In a dimly lit room, straining her eyes to see the photograph of her receiving the ‘manpatra’ of recognition as an andolankari who fought for Jharkhand’s statehood from former chief minister Raghubar Das, Sitarani Jain, 85, says, “For me, it was a matter of ijjat (dignity)”. Known as ‘Aunty’ in Ranchi, Sitarani, in her trembling but bold voice, recounts the struggle for separate statehood – the days when she used to knock at every door to mobilise the women for a cause that was much bigger than her or her family. As Jharkhand turns 25 this year, those who invested their youth to get what they called ‘independence’ deserve a mention. Beyond the question of identity, class or caste difference, there was another unifying factor that brought the ‘Jharkhandis’ together; it was a sense of belonging. And Sitarani is a symbol of such a unifying force. Born in Mirzapur in an Agarwal family, Sitarani Devi came to Ranchi in 1956 after getting married to a Jain family. In an unexpected turn of fate, her husband, who used to work at a private farm, lost his job in 1971 and the struggle for livelihood hit her hard. At a time when Jain women were rarely allowed to step outside, she started to look for a job. “She got the opportunity to run a canteen at the government girls’ school at Bariyatu. Thereafter, she also worked for the Marwari college and later set up a small food stall at Phirayalal Chowk,” says her son Ajay Jain, who currently runs an NGO to uphold the “tribal culture and natural beauty”. This was when she came in contact with several andolankaris. As Phirayalal Chowk was one of the central points for political mobilisation, her food stall soon gained popularity. “The andolankaris used to come here to have food. They used to love my cooking. From their discussions, I learned about the plight of Jharkhandi people. By then, I started realising how the outsiders were taking away our resources,” the octogenarian recalls. The threats from the outsiders became routine. “Sometimes, they even showed me a gun to avoid payment,” she says. At this juncture, Sitarani decided to join the movement. There was no looking back. She became a part of Jharkhand Mukti Morcha (JMM) Mahila Manch and started attending the processions. “She was a very good orator. Soon, women mobilised behind her,” says Ajay. During the 1980s, though the statehood movement was at its peak, one would hardly find women protestors leading the flock. This changed with the emergence of Sitarani Jain as a women’s leader, says Zubair Ahmad, former central committee member of JMM and an andolankari. Sitarani’s engagement in the statehood movement, however, did not take her away from the food stall that was her family’s bread and butter. Rather, she started cooking food and distributing it among the protesters. “I knew one thing very well… that I wouldn’t let any protester starve. Whenever we used to come from the protest sites, I used to distribute dosa, idli, and chaat for free,” she says. Wasn’t her identity a barrier to getting assimilated into a movement solely for Adivasis and Moolvasis (the non-Adivasi population staying in Jharkhand for centuries)? With a smile on her face that irons out the wrinkles, Sitarani says, “I never felt that I was not one of them. I was always given special care. I was fighting for my home. Wherever there is oppression, I stand by the oppressed.” Shibu Soren, considered to be the tallest figure of the Jharkhand statehood movement, used to even take care of her food habits. “He asked his followers to see that she was not given non-vegetarian food. And why not? She was ready to give her life to safeguard her leaders,” recounts Ajay. Her relatives, however, were not on board. Some people asked, “What is the relation of Jains with Jharkhand? It is an Adivasi movement.” Her conviction was uncharacteristically bold and she would reply: “Home is where I stay.” During the economic blockade of the 1990s, when the police came to arrest Shibu Soren, who was addressing a meeting of protestors at Phirayalal Chowk, Sitarani led the women and lay on the road without fearing repercussions. She also led the women’s march at Albert Ekka Chowk and showed black flags to the then Bihar chief minister Lalu Prasad Yadav. The police used batons to disperse the crowd. Sitarani was injured but it did not deter her from returning with vigour and passion. It was on October 6, 1992, that Sitarani hit the headlines. “We, under the banner of Mahila Samiti, organised a rail roko at Namkum. The police arrested 18 people, including four women. I was among them,” she says. She spent three days in jail. In 2014, when the Jharkhand Andolankari Chinhitkaran Ayog sought applications for the recognition of andolankaris, her arrest documents became relevant. The rules of the Ayog say that the protesters who spent time in jail for more than six months would get Rs 5,000 per month, whereas those who spent less time would get Rs 3,500. In 2015, Sitarani received the statement of recognition from the then chief minister Raghubar Das and has been receiving a monthly stipend since. “That is all I have got. But I didn’t fight to gain something out of it. All I earned is dignity. Whenever people pass by my house, they recognise me. What else does anybody need?” she asks. Sitarani says she never intended to join JMM after the formation of the state. Rather, she was content with statehood. The mother of three sons and a daughter now spends her time mostly sewing Ganesh idols. While Ajay, her eldest, is now a social activist, the youngest is a chartered accountant, and the other is running a small hotel. “Even though my mother invested most of her life in the movement, she made us study. Amidst financial hardships, we bore hope – the hope of the new day, a new Jharkhand,” says Ajay. Has she got a Jharkhand she envisioned? Sitarani is silent, preferring to talk about the past. “Please come to my house whenever you have time. Jharkhand is beautiful. It will not let you go without food,” she says, with a sigh.
