New Delhi, Sep 6 (IANS) For decades, the story of Left-Wing Extremism was written through ambushes, landmines, armed squads and funerals. Today, in parts of Maharashtra’s Gadchiroli, another story is being written. Its images are quieter — a former Maoist discussing Gram Sabha rights, surrendered cadres rebuilding their homes, young people entering classrooms and workplaces, and men and women once trained for conflict learning to live without fear.
This is what the return to the mainstream begins to look like.
I recently interviewed Sonu, also known as Bhupathi or Venugopal, over a video call. The conversation offered an unusual glimpse of a man trying to understand his place in a world he had opposed for decades. He spoke about PESA, Gram Sabhas, forest produce and the development unfolding across Gadchiroli. He also spoke about the responsibility he has now been given and the work by which he wants to be judged.
Taraka, Sonu’s wife, will soon travel to Bengaluru along with around 100 others to attend yoga and meditation sessions at Sri Sri Ravi Shankar’s Art of Living ashram. The programme may appear modest beside the scale of the conflict they have left behind. Its meaning, however, is considerable.
For someone who has spent years or decades inside an underground armed organisation, surrender is only the first physical act. The habits of secrecy, suspicion, violence and constant danger do not disappear when a weapon is deposited before the police. A person must learn again how to live within a family, make ordinary choices, trust institutions, earn a livelihood and imagine a future that is no longer governed by the next encounter.
Yoga and meditation cannot perform this entire task. They can still play a valuable role within a wider rehabilitation programme by creating space for discipline, emotional stability and relief from prolonged stress. Sending Taraka and others to Bengaluru therefore carries a message larger than a wellness programme. The State is telling those who have surrendered that it is invested in their lives after surrender.
That investment is already visible in Gadchiroli. Rehabilitation has moved beyond the one-time surrender cheque. Former cadres are being assisted with housing, healthcare, education, vocational training, employment, agriculture and self-employment. Aadhaar cards, PAN cards, bank accounts, e-Shram cards, driving licences and voter registration may sound like routine paperwork to an urban citizen. For someone who has lived underground, these documents open the door to lawful work, welfare, mobility and civic participation.
Initiatives such as the Navjeevan rehabilitation colony and Project Sanjeevani give this policy a human form. Sanjeevani has helped former cadres who were subjected to sterilisation within the Maoist organisation obtain reversal procedures. The significance is profound. Rehabilitation here restores far more than income. It returns the possibility of family, parenthood and personal choice.
During our video interview, Sonu spoke at length about PESA, Gram Sabhas and the economic rights of Adivasi communities over forest produce. He referred specifically to bamboo and tendu leaves, and to the transformation through which local communities and Gram Sabhas have gained a greater role in managing and benefiting from produce that was earlier controlled through departments and contractors.
PESA, the Panchayats (Extension to Scheduled Areas) Act, 1996, extends local self-government to tribal areas covered under the Fifth Schedule of the Constitution. It recognises the Gram Sabha as a central decision-making institution and gives it important authority over community resources and minor forest produce. The Forest Rights Act also includes bamboo and other non-timber forest produce within the framework of recognised forest rights.
This matters because the strongest answer to Maoist claims of representing Adivasis is effective democratic power in Adivasi hands. When a Gram Sabha can make decisions, manage community resources, receive income from forest produce and question the administration, constitutional governance becomes something people can see, understand and use.
If development and tribal welfare were truly the objectives of the movement, there should be no objection to achieving them through constitutional laws and democratic institutions. In fact, this route must be embraced.
The gun consumed enormous time, energy and human life. Over the years, the movement gradually shifted away from working with the people. Military planning, recruitment, weapons, ambushes and attacks on security forces began to dominate its functioning. Protecting the organisation became more important than improving the lives of the people in whose name the war was being fought.
Now that Sonu and several of his former comrades have surrendered, their knowledge of the forest, tribal culture and local problems can be used constructively. They can work on the issues they once claimed to fight for without forcing another generation of Adivasis into an armed conflict.
Sonu also acknowledged the development taking place in Gadchiroli. He spoke about bridges being constructed in places that had remained inaccessible for years. In such a region, a bridge represents far more than concrete and steel. It connects villages to markets, children to education, patients to medical care and remote communities to the administration.
Coming from a man who spent more than four decades inside the Maoist movement, this acknowledgement deserves attention. The movement repeatedly justified violence through the absence of governance. As administration, connectivity, rights and economic opportunities reach previously isolated regions, the space for that justification shrinks.
