Echoes of Tribes

By Shifali K.

One day, some intruders came,
Into my house, without shame,
They settled in, with no permission,
Made themselves at home, without condition.

For so long years, they stayed around,
In every corner, their presence found.
With whispered fears and shadows cast,
We stand in silence, hopes crashed.

They tried to please with tempting things,
With shiny baits and whispering flings.
They threaten us, make us vow,
To bend our heads and take a bow.

The intruders were some cruel British men,
The house was my forest, where life began.
They spoke of Development but,
I only hear the word, Destruction.

Rampa region, in Andhra Pradesh,
Was no longer felt mine.
They made our house a resource market,
Exploited it well, filled every target.

High taxes and strict policies,
Is this the progress they called light?
Snatching our mother lands and access in it,
Is this what they think our rights?

On the name of ‘Forest Act’
They sent troops, forced us out.
Our food, shelter, land — all gone,
In a fleeting moment, we left alone.

I couldn’t see my land taken away,
Sufferings of my people,
And the forest cries —
My sweet home, in hands of lies.

I, Alluri Sitarama Raju, took the lead,
Gathered my people, directed tribes.
Planted the seeds of hope in hearts,
We stood firm in this long fight.

‘Rampa Rebellion’, the name was given
Thousands of Tribes and one Guide.
Self-rule, respect, and land rights —
Only this was our cry.

Our voice raised against injustice,
United, we stood strong and bold.
For our rights, we joined hands,
Together we faced all the hardships.

I educated, protested and resisted,
Promoted unity, sense of identity.
Formed groups and attacked the offices —
'Guerrilla Warfares' were our tactics.

In turn, they responded heavy hands,
Sent arms to taste our strength.
Casualties were on the ground,
They were happy to win our land.

On May 7th, 1924, the soldiers arrived,
Captured my soul where courage had been.
In just five months, my story ended —
Yet my soul, calls for sovereignty.

My demise made future decisive,
The seed of hope, still growing.
They called for justice, shout their rights —
In their united spirit, I rejoice.

In 1930, a voice was bold —
Adivasi Mahasabha, stories untold.
Jaipal Singh Munda led the way,
Recognized, protected, empowered tribes.

Years passed, struggles continued —
In 1960, Basavaraj came,
A new wave of Naxalite Movement shared,
Fought for equality, day and night.

In the end, we got a tag —
ST — Scheduled Tribes, was our new light.
Our culture preserved, seats reserved,
From forests to cities,
It was a long fight,
Our ancestor’s legacy, we hold tight.

Revolutionary movement came to end,
Tribal autonomy was amend.