- Thirteen years after the Jhiram Valley massacre, survivors' memories keep the story alive
- Rajiv Narang and Malkit Singh Gaidu provide firsthand accounts of the May 25, 2013 attack
- Survivors describe chaos, gunfire, and attempts to escape or survive the attack
Thirteen years after the Jhiram Valley massacre, the story of that day is not just preserved in official records or political narratives it lives on in the memories of those who survived. For leaders like Rajiv Narang and Malkit Singh Gaidu, May 25, 2013, is not history. It is a sequence of moments sharp, violent, and unforgettable. With March 31 set by Home Minister Amit Shah as the deadline for the eradication of maoism in the country, Bastar stands at a defining moment. There is a visible shift on the ground reduced violence, increased security presence, and a sense of forward movement. But even as this deadline approaches, one name continues to cast a long shadow over every claim of closure Jhiram.
Rajiv Narang remembers the day beginning like any other political assignment. He and his colleagues were waiting at Keshlur for the Congress convoy returning from Sukma as part of the 'Parivartan Yatra'. The summer heat was unbearable, and they decided to drive out in an air-conditioned vehicle to receive their leaders midway. But as they approached Darbha, near Jhiram, the ordinary turned into horror in an instant.
A deafening explosion ripped through the road ahead. Narang recalls seeing a vehicle hurled into the air. Instinct took over; he slammed the brakes and tried to turn back. But before he could escape, gunfire erupted. Bullets came from the hills to the right. Narang, who was driving, was hit three times. His colleague Gopi Madhwani, seated just behind him, was also shot. Bleeding but conscious, they kept driving away from the ambush, toward survival.
They reached Darbha, where Narang informed a constable outside the police station about the attack. It was around 4:15 PM. Even in that moment of shock, the urgency was clear; the leaders were still trapped. Narang was injured, so his companion took over the wheel. They first drove to a nearby hospital, only to find it deserted. With no medical help available, they pushed on to Jagdalpur. From there, Narang was eventually airlifted to Raipur after receiving initial treatment.
For him, the tragedy is not just personal; it is political and emotional. "We lost our top leadership that day," he says, referring to the deaths of Mahendra Karma, Nand Kumar Patel, and Vidya Charan Shukla. "That is the real tragedy of Jhiram." Today, as the government speaks of eradicating Maoism, Narang expresses cautious hope but also a demand. "We don't want Bastar to ever go back to what it was. But the truth of what happened, the full story, must come out. Those who surrendered know what happened. The country deserves to know."
If Narang's story is one of escape, Malkit Singh Gaidu's account is one of being at the very heart of the ambush. A close associate of Mahendra Karma, he was driving the vehicle in which Karma himself was seated as the convoy left Sukma. Even before reaching Jhiram, there was unease. Malkit recalls noticing the absence of a road opening party. When he raised the concern, Karma reassured him, but the doubt lingered.
Moments later, that doubt turned into reality.
As soon as the convoy entered Jhiram Ghati, gunfire erupted from the forest. It was sudden, relentless, and from all directions. A bullet shattered the windshield and grazed Malkit's neck. Karma immediately understood the gravity of the situation. "Drive faster," he told him. But there was no escaping the trap.
Within minutes, the convoy was pinned down. Karma instructed everyone to get out and lie flat on the ground. For nearly an hour, bullets rained down. At one point, there was a brief pause when Kawasi Lakhma spoke in Gondi, but it did not last. The firing resumed. The attackers moved closer, shouting for surrender.
In that chaos, identities became a matter of survival. Malkit and others gave false names, pretending to be ordinary workers. They were forced to lie face-down. Around them, leaders were being singled out. Malkit remembers the moment Mahendra Karma stood up. Seeing his people being killed, Karma revealed himself. "I am Mahendra Karma," he declared, asking them to stop firing. For a brief second, the gunfire paused, but it did not end the violence.
What stays with Malkit even today is not just the attack but the moments before it. Inside the car, Karma had asked him to play songs by Mahendra Kapoor. They spoke of politics, of life. "Those were the last songs he listened to," Malkit says quietly. "We will never forget him."
These two accounts, one of escape under fire, the other of being surrounded at the epicentre, together form a chilling reconstruction of Jhiram. They reveal not just the brutality of the ambush but also the human responses within it: fear, instinct, loyalty, and loss.
Today, as Bastar moves forward with claims of reduced violence and greater state control, these voices serve as a reminder that the past is not fully settled. The survivors carry not just scars, but questions. And until those questions are answered, Jhiram will remain not just a tragedy but an unfinished story.
