He had heard from another source that Mustaqeem was going to be in the village of Galauli that night. He would leave by dawn, so if they were to meet him it had to be that night. While Phoolan Devi sat down to repair her khaki shirt, now washed but still torn in many places. Mannu went out to make the necessary arrangements. He returned in high spirits a couple of hours later. He had managed to rent a boat, which he would row himself; he also borrowed a rifle from a friend, saying he wanted to shoot river duck the next morning. Handing Phoolan the gun, he said, “There’s no time to look for bullets.” She questioned the purpose of an unloaded gun but he said it would create a good impression. It was better than nothing. Phoolan Devi laughed for the first time in many days as she tied a red bandanna round her head and changed from her cousin’s lungi and shirt into her renovated police uniform.

They left the village soon after dark. Mannu walked through the village streets and across fields to the river, while Phoolan took the long way round, through the ravines. Mannu had bought her new running-shoes in Kanpur and she felt suddenly optimistic, wondering how she could ever repay him for all the love and concern he had demonstrated.

At the river, she lay down in the bottom of the boat, which was more like a dinghy and rocked alarmingly from side to side with the slightest movement. The waters of the river ran rough and they had to travel upstream, against the current.

As they approached their destination, some hours later, Mannu rowed the boat towards the sandbanks, switching from oars to a wooden pole which guided them round the dunes. Two logs of wood, sunk into the sand, indicated that they had arrived at the nearest point to the village of Galauli. They walked some distance and then Mannu told her to wait under a tree while he went into the village alone, to check if all was well. Much to his relief, the village was quiet and the young boy he had paid had delivered his message. Mustaqeem was expecting them and had sent two men to the house, which was his contact address, to await their arrival.

They accompanied Mannu back to the outskirts of the village in a casual and friendly manner. Phoolan was not where he had left her, but after he called out a couple of times, she emerged silently and deftly, like an animal from the surrounding cover of shrub.

One of the men with Mannu was Man Singh, a high-ranking member of the gang, whom Phoolan had seen earlier. He had the same long tangled hair as before but was dressed like a villager, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder. The other man was younger and she didn’t recognize him.

“Baba is waiting for you,” said Man Singh in a quiet and polite voice, handing her an old cotton sari. “He thinks it will be safer it you wear this.”

Phoolan wrapped it round her police uniform, covering her head, and removed her shoes, which Mannu offered to carry, taking the rifle from her.

They reached a brick house with a raised mud platform outside it, covered with thatch. On a string bed, barely visible in the dark, were two armed guards who rose to their feet as Man Singh approached with the others. They stepped forward to greet Pholan Devi, bending down to touch her feet. “Jai!Jai!” they said, “Phoolan Devi ki jai!” Mannu said he remembered feeling elated at the knowledge that all his efforts and anxiety were being rewarded; the respectful welcome his cousin was given had far exceeded his expectations.

Inside, a kerosene lamp lit up a corner of the courtyard where Mustaqeem sat on a large straw mat surrounded by other members of his gang, smoking a hookah which was being passed round. All except the bandit chief rose to their feet, as they entered behind Man Singh. Mannu was struck by the extreme politeness of their manner, which was almost ceremonial. He handed Phoolan Devi the rifle as she removed her sari, before going forward to touch Baba Mustaqeem’s feet. He responded by inviting them both to sit down and ordered some tea, despite the lateness of the hour. The entire household seemed to be awake, including young children who ran in and out of the courtyard, as if it were the middle of the day.

Mustaqeem had heard of Vikram Mallah’s death but said he didn’t know anything of the details. He asked Phoolan to tell him exactly what had happened. As she spoke, all around her became quiet. After weeks of trauma and emotional upheaval, she was able to relate the story calmly, without tears, probably aware of how important it was to win the support of these men whom she barely knew. Mannu said he could tell that Mustaqeem was impressed by her dignity and self-control; genuinely saddened by the details of her tale, as were the others. To break the silence that followed, Man Singh said, “Vikram Mallah ki jai!” and other responded, in the same sombre tone, expressing their sympathy and solidarity in various ways.

Mustaqeem said he had warned Vikram not to trust the Singh brothers, or any other Thakurs for that mater. He had always suspected that Sri Ram, in particular, was in the pay of UP police as an informer. “How else did those two get out on bail with so many charges hanging over their heads?” he asked, as if the answer were self-evident. Phoolan Devi didn’t volunteer the information that she and Vikram had raised the money. They talked for many hours and he assured her that Vikram’s death would be avenged. The Singh brothers would be tracked down and killed like the dogs they were.

There was to be a council meeting of all the important gangs operating in the area, he informed her. That was his reason for being in Galauli. Malkhan Singh would be there too. Vikram Mallah, he said, had been like a younger brother to him, reckless as he had been. But then, that had been part of his charm, the reason for his popularity. Mustaqeem was almost certain that other gangs would support their vendetta. He would in any case instruct all gangs over which he had any influence to seek information about the movements of Sri Ram and Lala Ram. They could not survive long, he assured her.

Encouraged by Mustaqeem’s unqualified support, Phoolan Devi asked if she could join his gang; she had nowhere else to go. He refused. This was one rule he could not bend. He would not have a woman in his gang, although he would give her every other kind of support she needed.

“Choose another man,” he advised. “Form your own gang, Phoolan Devi, it is the only way.”

