78 years on, how Kharsawan massacre still shapes Adivasi memory in Jharkhand

The CM’s announcement carried political weight in Kolhan, where memories of the massacre have shaped Adivasi mobilisation for decades. But Adivasis in the area and local organisations have taken a cautious view of Soren’s announcement. For them, Kharsawan is not just a historical tragedy but a reminder of how the state has repeatedly failed to acknowledge what is described as Independent India’s ‘Jallianwala Bagh’ massacre.

What was Kharsawan massacre?

The Kharsawan killings occurred barely five months after Independence when thousands of Adivasis gathered at the weekly haat (market) ground to protest the merger of the princely state of Saraikela-Kharsawan with Odisha.

According to villagers and Adivasi elders, the massacre took place on a Thursday, the day of the traditional weekly market in Kharsawan. On January 1, 1948, people had also gathered in an open area on the market grounds for a public meeting, where Jaipal Singh Munda, a hockey player and Adivasi activist who went on to found the Jharkhand Party, was set to deliver a speech.

People from far-off villages had started arriving days in advance, many travelling on foot. Families carried rice and locally brewed liquor known as haria, and stayed in temporary camps near the haat ground.

On the morning of January 1, witnesses recalled that the crowd was unusually large, far more than 30,000, not only because it was a market day ahead of Makar Sankranti but also because Jaipal Singh Munda was scheduled to speak.

But among the villagers, there was a widespread belief that a separate state of Jharkhand would finally be formed, or that a decisive agreement on the merger would be reached that day.

However, after Jaipal Singh Munda did not arrive even by afternoon, other Adivasi leaders continued addressing the gathering in his absence. At one point, some representatives from the crowd went to submit a memorandum to Raja Ramchandra Singh Deo, the ruler of the Saraikela-Kharsawan princely state. When they returned, they announced the merger had gone through and that the Raja no longer had the authority to change the decision.

This announcement angered the gathering. Villagers said the crowd decided to continue protesting the merger and push their demand for a separate Jharkhand state. At this point, the police drew three boundary lines between themselves and the crowd and warned of firing if the line was crossed.

According to local accounts, the police firing began between 2.30 pm and 3 pm, when the crowd moved forward despite the warning. But several villagers felt the sequence of events that led to the firing indicated that it was “orchestrated”.

Some locals said the Adivasi activists who were expected to address the gathering, including Jaipal Singh Munda, were prevented from reaching the venue. Their absence meant that the responsibility to pacify the increasingly angry crowd fell on local leaders.

Conflicting death tolls

The exact number of casualties caused by the police firing has remained disputed for 78 years, caught between limited official documentation and a history of oral storytelling passed from generation to generation.

A report in The Statesman on January 3, 1948, put the death toll at 35. Another account in the book ‘Memoir of a Bygone Era’ by P K Dev, the last ruler of Kalahandi and a former MP, mentions around 2,000 deaths. But veteran journalist Anuj Kumar Sinha says in his book, ‘Unsung Heroes of Jharkhand Movements’, there were around 50,000 people gathered at the market that day.

Neither has the death toll ever been conclusively verified through an official inquiry nor has the comprehensive investigation report been made public so far.

It is this gap between the state’s promises and the community’s memory that the Jharkhand government now claims it wants to bridge. Adivasi scholars and activists said they have stopped trusting the government and have started documenting their findings themselves.

Among those who have spent years documenting local accounts is Ramchandra Soy, a 55-year-old resident of Kuchai block. Soy says his father Yogeshwar served as a sipahi under Raja Ramchandra Singhdeo.

According to Soy, in the hours before the firing, local Adivasi personnel employed in police roles were instructed not to step out of their quarters, allegedly because a “major incident” was anticipated.

For villagers, such accounts reinforce the perception that the firing was not a matter of crowd control but a “premeditated act”. “This is why people keep asking, if it was not a conspiracy, why has no inquiry report been made public even after so many decades?” Soy says, echoing a question often asked.

Using genealogies, memorial stones, village assemblies and field research, some social groups claim to have identified at least 23 martyrs from Kuchai block alone. They argue that if victims from Kharsawan, Chakradharpur, Saraikela, Jamshedpur, Ghatshila, Bundu, Tamar, Khunti, and parts of West Bengal and Odisha are included, the death toll could far exceed official estimates.

Delay in recognition

Despite the huge significance of the Kharsawan killings in the Adivasi political consciousness, official recognition of the massacre has remained minimal. Only two victims identified through government records have been formally acknowledged so far. Their families received Rs 1 lakh each in compensation under the Raghubar Das-led BJP government in 2016.

For many, this token recognition has deepened distrust rather than resolved it. “The work that the government should have done over 78 years is being done by villagers and organisations,” is a common refrain in the region.

Hemant Soren’s announcement has reopened the debate on whether the state is finally prepared to confront Kharsawan as more than a ceremonial memory. The proposed committee’s inclusion of oral traditions alongside documents is important, given that much of Kharsawan’s history exists outside the official archives.

As the committee begins its work, the key question remains whether the official documentation can reflect the experiences of those affected, and whether the political focus on Kharsawan sustains beyond gestures and resolutions.