Unsafe Forests.

Author’s Biography- This poem is written by Shruti Jhanwar. A second year

BBA LLB (Hons) student at O.P JINDAL GLOBAL UNIVERSITY. She is interested in
environmental law, company law and many other feilds, which she is in the process of
exploring. Currently, she is working as an intern at the Jindal Center for Global South, and
the Digital future.
Introduction - This is poetry based on a small Adivasi girl from South Chhattisgarh.
Bastar, a small place in South Chhattisgarh, is witnessing mass sexual assaults as a part of
planned Genocide. The area is home for many tribal or the people who were never considered
a part of Indian society, treated more deprived than any other disadvantaged group, and have
gained least and lost most in these seven decades of democracy and development. There have
been numerous cases of their exploitation, enslavement, and dispossession but very few are
known to commons. The poem looks into her alleged encounter of incidents and narrates the
coverage of the testimony of every woman in her village. The subject and issue highlight the
fear, violence, and exploitation faced by tribal people in South Chhattisgarh and the collateral
damage which is being caused to them through all the combing operations and battle
happening amongst the Naxalites (Gorillas) and the Security forces( Salwa Judum) which
shows the failure of state and formal political system in understanding and comprehending
the situation for to the local people. But we are none to blame as everyone around here is just
to fill their pockets and thus no one care about the rights of these Adivasis and their pain. The
only reasonable answer to this can be that such clearance orders for bypassing environmental
and rehabilitation would have been granted under some top administrative or political
pressure. The state has condoned illegal land grabbing industrial practices as well as the
acquisition of mining licenses repeatedly in violation of the laws of land and forest. One can
couch these practices as ‘development’ and ‘forest investment’ in the language of capitalism,
but for the people who have lived in the same forest for centuries, this is massive
dispossession and violent exploitation. The Adivasi girl, in the poem shares her insights about
what is happening around and how she feels about the same.

Looking through the fields and the forests from beyond,

It’s hard to believe this lush hot land is a battlefield since history,
But don’t worry, this is not political, but a human story.

The paddy field grew luminous green in the late afternoon sun,
I meandered towards the forest baring the burn.
As I strayed in the wet clay, barefooted
A sudden sense of mumble came through the bushes.
Luckily, from a distinct view, I saw their battalion,
And in an extreme fright, I ran towards the pavilion.
Watching me, rushing towards the site horrified,
The villagers panicked to witness one more strike.
As I breathlessly shouted, ‘the Judum is coming!!’.
On their feet instantly, everyone grabbed their beloveds and started running.
I ran in the direction, following my mother, to be protected
My father, went home to get food and cattle, then we quickly united.

In half an hour, the entire village was deserted,

Except for Pandari and her father who were unaware of the consequences.
Sooner or later, the men in camouflage with black scarves arrived,
And started ceasing whatever they were able to find.
The next moment, all seventy mud and thatch huts were burning
But Pandari’s father who is half paralyzed was still resting.
Coming back from her routine work, Pandari stepped in,
The sight was horrific, which she was left in.
The troops were hitting her father with butt stalk,
She ran to save him, though they forced her into the shack.
Her mind was filled with fear and their’s with lust,
It was taking another part of her with their each and every thrust
Their ears were wide open but they didn’t hear her plea,
The screams of her saying NO were somehow incomprehensible.
Pinned against the wall, they were six and she felt small,
But why are we amazed; this is all normal after all.

I know the explanation is hard but I don’t know where to start.

Innocent villagers are being harassed, beaten,
and accused falsely of being Naxals in the present hour.
The haunt between the security forces and Gorillas is becoming a wound for us
as they don’t know how it feels to suffer damage and violence without being a cause.
I cannot forget the day I met those reporters who took interviews from our people,
They asked for the things we suffered and we had an abundance to the sequel.

Starting with the most witnessed one, everyone expressed,

That they do a new procedure where to check if a woman is lactating,
they squeeze their breasts.
It may be just a fact or examination which they conduct normally,
But it does feel startling and scary when it is done abruptly.

They say it is to check if we are married or have children,

Thus not to become part of the Naxalites and do rebel.

To all the combing operations I have witnessed,

The men run away with the fear of getting arrested
and the women are left to bear the brunt of the onslaught and to get assaulted.
At one point I saw our leader of the tribe quiet,
As he was too ashamed to translate our words and cried.
We have seen our people being burnt, little children being killed
And women being raped on sights which are alarming,
But they said you are vulnerable and empowered
To bear the weight of running a home and managing the troops, which is mocking.

This dehumanization taught us one thing that is

to not feel anything at all is the strongest emotion there is.
As the reporters left I realized this state made construction,
That a women’s body is always belonged to somebody,
whether it is her husband, parents, the perpetrators, the society,
or in this case even government.
But this would highly remain one of my concern,
That why seeking justice for innocents is always troublesome.
They think we are illiterate and little do we know what’s happening,
But sir, there is a sensible difference between right and wrong which here is lacking.

- SHRUTI JHANWAR.