Mansingh decided to look for his two surviving sons and to hit back at his enemies. It is precisely what he did. From 1939 to 1955, when he was hot dead in a police encounter, he unleashed a reign of complete terror throughout the Chambal Valley, wiping out not only Tulfiram but anyone connected with him. A large number of people were killed, villages looted and crops burnt, and Brahmin dominance in the area was destroyed.

After his death, Thakur gangs had come to prominence, displacing the power of Brahmins. In the same way, by the late 1970s or early 1980s, people like Vikram Mallah had shifted power from the Thakurs to the Sudras. It was the first time in history that the lowest of castes had begun to pick up sten guns in defence o their immediate interests. Mansingh remained a legendary hero throughout baghi folklore and many tried to match his reputation.

Writing about Mansingh in the Indian Police Journal, M. Radhakrishnan commented:

Taking advantage of the relaxed conditions after 1947, Mansingh boldly returned to his village. It was certainly the triumphant return of a man who was feared for his strength and therefore obeyed without question. His father had died, and with Newab Singh (his son) in hiding, he took the lead in family affairs. With the help of loot that he had acquired in preceding years, he built a magnificent house upon a mound in a strategic place which commanded the only approach to the village. In his usual blustering way he established prestige for himself as a powerful man in the village. The villagers looked up to him as a friend and a guide and had their disputes settled by him. The poor received generous help rom him and the legend about his charities and lavish gifts spread far and wide.

Stories were told of him in voices of admiration of how he helped good causes, killed informers and policemen only when pursued, attacked only men who had money to spare, respected pious Brahmins who gave him blessings, and occasionally coerced zamindars (landowners) to contribute to desirable objects. His admirers often remarked that he represented the high watermark of dacoity nobly practised. Officers of the Revenue, Customs, and Education Departments could run into him without fear. He could join marriage celebrations attended by hundreds of people. He had no private vices. Another reason which attracted the public towards him was Mansingh’s deep religiousness. Not a day passed without his offering worship to his deities. It might be thought that his religious devotion was at variance with his general disposition. No man is all of a piece. Mansingh was no exception. He was as devoted a believer in God as anyone, but he certainly did not believe that a dacoit was outside God’s tolerance.

An Indian journalist, Mr Bhaduri, who wrote a book called Chambal The Valley of Terror, records this about Mansingh:

The police records on Mansingh weighed a ton. The government had spent about a crore of rupees in its operation against him. During his life of banditry, Mansingh had committed 185 murders, 1,102 dacoities, and had collected over Rs 50 lakhs as ransom from relatives of kidnapped persons. In the 80 encounters with him after 1954, the police had lost 32 of its men and Mansingh 15.

When Mansingh was finally shot dead in an encounter with the police at Kakran-ka-pura near Bhind, on 5 May 1955, several government officials, including Nehru who was then Prime Minister, sent congratulatory telegrams to the State Government.

In her diary, Phoolan was to say:

“To Vikram a mention of the police was anathema. At the sigh of a police patrol, he would attack like a tiger, never retreating. After a fierce battle of four hours or more, when he saw that he was being overpowered by them and there was no chance of victory, he would give the signal to run. We would run a minimum distance of 20 kos in a night. Whenever there was pressure from the police we would be on the run. Vikram was clever. He would commit three dacoities in a night and then led the police quite a dance. He would send threatening letters to the police saying ‘Fools! If you have sucked at your mother’s breast, come into the open battlefield. Why do you harass the innocent and the poor, beat them and put them in prison? Beat us. We are the “criminals” you seek.’

“He respected women and would touch the feet of any woman he met on his travels, sometimes giving money and asking all his members to contribute. He would say that he was Vikram Singh Mastana, and while he was alive, all the women of the area could move around freely without fear. No one would dare touch them since he was their protector. He was a law unto himself.

“He would go into villages to resolve minor disputes and complaints. He always warned the villagers against making a complaint at the police station, since no one there would pay any heed to them. The villagers respected his judgement.”

Vikram Mallah, like many other bandit leaders, had styled himself on the legendary Mansingh. Unlike Babu Singh Gujar, whose capacity for cruelty and greed had made people fear and dislike him, Vikram wanted to gain a reputation that would enhance his own self-image. He wanted to represent te tradition that had nutured his own ambition, not merely for the sake of power and wealth but in order to fulfil an inner need. Like Mansingh, he was religious to the point of being deeply superstitious. His public show of respect for women and his opposition to alcohol also indicate that he had planned to model his life on the man he referred to as a Dau the local term of respect for an old and saintly man.

Talking to Moola one day in Gwalior, I said I had read Phoolan’s statement to the police, recorded on the day the surrendered in February 1983, and that in it she projected Vikram Mallah as merely her captor, the lover imposed on her through the force of circumstance. I asked if this was true. Her face turned sad and silent and I added that, from all I had heard and learnt, I felt the man had been unique in many ways. I was surprised to see Phoolan Devi’s mother shedding tears over her daughter’s dead lover.

