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 In his article, Shubhabrata Battacharya writes:
14 February 1981: The villagers of Behmai see Phoolan after a lapse of five months. But it is no longer the helpless Phoolan they had seen in August. This time Phoolan is wearing a police uniform and along with her are twenty armed men, belonging to the gangs of Ram Avtar Mallah, Balwan Gadaria, Man Singh Yadav, Raghunath Mallah and the supreme leader of all these gangs, "baba" Mustaqeem (though Mustaqeem himself was not present).
Later in the article he says:
According to the description available with the police, Phoolan has a wheatish complexion, a round face with pimple marks, is of medium height and strong build, has masculine hands and feet and "average" eyes, nose and ears. Such a description does not get anyone very far. When the Kanpur daily, Aaj [a Hindi newspaper], published a photograph of Phoolan's younger sister, Ramkali, the police constable at Kalpi who had seen Phoolan, said that Ramkali bore a strong resemblance to her dacoit sister.
 The police constable at Kalpi had been wrong. Phoolan Devi looked nothing like Ramkali, who was considered to be the "beauty" of the family. Phoolan looked much more like Rukhmini and Moola, neither of whom wanted anything to do with the police or press. Ramkali, the one Phoolan was least close to in the family, was hounded by photographers and posed for a small fee, allowing them to come to their own conclusions. As a result, the photofit picture of Phoolan Devi which was put together by the police bore no resemblance to her and caused further confusion.
When questioned, Ramkali said in defence of her sister, "Aaj hamahun laike chalau, khawao, piwao, goli chalibo sikhabau, hamahun khooni ban jaihen." (Today you take me along, give me good food and drink, teach me how to use a gun, I too will become a murderer.) It is difficult to know what she meant. Perhaps her own life was so miserable that she would have done the same as Phoolan, given the opportunity; perhaps she was saying that for food, water and the power of the gun, her sister had turned bloodthirsty. No one was sure but they loved it. It was just the sort of thing they wanted to hear about the "reincarnation of Kali". Whatever she meant, Moola and Rukhmini were furious and refused to speak to Ramkali for some years. Perhaps they were unfair to her, misunderstanding her remarks as any reader of the magazine might have done. Later, in March 1981, Ramkali told a reporter from India Today, the fortnightly news magazine with a vast circulation throughout the country: "God never makes dacoits or saints. It is only men who make other people into dacoits and saints."
In the same magazine particularly the whole issue was devoted to this story there is an insert headed "A boon to Youth Congress (I)" which is revealing of the politics of the time and reads:
The Behmai incident has been a godsend for the Youth Congress (I) unit in UP, led by Sanjay Singh, MLA, to snipe at the government. Sanjay Singh who is the son-in-law of the brother of Chief Minister, Vishwanath Pratap Singh, has been ignored by the state leadership for some time after the death of Sanjay Gandhi. Being the son of the raja of Amethi, the constituency of Sanjay Gandhi, Sanjay Singh had enjoyed to patronage during Sanjay Gandhi's life-time. He, therefore, lost no time in attacking the state government after the Behmai massacre and demanding the sacking of the Inspector General of Police, Mahendra Singh. A day later, Mahendra Singh was removed from the post of IGP.
That was not all. On 25 February, when the Chief Minister went to Bhogipur to condole the death of Police Inspector Moolchand who had died in an encounter, Sanjay Singh was visiting Behmai along with Kanpur M L A, Bhoodar Mishra, and Youth Congress (I) leader, Jagadambika Pal. He had visited  Bhognipur hours before the C M's arrival and held a meeting with the new Inspector General of Police, N. K. Verma, at the Bhognipur Inspection Bungalow.
At Behmai, Sanjay Singh offered to pay for five guns to be given to those whom the police approved. This was a thoughtful gesture. For, in Behmai, the thakurs are not so poor as to accept the dhotis and blankets which were being offered by government. What they need is guns, and body prepared to give them this wins their hearts."
