Sisters In Savagery

BUDDHO'S story. Orphaned at five. Sold in matrimony at 18. By her own brother. To thrice-married widower Jaipal, 52, of Jarcha. Mother at 19. Passion of three men, paramour of married neighbour Premchand, 30, at twenty. Mother of three, murder co-accused and jailbird at 25. Whip-lashed, village outcast, newspaper headline at 26. No longer a person. Just the woman in the—Woman, lover whipped at Panchayat's diktat—headline last fortnight. Now brutalised, in hiding somewhere, with her lover Premchand. And five kids. Two of his from his deceased wife, three of hers.

 On the night of March 18, a 250-strong mob lashed the lovers to a tree at village Jarcha in Uttar Pradesh, 70 km from Delhi. They were accused of adultery. Next, beaten insensate. Finally, a screaming bunch of 50 female furies pounced on Buddho, beat her unconscious, stripped her, stuffed red chillies into her genitals.

All this at Jarcha. A mere six km away from the giant chimneys of the National Thermal Power Corporation. In the shadow of this very futuristic landscape a dark plot reminiscent of The Crucible and the Scarlet Woman played itself out. Jarcha: physically at six km distance, socially six centuries away from civilisation as we know it.

"Bhain**** aisa bhi kya hua jo saare press wale daud rahe hain?" (whatever happened to make the press corps run so?) exclaims sub-inspector Kamlesh Kumar of the NTPC police station. To him the whole case is one of much ado about nothing. "Saari galti Jaipal ki hai jo budape ki shaadi ki. Bhooki gai hare khet ke paas bandho to charegi hi (it's Jaipaul's fault, marrying in his dotage. A hungry cow will feed if you tie it next to the greens)," he hoots as cohorts chortle.

The road to Jarcha is rough. The villagers quiet, suspicious, withdrawn. Village elder Prabhu haltingly narrates the chronology of events that led up to that night. "Premchand called Jaipal chacha, organised the wedding of Jaipal's son. He also started a love affair with his wife." Villagers warned Premchand to stop courting someone he publicly called chachi. "They wouldn't listen," says Prabhu.

It was complicated romance. But then so were their lives. Buddho, disappointed in a marriage that never was more than a barter, sought love. She found men instead. Like Surender Jat, Makhan Singh, Brahma Pandit. Then Buddho went and spoilt it all. Fell in love. With Premchand. Her ex-lovers fumed. Premchand was married, his brother Chandrapal had brokered her disastrous marriage to Jaipal. He was a petty thief even. Just last October he'd stolen Rs 18,000 worth of gold jewellery from a neighbour, Durgi, for which his father had to recompense Durgi in cash. But to Buddho nothing mattered. He loved her. Passionately.

Too passionately, as it turned out. "He killed his wife. Burnt her to death last July," revealed the police. Premchand went to prison for a month. So did Buddho as co-accused. Both families spent Rs 25,000 each on securing their acquittal. The couple returned. And resumed their romance. "Buddho was pushing 30, looking for a permanent anchor. Premchand murdering his wife deepened rather than lessened her love for him. "Her logic: he must really love her to kill for her," says local inspector Virendra Dutt Unial. Jaipal demanded she sever contact with Premchand. Buddho persisted. On Holi when her brother Manohari came visiting, Jaipal, disgusted, demanded he take his sister away. Manohari, aware of Buddho's liaison, dropped her and the children at Premchand's and left.

SHE stayed three days. Then all hell broke loose. "Her lovers were enraged," says Unial. "Everybody's property had become one man's property." Determined to break the liaison the ex-lovers instigated Jaipal to convene a panchayat. He demanded Premchand hand over the cash, jewellery Buddho had taken from his house plus the Rs 25,000 he'd spent on the court case. He also demanded Premchand transfer his share of the land to his children by Buddho and return his son to him. When Premchand's family, already bankrupt after paying for his court case and the Durgi misdemeanour, refused to comply the triumphant trio of ex-lovers called another meeting the night of March 18. The lovers' triad taunted Buddho, told her she'd "spoilt the atmosphere". Buddho taunted them right back: "Really? Which among you pure ones has not frolicked with me?" she blazed. She provoked the assemblage further. "Which kids' interests is Jaipal protecting? All my three kids came from Premchand, not him."

The enraged triad ordered the couple to be tied to a tree and beaten. A frenzied mob of 100-odd village women present bayed for Buddho's blood. Led by Durgi, aided by Makhan, they beat Buddho to a bleeding mess, prised her legs apart, poured chilli powder into her genitals. Laxman Singh, the lone duty constable, hotfooted to the distant police station. "I was scared, unarmed," he recalls. "They could've killed me." Unial reached with a police force, broke up the assembly by 2 pm. By which  time Buddho had fainted, half-dead. Premchand, still tied, was whimpering.

Sixteen people were arrested. All have since obtained bail. None have returned to Jarcha yet. At Premchand's home his mother wails: "What jewellery does Jaipal want? Buddho doesn't even have a nosepin. Why're they bent on killing us?" Husband Mohar is bitter. "Kya boloon? Panchayat ka insaf hai (What can I say? It's panchayat justice)." Suddenly Durgi barges into the courtyard along with an aggressive entourage: "Yes, we beat her," she screams. "She was responsible for the murder of a bahu here. Do you want her to kill us all?" Asked whether she stuffed chillies in Buddho's genitals, she turns defiant. "She did it herself and blamed us. Is her **** lined with gold that there's such a furore about it," she says, frothing at the mouth.

Today Jarcha is a village ashamed. "What happened was wrong," says Mukesh, 30, local dhaba owner. "This was a Dushaasan kaand with the women playing the role of Dushaasan," he says drawing upon a Mahabharataallegory. Prabhu, Chaitram, villagers of different ages, professions, persuasions gather in the failing evening light. "We were so afraid of the mob turning on us," they murmur. Chaitram looks misty-eyed: "Bada maara bechari ko (the poor thing was battered)," he says. The men are visibly penitent. The women, surprisingly defiant, unrepentant.

Unial misleads when asked the whereabouts of Buddho and Premchand, provides addresses of relatives scattered across five villages in UP, Haryana. We meet two sisters who haven't seen Buddho in two years. A brother Daalchand who weeps as he rages: "I'll kill her if I ever see her. Itni beizzati..." Two brother-in-laws of Premchand's profess ignorance of his whereabouts. An 18-hour, 400 km car chase later, wisdom dawns. The police had sent us on a wild goose chase. To prevent us from seeing and meeting a battered Buddho and Premchand who they're probably hiding. They'd assured us they had only "light injuries". Even shown us medical reports. Never mind eyewitness reports to the contrary. Buddho, Premchand must remain invisible for they might cast light on the role of the police. Though just six km away, they managed to terminate a torture that began at 10 pm only four hours later. The faces of Premchand and Buddho may reveal the true face of the system. An ugly one that seems to be in the interests of everyone to hide. Everyone, except the bruised and battered victims of the system.