so resolutely placed upon the family by people and police.
His father’s suicide stunned him, though not enough to convince Rainu, young and headstrong still, of reconsidering his course. Nor did the persuasions and admonishments of his family, specially one of his elder brothers’, who worked in the police department.
He shifted base to Chhatisgarh thereon, a hotbed of Naxal operations. He was stationed to the backward Abujmadh initially. “Here, I networked with the villagers, learned their language, endeared our cause by telling them it served their purposes. It was for their rights that people like me had take to rebellion, taken up arms.” Personally, Rainu didn’t have much of a life. His life was reduced to the basics, except the incongruous element of a rebel on the move: eating boiled rice with bamboo curry, a staple in these insulated areas, keeping track of informers, having to constantly watch his back, indoctrinating people and being indoctrinated with the Naxal ideology. Thereon, he was sent for rigorous operations and training in Bastar, again in Chattisgarh.
He had revealed in a prior interview to Indian Express, “We had a Filipino man come down to train us in 2001. LTTE men have come twice for the same purpose. They instructed us in defense and offense tactics, like laying mines and grenades. Others from the party taught us weaponry handling, like AKs, SLRs etc. way before that.”
With every change in base, came a promotion. His training and efficiency led him to climb the ranks. After two years as a deputy commander of his platoon (a platoon has three regional sections under its wing), he became the section Division Commander, supervising six to seven dalams. At this stage, his operational objective involved seizing weapons and attacking and foiling police plans. “The funds for these operations come from tendu and bamboo tradesmen, and from certain tribals, from various villages,” Rainu says. “I never remitted any of this money back home,” Rainu says, adding how there was a total severance of any family ties he may have had.
But he found some respite while stationed at Etapalli in Gadchiroli when he met and married Bharati Ported. Bharati, who is from Arapalli, ran away from home to become a Naxalite. “It was in the dalam that Bharati learned to read and write their language. She didn’t know anything before,” Rainu says.
But they had to part ways after ten years of operating out of the same village as Rainu. After that came Rainu’s break in the struggle: a three-hour long cross-fire that ensued between the police and dalam members. Jharwada in Jamiagatta village where the dalam members gheraoed the police. Each side suffered a casualty.
He claims he was also at the forefront of the face-off that took place in Kumarguda near Bhamragarh in Gadchiroli between the police and Naxals in 2003.
It was here that Rainu began to have grave doubts of the Naxal motives and achievements. “I began to deliberate over the hierarchical grid that dalams were formulated into. Since Naxalite ideology should have no place for a ranked order, I began seeing through their hypocrisy.” And questioning them. This wasn’t looked upon very kindly, nor was it condoned. “I asked a CPI(Maoist) leader about the inequality between the various cadres and the prevalence of Andhra leaders in the top rungs, but they didn’t give a conclusive reply,” Rainu says. “I also suggested to the party leaders to allow some of the government projects to be built. Roads and dams that were actually beneficial for the tribals. But the party top brass disagreed,” Rainu says.
They found him uppity and didn’t take kindly to his prodding and suggestions. They began doubting him to be a police informer, and blamed the failure of party operations on him.
“A lot of us began facing unjustified discrimination. Toward the end of my operations, the party leaders were paranoid with suspicion. They started killing innocents, doubting them for informers. Members like me were in a bind as even the police would suspect us. There was enmity and mistrust within the party cadres” Rainu says.
For his part, Rainu saw that the Naxal ideals were far from being accomplished. “The illusive hope of a Naxal takeover, that would bring about development and emancipation of the tribals, remained just that, an illusion. Now, I am totally convinced that working against the state, adopting a destructive strategy, and thwarting government-backed growth will not achieve any good for the tribals. That is why I decided to surrender,” Rainu says.
The government had instituted the surrender policy in 2005. “It was good news for a lot of us disabused Naxals. We were being given an option, a way out. In exchange for co-operation and information, we were given protection,” Rainu says.
Rainu, along with his wife started considering surrender as a serious option after his brother, who was a police worker, and a cousin of his, also in the police, convinced him of the futility of Naxal operations. “Though it had been on our mind for quite some time by then. We were looking for proper guidance and assurance,” Rainu says.
Bharati’s disillusionment with the promises of restoration of rights of tribals made by the Naxal leaders had already started to snowball early on in the decade and led to her surrender in 2007. This made things even more difficult for Rainu. He became an easy target for the party that continually accused him of being a government sympathizer. Things reached a head till Rainu, after 22 years of life as a Naxalite, decided to lay down arms as well. In June 2009, two years after his wife, Rainu Sadmek surrendered.
The surrender had cost him the life of his father and estrangement from his family, but he believes he has at least gotten back on the straight and narrow now.
“Of course, the danger to my life from Naxalites is there. But I had to do it. Their ideology, the reason I sided with them to begin with, had become corrupted. Surrender seemed to be the right way out,” Rainu says, adding, “Now I am looking forward to a normal life.”
