#MeBapuBiruVategaonkar
The recent #MeToo wave in India has uncovered a can of worms exposing not only the shameful abuse of power in the media, academia and entertainment business, but has challenged the morals of a patriarchal society that we live in. It’s a moment of truth and reckoning, especially for men. What should be our response as members of the male species? It seems at once complicated, difficult and so unpleasant that we would rather not discuss or deal with it at all.
As I pondered the dilemma, the past caught up with me, taking me back to the lush green sugarcane fields on the banks of Krishna in the rural idyllic of southern Maharashtra, where one man refused to be a mute spectator to the exploitation of women, long before the #MeToo movement swept the world, or India.
His name was Bapu Biru Vategaonkar. As the name suggests, he was a typical son of the soil, rustic, uneducated but well-grounded in the traditional value system of the nomadic Dhangar or shepherd community he was born into. A keen wrestler in his younger days, this was perhaps the single most important factor that shaped his future life, which was to assume mythic proportions in the Krishna valley.
The story of Bapu’s unusual journey begins from his native village Borgaon in Walva taluka of Sangli district sometime in the late fifties. Typical of rural folks in India, he couldn’t be bothered with exact dates, months or years of events in his long, eventful life. But it’s an established fact that Bapu killed his fellow villager Ranga Shinde before fleeing Borgaon. He then continued to elude the police for over two decades, unleashing a murderous trail from his numerous hideouts, claiming a dozen lives, perhaps even more, until his arrest in 1983.
By this time, however, Bapu Biru Vategaonkar had gained a cult status among the local populace, especially women, residing along the banks of the Krishna. They had come to regard him as a father, brother, or even the divine saviour, who could be depended upon to protect their honour. Men who did wrong came to fear him.
Bapu was sentenced for life in prison but his good conduct ensured an early release in 2004. He came out a man transformed, a spiritual person who spoke of abstinence from all vices and espoused good moral behaviour. ‘Learn to respect women. Give up alcohol and tobacco,’ he would tell the men until his death due to a brief illness on 16 January 2018.
Women across Walva turned up in huge numbers at Borgaon to bid him a final adieu. They cried uncontrollably. ‘People in Sangli never regarded him as a dacoit… simply because he killed those who made life miserable for the poor, especially women who dreaded going out of their homes because of harassment by goons,’ Jayshree Marale, a resident of Islampur, told The Indian Express. ‘Those who were victimised were provided protection by Vategaonkar… because of this, over the years, the number of his followers and admirers grew… People believed in what he said and followed every word he spoke’.
What do you make of a man who was a serial murderer. His stated objective of fighting oppression could well be a ruse to hide the heinous crimes he committed. Can one believe in the narrative devised by a convicted criminal; such queries continue to cast doubts over the life and legacy of Bapu Biru Vategaonkar.
The man himself was probably aware of this as is apparent from his later public persona and the rare interview he gave to television anchors. He was never apologetic of his past life but chose to play it down. ‘Rangya Shinde had a gang in Borgaon. He had grown uncontrollable. He would harass and threaten the poor. He would spare no woman in his lust. Village elders feared him. Police did nothing to rein him. My blood would boil at the mere sight of him. So I finished him,’ he’d told a news channel in 2013.
The story goes that a young married woman from a Dalit community approached Bapu begging him to rescue her from the clutches of Ranga Shinde, or let her commit suicide. That apparently sealed the village goon’s fate. For Bapu, even in old age, could pose a formidable challenge to any opponent; a tall, burly man with a swarthy, blunt-featured face, he still retained the broad shoulders, barrel chest, strong arms and pillar-like legs of his prime.
That fateful day, Bapu picked his axe and carefully hid a knife beneath the loose shirt he’d put on for a religious sermon held at the village main square. He called out Ranga in front of everyone to join him under the pretext of sharing a ‘paan’ or betel leaf. A while later, making the excuse of relieving himself, Bapu got up and walked away to pull out the knife without anybody noticing it, then returned to grab Ranga by the neck before driving the blade into his abdomen as the crowd watched.
‘I was young, solidly-built, and in one go disemboweled and left him for dead,’ Bapu later recalled his first murder. He did not stop at it, and went on to kill two of Ranga’s family members when they swore revenge. He would often narrate how he surprised Ranga’s brother near an isolated bush on the village’s outskirts and hacked him to death with an axe before burning the body and throwing it into a stream, never to be found again.
Ranga’s maternal uncle, who carried a licensed firearm and moved around in police protection, was shot dead at the village bus stop in broad daylight with a .303 rifle, hinting at Bapu’s growing clout and collusion with the lower rung of police.
He was now an absconder with the district police launching a manhunt besides keeping his family under constant surveillance. But that did not deter Bapu. The ordinary folks were with him. Stories of women trudging miles under the hot sun to deliver him food and water abound in the area. They would also send their young kids to his hideouts with vital alerts on the movement of police.
Why would the rural, unlettered womenfolk support a ruthless criminal like Bapu Biru Vategaonkar. The answer lies perhaps in his demeanour. Bapu had a strange streak of spirituality in him. He did not drink or smoke, nor did he eat meat. He once found himself relishing mutton in his dream and rushed in the middle of the night to a spiritual Guru to confess the sin. The Guru laughed it off.
