Marichjhanpi

Probably I will never forget this name, and there are still more than a thousand men and women who too will never forget this name. The massacre of hundreds of men and women of this lonely island in the Sundarbans in 1979 may not find much mention in the history book of West Bengal, but if we go slow going through the history of Bengal in that year, we may be shocked to know that the voiceless men and women who could be dispensed just because they received the patronage of an opposition party, which was not in power. Police joined the vile tactics of a political leader who has his name in the Guinness Book of records as the longest surviving chief minister in the world. Did the people deserve such a gruesome treatment just because they were refugees?

What can power do to a person is so very conspicuous in the story of Marichjhanpi; human beings are pawns who can be bought and sold, made use of to reach one’s selfish gains. If this game on the lives of people were to continue, there may be hardly enough people to inhabit this world. What the guru had done about 30 years ago, that is what precisely his faithful disciple tried to do in Singur, Nandigram. But if the chief minister was an opportunist, who wanted to remain in the seats of power at the expense of the people, the opposition leader was no different; with her sentimentality going beyond all reasonable limits, she too was trying to sell the sweats and blood of the peasants to get into ministerial berth in Delhi.

The world we live in today seems to be so corrupt that no one can be easily spared; each one of the leaders we have today have a dream which is sure to put the lives of the speechless, voiceless and sightless people into danger. The leaders of today have no hearts; all they have in front of their eyes is power, prestige, and wealth. They would do anything in order to get their dreams fulfilled. It may be hard to find a leader who is prepared to shed his/her sweat, leave alone the blood, for the sake of the people they work for. In that case, I take my hats off for such people’s leader as Medha Patkar, who may sit in hot sun with voiceless people, to stand by the peasants and farmers.

One great consolation in the whole process is that there had been some leaders at the ground, who were prepared to face gun firing, lathi charge, teargas in order to get justice done to the people. They may not have succeeded in reaching their dreams; they may still have lots of grudge against the political systems of today and yesteryears, but one thing is true, their indomitable hope and trust had probably given the much needed stamina for people to face all opposition. These men and women are like stars who brighten up our lives, and thank God there are still men and women of such stature, and it is their sweat and blood which is the vital link between life in its fullness and our lives.

The dark pages of history cannot be easily burnt and be forgotten; they will have to be embraced with all their sweat and blood; it may be too hard for the people who had gone through those bone-chilling days and incidents, and still we have no option. We may only wish that history does not repeat in the case of our future generations. We need to open the dark chapters of each of our histories, full of tear and blood, and relive our past, because out of these pages may emerge phoenix, with new vigor and energy, and that may be enough to change the world. We each one then will have a greater responsibility to fulfill.