I grew up in Jharkhand, an eastern state of India with a huge tribal belt, where the innocence and simplicity of tribals have always fascinated me. These qualities steadily disappearing from the urban spaces can be still found among the tribal communities. While growing up in the capital city of Jharkhand, it was quite common to read about the news of elephant attacks and witch hunting. Being blessed by the nature, one can understand why animal attacks, especially elephant attacks, were so common in the tribal areas of the state. However, it was the increased prevalence of the rudimentary practice of “Witch Hunting”, which really perplexed and saddened me. This horrendous practice is so common in daily life that even the witch hunting incidents get covered in newspapers in a very regular way: brief, cold and mundane. Composed in a mere few words, the reports succeed in subtly hiding the torments and brutality of the incident. At the end, the incident would seem to the readers to be just a minor spat or scuffle between irrational neighbors; however, the true face of these witch hunting incidents is too scarier to imagine and to be felt.
Witch hunting, mostly targeted on women, not just robs an individual of his or her dignity, but also inflicts a deep emotional, psychological and physical pain, beyond heal and cure. A mob, blinded by superstition and rumors, suddenly finds it to be completely within the purview of the law to punish the alleged witch hunter by publicly shaming him or her and inflicting various voyeuristic physical tortures using sticks and fists, or probably more. The mob waits for none for clarification, neither the police nor the local administration. They are convinced enough to be dissuaded from committing such an inhumane action. One gets reminded of the prevalence of such a practice by the heart-breaking documentary entitled “Testimony of Ana”, wherein the victim of a witch hunting incident recounts the tortures inflicted by a group of drunk villagers on that dreadful day. More than the infliction of physical scars, the scars made on her self-respect and dignity as a woman pains her the most. One can feel the pain in every inch of her face. The wrinkled face and wrinkle hands seem to be seeking justice still undelivered and praying for her agitated mind and heart.
When I saw her face, devoid of vivid expressions, I was reminded of a pair eyes looking for justice, a forehead constantly reminded of those unforgettable tortures, lips praying for some magic that can quieten her restless mind and heart, a pair of ears not ready to forget those insults and hair growing grey while waiting for getting back her dignity. When I try keeping myself in her shoes, I feel I might have abandoned the village and my land after going through so many insults. I might have turned into a wanderer seeking god to quieten my mind and heart. Or, I might have lost my mind and would have ended my life. Who knows? But here is a woman, mind you a village woman, who stands strongly against all injustices and is determined enough to continue living on her land. While she continues to seek justice and remains disappointed over the action taken on the culprits, she is not ready to part away from her land, her only property, because of a few drunk people and their unforgivable brutal act.
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