This Guru, much respected for his spiritual powers in the villages of Walva, had given divine sanction to his so-called crusade against the anti-social elements, Bapu would claim, presenting himself as the quintessential Pandav taking on the evil Kauravas. ‘Follow the path shown by Bhagwant. Don’t harass the poor, helpless folks,’ became Bapu’s Guru Mantra hereafter.
By now, women had started approaching Bapu seeking his help in resolving their domestic problems including rampant physical abuse. He admittedly would summon their husbands and in-laws and settle matters, often subjecting the stubborn lot to corporal punishment. ‘Give up the evil practice of dowry. Don’t abuse your daughters-in-law for money. Otherwise…,’ he would threaten them.
To the uninitiated, the combination of progressive thought and violent methods in Bapu’s conduct would appear strange, even shocking and frightening.
It may, MAY have to do with the way southern Maharashtra had shaped as a society since the late nineteenth century. That era saw the region produce some of India’s most progressive activists and thinkers. Apart from Jotirao Phule and his wife, Savitribai, reformers such as Gopal Ganesh Agarkar, Shahu Maharaj and Bhaurao Patil, who promoted secularism, rationalism and affirmative action, especially education and equality for women, had emerged in the region.
After independence, the values of these reformers percolated not only the public life but the everyday lives of the ordinary folks, many of whom, especially from the Walva area, had participated in or witnessed the Prati Sarkar, a peasant uprising against imperial rule, launched in the region in 1942 by a leader named Krantisinh Nana Patil, in response to the Mahatma’s call for the British to ‘quit India’.
The Prati Sarkar revolutionaries established a parallel government in Satara-Sangli belt, and also promoted education by setting up libraries and schools, and propagated women’s upliftment. They also conducted nyaydan mandals or people’s courts, where feudal exploiters and other assorted criminals, along with British sympathisers were tried and punished — a common method was to cane the soles of people’s feet.
It would be foolhardy to draw comparisons between the deeds of a convicted criminal and the revolutionaries, but there could be little doubt they were both products of the same era.
What would’ve contributed to Bapu Biru Vategaonkar’s cult status then. It could’ve also been the way he dealt with one of his own, without even batting an eyelid.
Having spent long periods away from his family, a time came for the man to stand up and be counted — to show his people that he had the courage of convictions. They could count on him.
This chapter in his life is best understood from Bapu’s own perspective, lifted straight from a rare interview he gave to a Marathi channel;
Interviewer: You always stood firm for justice, and opposed those you didn’t agree with. You didn’t even think twice before killing your own son?
Bapu: I’d left home when they were small, school going kids. Now they’d grown up… and become 25 year olds. Those rivals lured them into bad habits… (gets into details) They started drinking… the elder one began to extort money… people started complaining, ‘You killed so many, your son is now demanding money, drinking heavily…’ That’s why I killed him.
Interviewer: But you loved your son more than anybody else. And yet, you killed him.
Bapu: I could’ve done a thousand (good) things, but what do you do when your son starts to behave like this. It was good he died, otherwise he would’ve led the whole family ashtray…
Interviewer: Didn’t your wife fight with you? You were killing your own son? What was her reaction?
Bapu: Now, what’s the point in recalling all that. The boy was behaving badly, people were saying you killed others, can’t you see the injustices committed by your son. He is demanding money, he’s troubling somebody’s daughter… Now what do you do.
Interviewer: Did your family oppose you?
Bapu: See, they were bound to resist. It happens, it’s bound to happen. There is love, there is affection. You couldn’t have listened to them…
Interviewer: You loved your son dearly. And yet, while killing him… how could you be so stone-hearted?
Bapu: You have to (be stone-hearted) for the people. Why, didn’t I kill the others. They too were dear to their mothers and fathers. Didn’t I kill them. Their parents must’ve felt bad. They did. They (the children) maybe criminals but parents continue to love them, even if they’re criminals.
The man who killed his own son (the kidnapping of a young woman reportedly proved the final straw) clearly believed in actions speaking louder than words. But it’s also true that for him the end justified the means, and he’d openly and unapologetically resorted to violent methods, which could have no justification in a modern society or democratic nation.
Police finally succeeded in arresting him and the law of the land prevailed, ending the bloody saga. But Bapu, who was an unlettered man, continued to hold on to the belief that he was right and the law was wrong. ‘Police don’t protect the innocent, they victimise the innocent. You cannot become a lawyer without knowing how to lie,’ he maintained till the end.
Bapu Biru Vategaonkar’s violent crusade did not put an end to the exploitation of women. Predators like Ranga Shinde continue to exist in our society. But there’s no doubt his uncompromising stand on the issue of exploitation, especially of women, was well ahead of his time. It’s a pity he died early this year. What would’ve been his reaction to the #metoo campaign. Surly he would’ve approved.
Ever since his release from prison, Bapu had been appealing the youth to fight against all kinds of oppression. ‘Give up all vices. Follow the path shown by Bhagwant. Good thoughts and a healthy body is all you require to fight the bad elements,’ he’d often say.
Surly, Bapu Biru Vategaonkar’s life and legacy — minus the blood-curdling details — remains relevant even today. ‘Learn to respect women. Give up alcohol and tobacco,’ his message was as simple as that.
At the least you could learn not to greet a woman in your underwear, anywhere, ever!