Jon Bradshaw recorded another "eye-witness" report:
"She was cruel," said Muhti. "She was passionate. She was filled with a terrible rage, like a deep thirst that cannot be slaked. I remember going to her camp on the other side of the Chambal River to sell her guns and ammunition. She wasn't there. She was out on a robbery. I had never seen her before, and when she returned my heart went to my head. I was dizzy with desire.
"Muhti," I said, "in cases of this kind, I have a standard policy. One thousand rupees for the truth, 200 rupees for lies, and 500 for exaggerations."
I gave him the money and Muhti smiled. "Thank you, sahib, he said. "The 500 rupees will help to put my mythical son through school."
Richard Shears and Isobelle Gidly describe the Behmai Massacre in their book Devi, and come up with an interesting detail. They spoke to the two survivors of the incident, both of whom had been wounded and presumed to be dead. They had been saved only because the bodies, of other dead men fell on top of them when the shooting started, shielding them from further bullets. Both Krishna Swarup and Dev Prayag Singh told these two reporters that, at the river, they had not seen Phoolan Devi. Ram Avtar, they said, seemed to be in control of the situation and gave the orders. "Kill them" he had shouted. Krishna Swarup had felt a pain in his shoulder and lost conciousness. Dev Prayag Singh was hit several times in the leg and also in the chest but remained aware of what surrounded him. He recalled Ram Avtar shouting into the air, after firing another shot into the tangle of bodies, "Here is your revenge, Phoolan Devi!"
In a letter she sent to me from prison, Phoolan Devi said: "It is difficult to speak about the events that took place in Behmai because my letters to you pass through too many hands. Also what I am writing for you [the diary] is read by many and written by people I do not know so well. What can I say? You know how it is: if a woman does something, men feel they have to prove themselves to be superior and therefore go further. It is true that I wanted to avenge Vikram's death. Many people supported this feeling in me, over many months, and I cannot begin to point fingers at them now. All I can tell you is that I wanted to kill Sri Ram and Lala Ram but they were not among the dead, as you know. I do not believe in killing people without a positive reason but the situation got out of control and, in the eyes of Durga Mata, I am innocent of these deaths."
In the months that followed, articles kept appearing in the press. A local Hindi newspaper, Jagran, of little reputation nationally, printed a letter they said they had received from Phoolan Devi. It was unsigned. The fact that anybody could have sent it didn't seem to bother them at all. The English-language press in India, equally unscrupulous, picked it up despite uncertainty about its source and headlines began to appear: "Total War Threat by Phoolan", "Phoolan Gives Threat". Phoolan Devi denies being the author of the letter; however, the effect it had was to inflame communal feelings in the area. One part of it, reproduced by the Times of India, on 1 March 1981, focused on this aspect:
The letter added: "The dependants of those killed in Behmai village each have been given Rs 10,000. Were the Mallahs who we burnt alive not human too? Thakurs have declared that they will pick up Mallahs and kill them one by one. I warn that if one Mallah is killed, a hundred Thakurs will be killed by my gang."
As a result, caste tensions throughout Uttar Pradesh intensified and Phoolan Devi gained the reputation of being a cold-blooded, ruthless murderer. She had been tried and condemned by the press.
Those who remained in Behmai shaved their heads as a symbol of their loss; it became a village made up predominantly of women and children. The only men to escape the shooting were those who had left the village earlier that morning to escort the baraat from a neighbouring village. Apparently, an informant had rushed down the approach road and warned the wedding procession to turn back. Reports of the massacre remain confusing but, to clarify the basic facts, 22 Thakur men were shot, 20 died and two survived. Both Krishna Swarup and Dev Prayag Singh took their families and left the village soon after their recovery, fearful of further retribution after all the exposure they had received in the press.
Aftermath
 Mustaqeem was livid. He had contributed some of his men to the raid for the ritual of revenge but had not been there himself. He had seen press photographs of the carnage and listened to radio reports that spoke of the political reaction. From everyone's point of view except perhaps the Singh brothers', who had not been there Behmai was a disaster.
"Have you all gone mad?" Mustaqeem shouted, when the gangs assembled again about a week later. "Look what you've done. There are thousands of police pouring into this valley from all directions. No one is safe because of you!" he screamed at Phoolan Devi.
