08 March,2020 07:18 AM IST | Mumbai | Jane Borges
Sanauallah at his home in Sarawaha. Pics /Raul Irani
Disillusionment can hurt like a bullet. Delhi-based journalist Mihir Srivastava would only know better. After years of being subservient to what he thought were agenda-driven news organisations, which batted only for a certain establishment, Srivastava saw little hope for himself or his fraternity. "I felt that we [the media] were becoming propagandist," he shares, over a telephonic interview. Instead of wallowing in discontentment, Srivastava decided to channelise it into something more productive: Travel.
For over a year, he and photojournalist Raul Irani set out each weekend from Delhi, into the hinterlands of Uttar Pradesh. On their map were destinations that had been in the eye of political and media storms. Kairana, for instance. The small dusty, Muslim-dominated town in Shamli district in western Uttar Pradesh, was said to have experienced a mass exodus of Hindu families. The reason: threats and extortion by criminal elements from a certain community. There was also Sarawaha, a village in Meerut, which was at the centre of the love jihad controversy - an 18-year-old Hindu teacher Shallu Tyagi was said to have been allegedly kidnapped and gangraped, and forced into marrying a Muslim man, Kalim.
Their new non-fiction, Love Jihadis: An Open-minded Journey Into The Heart of Western Uttar Pradesh (Westland Books), a result of these weekend trips, attempts to uncover the truth behind the stories that played out in the media. "When visiting these places, my ideology was to rely on my instincts. I didn't carry any political baggage, and I was open to being wrong," says Srivastava.
The book, part-travelogue and part-investigation, opens with the story of Shallu. When the incident first broke out in 2014, it had created a huge uproar across the country. Shallu became a symbol of love jihad, and her family with help from the local Hindutva brigade, saw to it that her alleged abductors and rapists were incarcerated. But Shallu went on to demonstrate great strength, and confessed to the police that she had been in love with Kalim, a trader, all along. She had met him at a madrassa where she was teaching, and had converted to Islam and married him without any duress. Shallu also said that she had been tortured by her family into giving a false complaint.
By 2017, when Srivastava and Raul visited the town, dust had already settled over the case. Shallu was now happily married to Kalim. There were, however, a few victims, like Sanauallah, an orchard farmer, who had been branded as the mastermind. He along with his wife were made co-accused in the gangrape case. The matter was still in court, when Srivastava met Sanauallah, a father of six children, now struggling to bring his life back in order. "He is a victim of media trial," says Srivastava, adding that there was absolutely no evidence to point to his role in the case. In fact, the first time he met Kalim was inside jail. "I think [what went wrong for him] was that he was involved in the local politics. He had supported the election of a Muslim as sarpanch in the panchayat. To add to that, he was also vocal about everything. When there is such a huge information deficit [regarding the love jihad case], you start fantasising." Sanauallah, he says, became the target of this collective Hindu fantasy.
Another important piece of this puzzle was the feisty and radical Chena Devi, alias Yati Maa Chetnanad Saraswati, head of the Meerut-based outfit Akhand Hindustan Morcha. She had allegedly helped "rescue" Shallu from marrying Kalim. In the book, Chetna tells the journalists that she is satisfied that "Hindus, the underdogs, have been able to instill fear among Muslims". Her fear is that Muslims are fast multiplying, and that they would soon outnumber the Hindus, making the latter refugees in their own country. "If I hadn't met her, I would dismiss her as being stupid," says Srivastava. "But I respect her. Not for her views, but for her passion in following her views. As a liberal I feel, we as a society should give space for all kinds of views, irrespective of whether we agree or not. And the moment you give [people like] her a voice, you release their steam. It's when such movements go underground, that they become dangerous," he says. Their visits to the Darul Uloom, Deoband, and even the Maan Mandir Sewa Sansthan ashram - a home that is invested in the protection and caring of over 50,000 cows - helped them challenge a lot of pre-conceived notions.
The whole idea of this book, says Srivastava, was to sit and listen to people, without making any judgments. "Listening as a skill has vanished. We only listen to things that we agree to."
He is, however, aware that the essays might come across as being sensitive towards one community. "I think the Hindutva supporters would have a point, if they feel I am being over-sympathetic to the cause of the minority. Journalism at some point in time, has to give a voice to the weak. People who are powerful don't need the media to vent their feelings. We have to give voices to people who are hidden somewhere, and insulted, cornered and put in a situation that is pitiable."
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