McCluskieganj was witnessing its best days. Would that its founder had seen this meteoric rise. It had literally no parallel in farming. It was December and the paddy yield had been astounding. The rice mills were working overtime. So many varieties were now available—Jaya, Padma, Mansuri, Vijay, the range was endless. The cultivation of wheat too was mind-boggling. Earlier, where there was only one type of grain, namely Sonalika, now they had Hira Moti, Lal Bahadur and what not. It would not be an exaggeration to say that
McCluskieganj and its precincts had produced enough vegetable for the whole of Jharkhand. Blooming, McCluskieganj had at last become God’s own village.
Dennis and Liza were walking on air. The reason was the birth of Robin and Neelmani’s son. It was the end of January and the cold was extreme. Mariam had been commissioned for the baby’s care and she did her work assiduously. She would massage the baby vigorously, turning him up and down, such that Dennis would get alarmed. ‘Mariam, this way you will yank out his limbs!’ Mariam would smile and reply, ‘This is how his limbs will get strong, Uncle,’ and Dennis would resign himself to say, ‘Okay, whatever you think best.’
Then both he and Liza would lapse into the past, remembering the time when Robin was a baby. How happy his father Brian McGowan used to look playing with the soft and rosy-cheeked Robin! Liza would repeatedly kiss the baby and say, ‘Ditto Robin!’ while Neelmani looked on and just smiled. Mariam would observe and remark, ‘Aunty, the baby’s eyes are like his mother’s,’ to which Liza would add, ‘Yes, that is how it should be.’
A lot of discussion followed over the baby’s name. Robin insisted they call him Birsa. But his father objected. ‘How can you select such a name? Think of the struggle in Birsa Munda’s life. And his death, that too in the jail. Do you know that names can affect the personality of the individual concerned.’ ‘But Birsa is immortal, Papa. Look at his commitment to society. I salute him.’ Then Dennis could not help but agree, ‘Okay, okay, then Birsa it will be, Birsa Brian McGowan.’ Robin felt a surge of emotion. Holding his father’s hand, he said, ‘Oh Papa!’
The formation of the new state of Jharkhand seemed imminent. Perhaps the state election of 2000 would be the last one in united Bihar. But something happened at this point. Mr Rozario lost his seat to Mr J.P. Gaulston, who became the incumbent Anglo-Indian MLA. Although many were still against the Jharkhand Mukti Morcha (JMM), they waited with baited breath for their own state, for their own identity and full and final freedom.
It was 15 November 2000, Birsa Munda’s birthday, and the day on which Jharkhand was born. In one stroke, three new states were formed: Uttaranchal, Chhattisgarh and Jharkhand. Prime Minister Atal Bihari Vajpayee, despite Shibu Soren’s stake for claiming chief ministership of the new state, appointed his own Union minister of tourism, Babulal Marandi, the first CM of Jharkhand. This was a huge blow to the JMM leaders. As a result, the new state went into a tizzy, virtually making it impossible for the new chief minister to function. The JMM gave a call to openly challenge and raze to the ground everything governmental. Duti Bhagat, along with others of his ilk, were raring for action. Law took a back seat as a result. Many criminals who had been released began to roam freely, settling old scores with matchless vendetta. Crime touched new heights.
McCluskieganj, however, remains largely quiet and untouched. The schemes founded by Robin and Neelmani, particularly the McCluski Housing Scheme for the Below-Poverty Line (BPL) people, had committed itself to making fifty brick houses for the homeless at a nominal charge. The place earmarked for this work was the Kanka foothills. The plan was to hand over the first lot of houses on 26 January 2001.
Robin and Neelmani were working day and night to achieve their target. Masons and plumbers were working deep into the night aided by Petromax lights. Throwing caution to the winds, Robin on his motorcycle with Neelmani behind would, at all times of the day, breeze in and out of McCluskieganj for the Kanka foothills. Mr Mendez as well as Dennis would warn him to be careful, but Liza aptly said, ‘Since he has committed himself, we should not put obstacles in his way.’
In the name of the MCC, a lot of criminals were creating panic among the villagers, and on 23 January, which is also Subhash Chandra Bose’s birthday, Neelmani and Robin were gunned down by hired assassins while driving to the construction site. Neelmani took four bullets in her head while Robin took three, two in the head and one in the chest. They were both lying on the side of the road as the village stood stunned by this crazy act of violence.
What had those two felt when they were confronted by the assassins? Probably that the sun which had gleamed a minute before for them suddenly turned dark. There were no witnesses except the Kanka, and perhaps some rooks that may have been encircling the sky. Yet two promising, young lives had been snuffed out. And Robin’s parents … Particularly his mother … Liza was getting nervous fits.
Bad news travels fast. Surely the gunshots were out of earshot, but within hours, a sea of humanity arrived at the tragic spot. Dennis, who had been brought by Bobby Gordon, just collapsed on the ground with a thump. Everywhere people are wailing and crying—Khushia Pahan, Tuinyan Ganjhu, Saamu Munda. Crazy with grief, Shanichar Oraon was shouting hysterically. ‘This is the work of that bastard Duti.’ While Tuinyan Ganjhu sobbed and said, ‘The crown and glory of our village have been lifted.’
Meanwhile the police arranged to take the bodies for post-mortem. Mr Miller told the police with some consternation, ‘This is a contract killing job and Duti Bhagat is definitely behind it. Please don’t mess up the investigation.’ Neelmani’s mother too reached the spot along with little Birsa. She couldn’t bear to look at the bodies of her daughter and son-in-law, so bespattered with blood were they. Birsa was moving his little hands oblivious of the goings-on. Then suddenly, Dennis took him in his lap and shouted, ‘Long live Robin and Neelmani!’ Then holding Birsa up, he said, ‘Look, Robin and Neelmani are not gone. They are here in Birsa!’ It was cold and a wind had suddenly started blowing; perhaps it was the beginning of a winter rain. But McCluskieganj … It had turned full circle.