Then, turning to Man Singh, he told him to find her a comfortable bed for the night, asking Mannu if he wished to stay as well. The police, he said, were looking for him in another district. Galauli would be safe for a few days, after which he could arrange for Phoolan to stay with other contracts he had in other villages. He realized she could not return to Nagina in the circumstances.

Mannu and Phoolan followed Man Singh into the house, where he instructed two women to “feed them well and put decent quilts on their beds”. Before either of them could express their gratitude, he returned to the courtyard. Mannu had to return the boat and the rifle he had borrowed, so he left soon after they had eaten, saying the would be back in a day or two and reassuring his cousin that she had made a good start. He felt if she got to know Mustaqeem better he might relent and allow her the protection of his gang for a while. His assessment of the situation proved to be corrent.

In her statement to the police, recorded in 1983, she said: “After three days, I heard that dacoit Balwan Vaghela and his gang were in the Kalpi area so I decided to join them. This gang consisted of eight or nine members and after nine days of living with them, we came upon Baba Mustaqeem’s gang of eighteen to twenty people and I left to join them instead. I was with this gang for about six months. But Mustaqeem said it was not possible for me to carry on like this and that I must attach myself to one of the members. One of the members, Man Singh, was persuaded to keep me and I accepted him as my husband.”

Apparently what happened was that Mustaqeem initially suggested she join Balwan Vaghela, still adamant about the fact that he couldn’t have a woman in his gang. Balwan, he said, was an associate of his and would incorporate her in his gang if he recommended it. He had sent her to Kalpi with an escort to make contact, saying they would meet up again to see how things were working out. Phoolan did as he said, having little choice. She felt completely out of place with the new gang, nervous of the advances the men within it would inevitably make. When she next met Mustaqeem, she expressed her fears, imploring him to take her away. Man Singh supported her, persuading his leader that they owed her that much, after all she had suffered. Mustaqeem had agreed reluctantly.

In the months that followed, Man Singh became her friend and ally as she travelled with the gang; but Mustaqeem although he admired her nerve and spirit, her ability with a rifle remained uneasy about the situation, and tensions began to develop. He told her it could not go on.

Man Singh, who had been attracted to her from the start, during this period suggested that they form an independent gang and offered to share the leadership of it with her. Hostile at first, still loyal to the memory of Vikram Mallah, she had retorted, “I’m nobody’s plaything any more.” Later, as Mustaqeem’s opposition to her grew, Phoolan Devi realized she had little option and approached Man Singh herself, apologizing for her earlier rebuttal. He had kept aloof since then and she had begun to miss his friendship. She realized how dependent she had become on his support and she was increasingly aware of her own vulnerability and apprehensive about the future. She said she would live with him as he wished, so long as he accepted the fact that after all she had suffered at the hands of the Thakurs she found any physical contact with a man, any man, unbearable. When I asked her what his reaction had been, she told me he had merely smiled at the time.

Man Singh discussed the idea with Mustaqeem, who accepted readily, offering him additional men with whom they could start another, autonomous gang. It was agreed that for joint operations they would come together, sharing the booty equally among those involved. That way, a number of small gangs could operate independently, under the overall leadership of Mustaqeem, keeping in touch and sharing the information they gathered.

Man Singh approached two other men in the gang, Laltu and Jage, who were his closest friends. It was agreed, with Baba’s blessing, that they would split from the rest, taking four rifles, some money and enough ammunition to launch the “Phoolan Devi Man Singh” gang.

The rains had stopped and the heat was intense in the October of 1980. Vikram Mallah had been dead for just over three months and his death remained to be avenged. Phoolan Devi thought of little else. Before leaving with Man Singh, she wanted to test Mustaqeem’s commitment to this act of revenge. Aware of the power he wielded, she wanted to understand what their joint strength really amounted to in practical terms. With this in mind, she approached him one day as he sat alone in the half-shade of some thorny shrub:

“I told Baba that there was a woman in a village close by whom Sri Ram considered his sister. I had been dragged before her, bound hand and foot, and she had insulted me. I asked if he would accompany me to the village. He agreed and selected eight to ten men. We reached her place at noon and I caught hold of her and gave her a sound thrashing. I said, ‘Now tell me, where is your friend, you “brother?” I remember how you encouraged him to beat me you even suggested that they should kill me because you were afraid of what I might do later! Now, what do you think I should do with you? I am alive, as you see, but death hovers over you. ‘Then I beat her again as she screamed and wept, touching my feet, begging for mercy. She got so frightened she messed herself.

“We killed her husband sand, before he died, he confessed that he had got the chloroform for Sri Ram from a police hospital, the same chloroform Sri Ram had used the night Vikram was killed. We left a note on his body saying, ‘All police informers and middlemen will suffer the same fate. Anyone who helps those Thakur dogs, Sri Ram and Lala Ram, will be treated in the same way.’

“After leaving, we came to the jungle and sent messages to other dacoit gangs in the area to collect there. Within ten days, all the gang leaders assembled. Vijay, Raghunath, Ram Avtar and Baba Mustaqeem in all about a hundred men belonging to five gangs. Baba told them that Man Singh and I were forming our own gang and each leader put a tilak on my forehead, saying they would respect me as leader of my own men.

“There was extreme lawlessness in the area and the police did not seem to rest at all. They seemed to be searching for us relentlessly, day and night. Being under such pressure, the gangs were scattered. Only Baba’s gang and ours worked together. We carried out several kidnappings and dacoities for money, sharing it equally among our members.”

Planning Revenge