11-15-2007, 01:42 AM
<!--QuoteBegin-->QUOTE<!--QuoteEBegin--><b>Hell's new name: Nandigram </b>
Pioneer.com
Chandan Mitra writes after a visit to the area as part of the NDA MPs' delegation
For most of us in urban India, terror is something experienced usually in films. Even today, the sound of a bullet-belt scraping against bare rocks as Gabbar Singh made his dramatic entry in that chilling scene from Sholay gives us shivers. Alfred Hitchcock's masterly generation of fear in the viewers' mind is celebrated because it doesn't actually happen to us in real life. We read about outlaws spreading terror in the badlands of middle India from the reassuring comfort of our urban homes. We do not usually sense terror that is invisible, cold terror that is palpable in the eyes, creeping terror that makes people lose even their power of speech. But we came face-to-face with such terror in Nandigram on Tuesday.
Â
Village after village in this violence-ravaged area in West Bengal's East Medinipur district wears a forlorn look. They are virtually bereft of all able-bodied men. Only scrawny elders furtively watched us from a distance. Occasionally, petrified young mothers with small children stood outside their partially destroyed homes with a vacant expression on their faces. We did not encounter any visible CPI(M) presence in the villages. But from the tense look on people's faces, it was apparent that the dreaded party was omnipresent. An eerie silence hung in the air everywhere. In the villages of Nandigram, even babies have forgotten to cry, dogs do not bark here any more.
<b>Most houses here fly freshly-installed red flags with the CPI(M)'s hammer and sickle emblem. We spotted big piles of red flags on the road side, obviously waiting to be hoisted as proclamation of territorial conquest. Every Opposition party office has been razed; their defaced signboards lie on the roadside.</b>
<b>It is now mandatory to fly the CPI(M) flag over every house, especially those belonging to supporters of the Bhoomi Uchchhed Pratirodh Committee. Most BUPC men have fled Nandigram, unable to withstand the CPI(M) cadre's superior fire power backed to the hilt by a supine administration and a captive police, often regarded as "cadre in uniform". </b>
We learnt that many BUPC supporters, mainly poor, marginal farmers who cannot afford to leave their fields untended (the paddy crop is ripe, awaiting harvest) are trickling back from their hideouts. If they decide to come back, they are required to first report to the CPI(M)'s Local Committee office, sign an "instrument of surrender", switch political allegiance, undertake not to speak to the media and only then return home carrying a red flag for hoisting atop their house.
We met an ageing man near Adhikary Pada, almost bent over with fear at the sight of over 100 mediapersons and politicians. He haltingly began to respond to our queries: "Who attacked this village?" Tremulously, he said, "Men on motorbikes." Which party, we persisted. He wouldn't say. Somebody prompted, "Why don't you speak out, M-party, wasn't it?" Yes, he muttered and quickly retracted, "I don't know. I wasn't here. I didn't see anything. Now please go away."
A middle-aged woman held Ms Sushma Swaraj's hand and cried bitterly, asking for help to trace her missing sons. Somebody in the media group took out a notepad and sternly asked, "What's your name?" She froze because the name had, howsoever inaudibly, slipped out. Immediately, other mediapersons using their presence of mind directed her not to reveal her identity. Later we were told the CPI(M) was so heavily organised that it always sent cadre disguised as reporters to extract information from unsuspecting villagers, information that was subsequently used to extract terrible revenge.
The NDA delegation was mobbed on the compound of Nandigram high school (which doubles up as a refugee centre for those who have fled their homes) by wailing women screaming for help to trace their missing husbands or sons. We met a boy not more than 10 years old who saw his mother being shot dead before his eyes. "She was walking in a peace march when they killed her," he mumbled. Gopal has lost his mother Shyamali while his father is missing for months. In Nandigram, "missing" usually means "dead"<b>. Gory tales of how bodies were whisked away and dumped in rivers or even brick kilns followed us everywhere.</b>
We planned to visit Satangabari, a village that has borne the brunt of the CPI(M)'s wrath as its residents put up stiff resistance till recently. But we could not reach the spot since the appointed hour to meet Governor Gopal Krishna Gandhi in Kolkata was ticking away. But we stopped briefly at Kamalpur, a few km before Satangabari, to inspect a relatively large, two-storied house that had been completely gutted. Its owner, Mohibul, told us he was targeted because his absconding elder brother is a BUPC leader. Last Thursday night a horde of CPI(M) men came to the house, turfed out all its occupants and set it on fire. Only the outer frame remains of what was evidently a bustling house till the other day.
Is Nandigram only an unrelenting tale of sorrow, torture and terror? Not quite. It was really heartening to see that the spirit had not been completely snuffed out. In isolated villages deep in the interior, people are understandably petrified and sullen, their anger smouldering. They dare not express their pent-up rage. But not even the dreaded<b> "Harmad Bahini", local name for the CPI(M)'s private army</b>, has been able to silence residents of Nandigram town for here they have the safety of numbers. We were surprised how quickly a crowd of over 1,000 almost miraculously materialised at the school grounds when our delegation went to meet people staying at the relief camp.
Although there was no plan, Mr LK Advani was persuaded to address the gathering amid full-throated cries demanding "phansi" for Chief Minister Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee and controversial ex-MP of the region, Laxman Seth.<b> Trinamool and BJP flags fluttered in many towns en route, crowds gathered to cheer our motorcade all the way to Nandigram, some 160 km from Kolkata</b>. History tells us that terror can suppress people's power of expression only for a brief while. Finally, it is the indomitable spirit of man that triumphs and it is that spirit which moves history.
<!--QuoteEnd--><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Moron Singh had time to visit Vajpayee for N-deal, idiot had no time to visit Nandigram.