She took me to an inner room where she unlocked a steel cupboard, almost hidden behind a woodpile. From it she drew out a parcel, a framed photograph wrapped in white muslin and then wrapped again in brown paper to keep the cloth clean. She undid the package with great care and showed me a black-and-white photograph of Vikram Mallah a police shot of his dead body saying: “That’s theonly picture that exists.” She was still crying and, watching her grief, I realized how important Vikram Mallah must have been to Phoolan Devi.

After cups of tea and several cigarettes, I asked Moola to tell me something about the man. She told me of an incident that had alarmed her at the time but now made her laugh. Vikram, she told me, hd hijacked a tractor from a farmer in a neighbouring village and had driven into Gorha Ka Purwa in broad daylight. He had come to give them news of Phoolan Devi and pay them a visit, as he put it, in the hope that they would accept him as their son-in-law. At first Moola had been shocked and asked how Phoolan could marry anyone when, in theory, she was already married. Vikram had laughed and told her that people who lived close to the earth did not need the ritual of law. In the eyes of God, he was her husband. In fact he had come to give, not to demand dowry payments as Puttilal had. He had risked capture to make his peace with her family and, saying this, he had handed her 5000 rupees. She had never met a man like him, she told me.

I asked if I could take a picture of the photograph and she agreed, unlocking the cupboard once again and unwrapping the bundle of muslin and paper with the care befitting a delicate and precious object of great value.

OVER THE SPACE of a few months, Phoolan Devi was integrated into the gang and word spread through the ravines that she had become Vikram Mallah’s mistress. Vikram was married but, because of the life he had chosen to lead, he rarely saw his wife and son who now lived with her parents, in his father-in-law’s village. He sent them money whenever he could but didn’t seem to miss the life he had left behind.

Recalling that time, Phoolan Devi said in her statement to the police:

“When my home was raided, my name attributed to their crimes, they were very happy that now I was also ‘wanted’ like them.

“We met the gang of Baba Ghanshyam, whose members Vijay Singh Padri and Chhatrasal Singh Pandi were related to Thakur Phool Singh who had once stood bail for me. He had instructed these people to get me out of the gang. He came to fetch me himself but as I was getting ready to go, Vikram Mallah shouted to say that I would be killed if tried to leave. He was willing to offer gold and silver to Phool Singh in return for me. He also ordered that Phool Singh be compensated for the bail money to the tune of 25,000 rupees. After having handed over this money, Ghanshyam left the gang because he believed that they would be betrayed because of me.

“There were now seven dacoits in Vikram Mallah’s gang. The rest had all gone away with Ghanshyam. Vikram gave me a gun and I because his mistress and learnt to fire. Vikram’s gang consisted of Bharat Singh, Madho Singh, Vareylal, Guddi alias Kali Charan, Dharamjit and me.”

The day Thakur Phool Singh had turned up at the camp, Phoolan Devi told me later, was the turning-point in her relationship with Vikram Mallah. Till then she had considered herself his prisoner, accepting her fate and being grateful for the fact that he was far better than any other man she had been forced to live with.

After Ghanshyam’s gang had teamed up with them temporarily, there were tensions. Ghanshyam was related to Malkhan Singh, the most powerful dacoit leader in the valley at the time. Although they came from the caste of Mirdhas, who ranked lower than Thakurs, Malkhan considered himself way above Sudras and Mallahs. Ghanshyam felt much the same way and didn’t approve of Phoolan Devi’s presence in the gang. He had personal respect and affection for Vikram Mallah but thought his killing of Babu Singh Gujar had been reckless and would make them all vulnerable in relation to other Thakur gangs. Besides, he had promised Thakur Phool Singh that he would find Phoolan Devi so that the money he had put up for her bail would be protected, Phoolan’s father being in no position to pay his debt to the man who had befriended him.

Phoolan says that when Thakur Phool Singh arrived she had been cooking for the combined gangs of Vikram Mallah and Ghanshyam. The camp was on raised ground, high up on a ravine edge, so she had spotted him, accompanied by the two men from Ghanshyam’s gang who were related to him, almost half an hour before they reached the camp. Vikram Mallah had been playing cards when she told him they were approaching. He had not seemed in the least perturbed, continued to concentrate on his hand, and she recalls feeling offended by his apparent lack of interest.

Her own mind had been in turmoil. At first she had thought Phool Singh’s interest in returning her to her family was out of friendship to her father but Vikram had retorted, just the night before, that all “the Thakur” wanted was his money intact. He was right, she decided. If she returned to her village she knew she would soon be arrested, initially for jumping bail and after that, who could tell what other charges might follow? She had considered the options facing her all night and all day and had come to the conclusion that she had nothing to gain by returning to her parents’ home. She also knew that she would not be making any of the decisions. The men involved would protect their own interests and come to their own arrangement.

Ghanshyam rose to greet Thakur Phool Singh and took him straight to Vikram Mallah, who was still engrossed in his game of cards. The radio was on so she could not hear what they were saying. When she saw the old man walking towards her, she got up and went forward to touch his feet.

“Come,” he said with authority, “we are going.”