Sonu’s rehabilitation has attracted criticism, particularly over his appointment as a coordinator at Gondwana University. Such questions are legitimate. His past cannot simply be wished away, the suffering of civilians and security personnel cannot be erased, and no former cadre should be placed beyond scrutiny.
At one point during our video call, Sonu turned his phone around and showed me his office. Then he showed me the chair on which he now sits. His happiness was impossible to miss. After decades in the jungle, he had been entrusted with a responsibility through which he could work openly for his people. There was pride in that moment, along with a clear awareness that his performance would be watched closely.
The appointment is temporary. Sonu knows that people want to see what he actually delivers before deciding whether he deserves to continue. He does not appear afraid of that test. He promised to discharge the responsibility with honesty and efficiency and said he wanted his work to speak for him. More than anything, he wants the opportunity to continue doing meaningful work for the people among whom he spent so many years.
His response to those questioning his appointment was direct: examine his work and ask the Adivasi communities among whom he is working.
That is a fair test.
His contribution must be judged through transparent conduct, measurable public benefit and continued adherence to the Constitution. If he fulfils his responsibility honestly and effectively, his work should be recognised. If he fails, he must face the same scrutiny as anyone else holding a position of public responsibility.
Permanent exclusion may appear to be the easier political response. It would also send a damaging message to those still carrying guns: that surrender offers no meaningful path back into society.
A credible state must be strong enough to defeat violence and confident enough to reintegrate those who genuinely renounce it. Security operations create the conditions for surrender. Rehabilitation helps ensure that the surrender lasts.
This is why the government’s efforts deserve serious encouragement. Money alone cannot undo decades of indoctrination, fear and displacement. Housing, employment, healthcare, psychological support, family reunification, community acceptance, civic documents and a meaningful social role must follow. The police and civil administration must remain involved long after the surrender ceremony and the cameras have gone.
The Bengaluru programme should be viewed within this broader framework. Men and women who have lived with constant danger may carry memories of encounters, executions, hunger, separation and the deaths of close companions. Some entered the movement when they were barely old enough to understand the ideology they were being asked to defend.
Leaving the jungle does not automatically remove the jungle from the mind.
Yoga, meditation and breathing practices can help them rediscover mental balance, discipline and a sense of inner stability. Such programmes can become a valuable part of the larger process of healing and reintegration when they are supported by employment, professional counselling and sustained institutional assistance.
Taraka’s journey to Bengaluru therefore represents more than a visit to an ashram. It is the journey of a woman stepping out of the shadow of an armed movement and beginning to rebuild herself as an individual.
Perhaps, this is what rehabilitation looks like in real life. It begins with ordinary things that most of us barely notice: having an identity, entering an office without fear, learning a skill, earning an honest livelihood, building a home and planning a family. For someone emerging from the underground, these ordinary freedoms can feel extraordinary. A man who once lived by the discipline of an armed organisation is now discussing PESA, Gram Sabhas and forest rights from an office. His future will be judged through the work he chooses to do.
Criticising every opportunity offered to surrendered Maoists may be emotionally satisfying to some, but it serves no long-term national purpose. If those who abandon violence are denied every opportunity to rebuild their lives, what message are we sending to the cadres who are still carrying guns?
Encouraging rehabilitation does not excuse the bloodshed of the past. It reduces the possibility of fresh bloodshed in the future.
Security forces have paid an enormous price in this conflict. Their sacrifices created the pressure under which the Maoist structure weakened. Rehabilitation carries that achievement forward by ensuring that surrendered cadres do not return to the jungle and that the next generation is never drawn into it.
The government’s initiatives should therefore be encouraged, strengthened and carefully monitored. Every programme must have measurable outcomes. Every person given public responsibility must remain accountable. Every surrendered cadre must be supported in building a lawful and independent life.
Peace cannot survive on surrender ceremonies alone. It requires patient work long after the weapons have been handed over.
For decades, India invested men, money and military strength in fighting Maoist violence. It must now show equal seriousness in securing the peace.
The final defeat of Maoism will not be measured only by the number of cadres killed, arrested or surrendered. It will become visible when the gun loses both its power and its appeal; when an underground cadre chooses a home, a livelihood and a family; when forest rights are discussed inside a Gram Sabha instead of being enforced through an armed squad; and when the State demonstrates that it can protect, correct and rebuild.
Taraka and the others travelling to Bengaluru are taking one more step towards that future.
Instead of opposing such efforts, India should encourage them.
(The writer is a bestselling author and independent researcher on internal security and Left-Wing Extremism. Views expressed in the article above are her own)
–IANS
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