Opinion: The conviction of Madhu’s killers hasn’t absolved us of guilt

In March, Sukumaran Chaligatha, a young writer from the Adiya tribe in Kerala’s Wayanad who writes in Ravula and Malayalam languages, wrote a poem titled ‘Penpanniyude pattu’ (Song of the Sow) in the Mathrubhumi weekly. It narrated the story of a pregnant female boar’s birth pangs after being shot by a hunter and a tribesman who falls prey to bullets as he tries to save the boar.

The folk elegy-like narrative, ridden with the anguish of genocidal trauma, was published a month after the death of Viswanathan, a 46-year-old Paniya tribesman who was found hanging from a tree near the Medical College Hospital in Kozhikode, where his wife had just delivered their first child after a wait of eight years. Viswanathan’s death, which happened under suspicious circumstances, is currently being investigated by the Crime Branch.

Viswanathan was falsely accused of theft by bystanders in the hospital ward, chased around, and interrogated like a petty criminal. Police said it was a case of suicide as there was no evidence of him being physically assaulted, save for a CCTV clip that showed Viswanathan running in fear.

February was also the fifth anniversary of the lynching of Madhu, a Kurumba tribesman from Attappady in Palakkad district who had mental health issues. Viswanathan’s death instantly triggered memories of Madhu’s horrific lynching at the hands of a mob in 2018. The 30-year-old too was accused of theft and hunted down from a cave in the forest, which was his refuge.

The mob of men who caught hold of Madhu made him remove his lungi (lower garment) and used it to tie his hands. A zipper torn from a bag was knotted around his right hand like a leash and a sack containing the rice, alleged to have been stolen by him, was placed on his head. All this happened while they punched and kicked at his impoverished body. He was then made to walk three kilometres through a public road to Mukkali, as the men recorded the visuals on their mobile phones.

It was in front of the concrete offering box of the Ponmala Sree Dharmasastha Temple in Mukkali that Madhu suffered the fatal blow to his head after being kicked by the first accused. Madhu was then branded as a thief and handed over to the police, who did not follow proper procedures while taking him into custody. While being transported in a police jeep, he vomited and was taken to a community health centre, where a doctor declared him brought dead.

The recent conviction of 14 of the 16 accused, by a Special Court for SC/ST (Prevention of Atrocities) Act in Mannarkkad, is a landmark verdict for many reasons. It’s rare that perpetrators of horrific crimes like lynching are punished in India, especially if they are privileged and have money and political power. It’s also difficult for investigators to find enough evidence to nail accused persons when the crime is committed by a group of people, where the accused and witnesses might often be equally complicit.

During the course of Madhu’s trial, 24 out of the 127 witnesses turned hostile, sparking outrage at the brazen attempt to jeopardise the case by threatening or buying out witnesses.

“It is to be noted that many of the accused persons have kept regular contact with these witnesses,” the court noted in the judgement and quipped: “Can it be said that these accused persons contacted the witnesses to discuss foreign policy of the Government of India or the next Parliament election? Never. It can only be said that these accused persons have contacted the witnesses only for the purpose of winning over the case,” commenting on the call data records between the witnesses and the accused.

A conviction was possible because the prosecution was fortunate to have 64 GB of digital evidence in the form of videos and pictures shot on mobile phones and shared by the men who manhandled Madhu. However, Madhu’s family is not happy with the judgement as not all accused were convicted and only 13 were found guilty of culpable homicide not amounting to murder.

The men were given seven years of rigorous imprisonment under the IPC 304(2), which pertains to violent acts done with the knowledge that it is likely to cause death but without any intention to cause it. The provision, unlike IPC 304(1) which involves a harsher life sentence, entails only a maximum punishment of 10 years or fine or both, which begs the question – was justice served?

To answer the question, we need to ask ourselves what lynching is and who were the men who lynched Madhu in their eagerness to deliver retributive justice instantly, playing the roles of investigators, judges, and executioners all at once.

Sociologists define lynching as an unlawful killing of person who has broken social codes – a blood-letting ritual to maintain social hierarchies and perpetuate racial inequality. To participate in the ritual as perpetrators or silent spectators is oddly satisfying for some because it induces in them a semblance of having restored the moral imbalance. The dented moral value could be theft, adultery, or a perception of religious blasphemy because someone ate a morsel of cow meat.

The mob that lynched Madhu could be called a microcosm of ‘progressive Kerala’, but their behaviour towards Madhu was rooted in the logic of slave disciplining. It had a loyal party worker of the Communist Party of India (Marxist) – Shamsuddeen – as the third accused, and activists from two other parties in Kerala, the Indian Union Muslim League (IUML) and the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). In September 2021, Shamsuddeen nearly became the branch secretary of the party in Mukkali, a proposal that was withdrawn.

For journalists who visited Mukkali and Attappady in the aftermath of Madhu’s lynching, it was impossible to ignore the popular support and presumption of innocence that the general public had reserved for the accused. Settler sentiments were steadfast even as righteous noises were made by the civil society. In the public’s eyes, the group of men were not guilty as they had a symbiotic and cordial relation with the tribespeople. Madhu’s death was tragic but they deemed it an aberration for which they held the police responsible as he died while in custody. In a way they were presuming their own innocence like they presumed Madhu’s guilt. But it also exposed their ignorance of the history of the place and the trauma of ‘development’ and deceit experienced by generations of tribespeople.

Irulas, Mudugas and Kurumbas – Particularly Vulnerable Tribal Groups – the three tribal communities in Attappady together form 34% of the total population in the block as per 2011 Census. The figure was 90.26% in 1951, indicating a drop of nearly 55% in a span of six decades. Infant deaths are still being reported here. The Kurumba families in Attappady, of which Madhu was a member, number around 666. As per government estimates, the Kurumba population is 2,551, which is less than that of Irulas and Mudugas. When compared to the total population of Kerala, which stands at 3.46 crore, Kurumbas form a mere speck (0.007%) – less people than in some panchayat wards.

Like vulnerable tribal groups elsewhere, the Irulars, Kurumbars, and Mudugars of Attappady too are victims of an aggressive colonisation of their land. Settlers found it easy to portray them as backward and primitive, to justify stealing their land and resources while ridiculing their inability to adapt to the rigours of modernity which required them as manual labourers. Developmental schemes formulated with the noble intention of ‘saving’ the tribal folk, aided by top-down government policies and criminal neglect, became monuments of corruption, sweeping them to the margins and making them scapegoats.

Names like Madhu and Viswanathan would seem apt on heroic and invincible characters played by Mohanlal on screen. Here, they belonged to people who desired to fit in, suppressing their tribal identities at the cost of their culture and beliefs to walk as equal citizens. Their deaths show that behind the facade of the secular-progressive theatre, we still find pleasure in vengeance through blood rituals designed to show people, deemed lesser than us, their place. The conviction of Madhu’s killers hasn’t absolved us of guilt.

Views expressed are the author’s own.