“My elder sister Bhan Dei and Ganga Talen and Sakha Toren (two other women of the tribe) – they too were arrested. They’re all gone now. Father spent two years in Raipur jail.”

Her region today is dominated by feudals who were collaborators of the Raj. They have benefitted more from the freedom that Salihan and her kind fought for. Islands of wealth dot the ocean of deprivation here.

She gives us a great smile, many great smiles, but she is tiring. She struggles to recall the names of her three sons Brishnu Bhoi, Ankur Bhoi and Akura Bhoi. She waves at us as we say goodbye and leave. Demathi Dei Sabar ‘Salihan’ is still smiling.



‘Salihan’ died a little over a year after our meeting in 2002.

For Demathi Sabar ‘Salihan’

They won’t tell your story, Salihan

And I can’t see you making Page 3

That’s for the painted whatnot,

the liposuctioned lot,

the rest’s for the Captains of Industry

Prime Time’s not for you, Salihan

It is, and this isn’t funny,

for those who murder and maim

who burn and who blame

And speak saintly then, of Harmony

The Brits torched your village, Salihan

So many men carrying guns

They came by the train

bringing terror and pain

Till sanity itself was undone

They burned all there was, Salihan

after looting the cash and the grain

Brutes of the Raj

they led a violent charge

But you faced them with total disdain

You strode down the street towards him

you faced that man with the gun

In Saliha they still tell the story

of the battle you fought

and you won

Your kin lay bleeding around you

your father, a bullet in his leg

Still you stood tall,

Drove those Brits to the wall

For you went there to fight, not to beg

You struck that officer, Salihan

And thrashed him before he could move

When he finally did

he limped and he hid

seeking refuge from 16-year-old you

Forty girls against the Raj, Salihan

And strong and beautiful, too

Now you’re shrunk and you’re grey,

your body withers away

But there’s a spark in those eyes that’s still you

Those who toadied the Raj, Salihan,

they rule your poor village today

And build temples of stone

but they’ll never atone

For bartering our freedoms away

You die as you lived, Salihan

Hungry, with little to eat

In history’s shades

your memory, it fades,

like Raipur jail’s roster sheet

Had I but your heart, Salihan

What success would I then not see

Though that battle itself

was not for yourself

But that others might also be free

Our children should know you, Salihan

But what is your claim to fame?

No ramp did you glide

No crown wear with pride

Nor lend Pepsi and Coke your name

Do speak to me, Salihan

For endless an hour as you please

This hack, when we part,

wants to write of your heart

Not romance India’s Captains of Sleaze