"It was not my decision, Baba. Anyway what is done is done. You should take it like a man," she replied sullenly.
"I don't need any advice from you, Phoolan Devi," Mustaqeem snapped back. "I always said you would bring bad luck and you have. And you," he yelled, turning to Man Singh, who sat in silence next to Ram Avtar and Balwan Singh. "You'll end up like Vikram Mallah. Dead, I tell you, dead!"
"Those Thakur dogs asked for it," ventured Ram Autar.
"And you've asked for police dogs to climb on our backs," Mustaqeem retorted, furious, fully aware of the consequences they would have to face.
Balwan Singh tried to bring some calm to the situation and suggested that they split up into twos and threes. The two women, Phoolan Devi and Meera Thakur (his lover), he said should go into hiding together, finding work as labourers in some small town. Hundreds of village women did this and contractors asked a few questions. The police would not be looking for them in such a setting; they would not be detected; their faces were not known to either press or police; he had seen the photofit picture of Phoolan and it looked nothing like her; Meera Thakur had never been photographed either. As he spoke, Phoolan says, she thought of Vikram Mallah's words, "Never let anyone take your picture," he had said when she wanted to be photographed with him in a tiny booth in Kanpur, which had advertised postcard-size pictures, in colour, for 20 rupees.
"What I do," Balwan was saying, "is show my face in a village where I know the police have informers. I pass through the village and tell people I'm camping on the outskirts. I even pay someone to bring me food later or some gesture like that. Then I walk at least 20 kos away from there without stopping. It always confuses the police!" he said, laughing, but Mustaqeem was in no mood to laugh.
Glaring at Balwan, he said, still in a rage, 'I'm going to meet my cousin Immamuddin and then I'll go to Bombay. He knows people there. You can do as you want."
"Surely Bombay will not be safe," Man Singh said with concern. "Any place is safer than here, after what you fools have just done!" was the response.
The gangs camped there for the night under heavy guard. Mustaqeem positioned men at vantage points, high up on ravine ridges, on look out for the tellatale lights of police jeeps. The night passed without incident as Phoolan Devi prepared herself to leave the following morning with Meera Thakur. Balwan was right, Man Singh told her, it would be safer that way, at least for a few weeks. He would hide in the ravines with some of their own men and keep moving, for the sake of safety. They would not go far, he assured her, as they discussed ways in which to keep in touch. Phoolan told him to cut his hair, which made him easy to identify, but he laughed, saying, "Don't worry, these times will pass," They huddled close together and slept, covering themselves with a thick, coarse blanket. It was extremely cold that night in February 1981. Dreading their separation, Phoolan Devi said, "You take the blanket," as he was falling asleep. He held her tight and replied, "Don't worry, I'll be all right."
The next morning, soon after dawn, having drunk some tea made by male members of the gang and eaten two dry rotis, Phoolan Devi set off with Meera Thakur. They were both dressed in cotton saris, bought from some sympathiser in a neighbouring village. She embraced Man Singh and touched Baba Mustaqeem's feet. It was the last time she was to see the Muslim bandit chief. She told him to see Sholay if he went to Bombay, the only film she had ever seen herself. Despite his rage of the previous day, Mustaqeem blessed the women and wished them luck. Man Singh and Balwan Singh accompanied them part of the way, in silence, leaving them where the ravines ended, to cross flat fields in order to catch a bus on the main highway, linking Kanpur to Agra.
They were to meet a sympathetic bricklayer, who would find them work on some building site in a small town. No one on the bus, or at the bus stop where they waited for more than an hour, paid them any attention.
For a week or more they worked carrying headloads of bricks, together with a score of other village women, earning eight rupees a day. At night, they would walk a minimum of two hours, in different directions each day for the sake of caution. Enough mistakes had already been made and the police presence in the area was alarmingly visible. In reality, they were quite far removed from where the Anti-Dacoity squads were operating, combing the terrain that surrounded every remote village with which, according to police files, Phoolan Devi had ever been associated.
To be continued...
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