What kind of idiot is Moron Singh?
Pioneer.com
Chandan Mitra writes after a visit to the area as part of the NDA MPs' delegation
For most of us in urban India, terror is something experienced usually in films. Even today, the sound of a bullet-belt scraping against bare rocks as Gabbar Singh made his dramatic entry in that chilling scene from Sholay gives us shivers. Alfred Hitchcock's masterly generation of fear in the viewers' mind is celebrated because it doesn't actually happen to us in real life. We read about outlaws spreading terror in the badlands of middle India from the reassuring comfort of our urban homes. We do not usually sense terror that is invisible, cold terror that is palpable in the eyes, creeping terror that makes people lose even their power of speech. But we came face-to-face with such terror in Nandigram on Tuesday.
Â
Village after village in this violence-ravaged area in West Bengal's East Medinipur district wears a forlorn look. They are virtually bereft of all able-bodied men. Only scrawny elders furtively watched us from a distance. Occasionally, petrified young mothers with small children stood outside their partially destroyed homes with a vacant expression on their faces. We did not encounter any visible CPI(M) presence in the villages. But from the tense look on people's faces, it was apparent that the dreaded party was omnipresent. An eerie silence hung in the air everywhere. In the villages of Nandigram, even babies have forgotten to cry, dogs do not bark here any more.
<b>Most houses here fly freshly-installed red flags with the CPI(M)'s hammer and sickle emblem. We spotted big piles of red flags on the road side, obviously waiting to be hoisted as proclamation of territorial conquest. Every Opposition party office has been razed; their defaced signboards lie on the roadside.</b>
<b>It is now mandatory to fly the CPI(M) flag over every house, especially those belonging to supporters of the Bhoomi Uchchhed Pratirodh Committee. Most BUPC men have fled Nandigram, unable to withstand the CPI(M) cadre's superior fire power backed to the hilt by a supine administration and a captive police, often regarded as "cadre in uniform". </b>
We learnt that many BUPC supporters, mainly poor, marginal farmers who cannot afford to leave their fields untended (the paddy crop is ripe, awaiting harvest) are trickling back from their hideouts. If they decide to come back, they are required to first report to the CPI(M)'s Local Committee office, sign an "instrument of surrender", switch political allegiance, undertake not to speak to the media and only then return home carrying a red flag for hoisting atop their house.
We met an ageing man near Adhikary Pada, almost bent over with fear at the sight of over 100 mediapersons and politicians. He haltingly began to respond to our queries: "Who attacked this village?" Tremulously, he said, "Men on motorbikes." Which party, we persisted. He wouldn't say. Somebody prompted, "Why don't you speak out, M-party, wasn't it?" Yes, he muttered and quickly retracted, "I don't know. I wasn't here. I didn't see anything. Now please go away."
A middle-aged woman held Ms Sushma Swaraj's hand and cried bitterly, asking for help to trace her missing sons. Somebody in the media group took out a notepad and sternly asked, "What's your name?" She froze because the name had, howsoever inaudibly, slipped out. Immediately, other mediapersons using their presence of mind directed her not to reveal her identity. Later we were told the CPI(M) was so heavily organised that it always sent cadre disguised as reporters to extract information from unsuspecting villagers, information that was subsequently used to extract terrible revenge.
The NDA delegation was mobbed on the compound of Nandigram high school (which doubles up as a refugee centre for those who have fled their homes) by wailing women screaming for help to trace their missing husbands or sons. We met a boy not more than 10 years old who saw his mother being shot dead before his eyes. "She was walking in a peace march when they killed her," he mumbled. Gopal has lost his mother Shyamali while his father is missing for months. In Nandigram, "missing" usually means "dead"<b>. Gory tales of how bodies were whisked away and dumped in rivers or even brick kilns followed us everywhere.</b>
We planned to visit Satangabari, a village that has borne the brunt of the CPI(M)'s wrath as its residents put up stiff resistance till recently. But we could not reach the spot since the appointed hour to meet Governor Gopal Krishna Gandhi in Kolkata was ticking away. But we stopped briefly at Kamalpur, a few km before Satangabari, to inspect a relatively large, two-storied house that had been completely gutted. Its owner, Mohibul, told us he was targeted because his absconding elder brother is a BUPC leader. Last Thursday night a horde of CPI(M) men came to the house, turfed out all its occupants and set it on fire. Only the outer frame remains of what was evidently a bustling house till the other day.
Is Nandigram only an unrelenting tale of sorrow, torture and terror? Not quite. It was really heartening to see that the spirit had not been completely snuffed out. In isolated villages deep in the interior, people are understandably petrified and sullen, their anger smouldering. They dare not express their pent-up rage. But not even the dreaded<b> "Harmad Bahini", local name for the CPI(M)'s private army</b>, has been able to silence residents of Nandigram town for here they have the safety of numbers. We were surprised how quickly a crowd of over 1,000 almost miraculously materialised at the school grounds when our delegation went to meet people staying at the relief camp.
Although there was no plan, Mr LK Advani was persuaded to address the gathering amid full-throated cries demanding "phansi" for Chief Minister Buddhadeb Bhattacharjee and controversial ex-MP of the region, Laxman Seth.<b> Trinamool and BJP flags fluttered in many towns en route, crowds gathered to cheer our motorcade all the way to Nandigram, some 160 km from Kolkata</b>. History tells us that terror can suppress people's power of expression only for a brief while. Finally, it is the indomitable spirit of man that triumphs and it is that spirit which moves history.
<!--QuoteEnd--><!--QuoteEEnd-->
Moron Singh had time to visit Vajpayee for N-deal, idiot had no time to visit Nandigram.
What kind of idiot is Moron Singh?