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By:

Abhijit Mulye

21 August 2024 at 11:29:11 am

Red flag to green steel

Ex-Maoists forge new destiny in Gadchiroli Gadchiroli: The rugged, forested terrain of Gadchiroli district, long synonymous with the violence and deep-rooted anti-establishment tenets of the ‘Red Ideology’, is now witnessing a remarkable social and industrial transformation. At the Lloyds Metals and Energy Ltd. (LMEL) plant in Konsari, once-feared Maoist operatives are shedding their past lives and embracing a new, respectable existence as skilled workers in a cutting-edge Direct Reduced Iron...

Red flag to green steel

Ex-Maoists forge new destiny in Gadchiroli Gadchiroli: The rugged, forested terrain of Gadchiroli district, long synonymous with the violence and deep-rooted anti-establishment tenets of the ‘Red Ideology’, is now witnessing a remarkable social and industrial transformation. At the Lloyds Metals and Energy Ltd. (LMEL) plant in Konsari, once-feared Maoist operatives are shedding their past lives and embracing a new, respectable existence as skilled workers in a cutting-edge Direct Reduced Iron (DRI) and pellet plant. This ‘green steel’ project, part of LMEL’s push for an integrated steel complex in the region, is functioning not just as an industrial unit but as a crucial pillar in the Maharashtra government’s surrender-cum-rehabilitation policy. So far, LMEL, in coordination with the state government and the Gadchiroli Police, has provided employment and training to 68 surrendered Maoists and 14 members of families affected by Naxal violence, a total of 82 individuals, offering them a definitive pathway back to the mainstream. The Shift The transformation begins at the company’s dedicated Lloyds Skill Development and Training Centre at Konsari. Recognizing that many former cadres had limited formal education, the company implements a structured, skill-based rehabilitation model. They are trained in essential technical and operational skills required for plant administration, civil construction, and mechanical operations. For individuals like Govinda Atala, a former deputy commander, the change is palpable. “After surrendering, I got the right to live a new life,” Atala said. “I am very happy to get this job. I am now living my life on my own; there is no pressure on me now.” Suresh Hichame, who spent over a decade in the movement before surrendering in 2009 too echoed the sentiments. He realized the path of violence offered neither him nor his family any benefit. Moreover, his self-respecct was hurt. He knew several languages and carried out several crucial tasks for the banned organization remaining constantly under the shadow of death. Today, he works in the plant, receiving a steady monthly salary that enables him to care for his family—a basic dignity the ‘Red Ideology’ could never provide. The monthly salaries of the rehabilitated workers, typically ranging from Rs 13,000 to Rs 20,000, are revolutionary in a region long characterized by poverty and lack of opportunities. Trust, Stability The employment of former Maoists is a brave and calculated risk for LMEL, an industry that historically faced stiff opposition and even violence from the left wing extremist groups. LMEL’s management, however, sees it as an investment in inclusive growth and long-term stability for the district. The LMEL has emphasized the company’s commitment to training and facilitating career growth for the local populace, including the surrendered cadres. This commitment to local workforce upskilling is proving to be a highly effective counter-insurgency strategy, chipping away at the foundation of the Maoist movement: the exploitation of local grievances and lack of economic options. The reintegration effort extends beyond the factory floor. By providing stable incomes and a sense of purpose, LMEL helps the former rebels navigate the social transition. They are now homeowners, taxpayers, and active members of the community, replacing the identity of an outlaw with that of a respected employee. This social acceptance, coupled with economic independence, is the true measure of rehabilitation. The successful employment of cadres, some of whom were once high-ranking commanders, also sends a powerful message to those still active in the jungle: the path to a peaceful and prosperous life is open and tangible. It transforms the promise of government rehabilitation into a concrete reality. The plant, with its production of iron ore and steel, is physically transforming the region into an emerging industrial hub, and in doing so, it is symbolically forging the nation’s progress out of the ashes of extremism. The coordinated effort between private industry, the state government, and the Gadchiroli police is establishing a new environment of trust, stability, and economic progress, marking Gadchiroli’s transition from a Maoist hotbed to a model of inclusive and sustainable development.

A Meal Without Their Commander: Tribute to Major Satish Dahiya, Shaurya Chakra (Posthumous)

When passion meets courage, there’s no looking back. Major Satish Dahiya embodied both. His supreme sacrifice on 14 February 2017 reminds us that our nation stands tall on the valour of such heroes.

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I returned home on a week’s leave from 12–19 February 2017 to be with my family, who had been in "Separated Family Accommodation" in Bengaluru since May 2014, when I left for my operational posting in Jammu & Kashmir. After eight months as a colonel in the remote Pir Panjals, I had been commanding a Rashtriya Rifles sector in North Kashmir since January 2015. Twenty-six months in such a demanding area takes its toll, and even a short break was welcome.


On 14 February, we drove to a bakery to order a cake for our daughter, who was turning nineteen the next day. We planned to collect it on her birthday. Valentine’s Day was incidental, but I was grateful we were together for her special day.


Our sector hadn’t seen success since eliminating three terrorists in early October 2016. We knew they remained active and had twice targeted military convoys in recent months, causing minor damage but evading capture each time. After much deliberation, plans were made to track and neutralise them.


Major Satish Dahiya stood out. After a two-year infantry attachment in North Kashmir and earning a Chief’s Commendation on his first deployment, he returned to 30 Rashtriya Rifles following a peace tenure with the Army Service Corps—now a seasoned campaigner.


Before my break, intelligence was building in Satish’s area thanks to his patient work with human sources. As we headed to the bakery, I got a call that Satish had launched an operation near his base. A second call at the cake shop confirmed the encounter had begun.


My instinct was to buy a ready-made cake instead of ordering for the next day. My wife and daughter, overhearing the calls, sensed something serious and agreed. We then drove home with the cake, stuck in Valentine’s Day traffic. Once home, a third call brought mixed news: Satish Dahiya’s team had killed three terrorists, but he was gravely injured and being evacuated to Srinagar Base Hospital.


A call with the commanding officer confirmed my fears—Satish’s condition was critical. Cutting short my leave was obvious. Within an hour, I booked a flight and informed my General Officer Commanding of my plan to return on the first flight the next morning.


Later that night came the tragic confirmation—Satish had succumbed to his injuries at the Base hospital. He died a hero, leading from the front, planning and executing the operation that eliminated three Pakistani terrorists. A single bullet pierced the gap in his bulletproof vest during a close encounter with two terrorists trying to break the cordon, fatally wounding him. Both terrorists were killed by Satish’s AK-47.


At midnight, we quietly cut our daughter’s birthday cake. My 5 am flight to Delhi meant leaving by 2:30 am. The mood was sombre—none of us slept, and words failed. With mixed emotions, I left for Bengaluru Airport. After a layover in Delhi, I reached Srinagar by 11 am. A delay en route due to an incident slowed military movement, and I reached 30 Rashtriya Rifles just before dusk.


The CO briefed me on the operation, noting that the Corps Commander and GOC had visited earlier. Major Satish Dahiya’s initiative, leadership, and gallantry were repeatedly praised. After an hour at Battalion HQ, we drove 30 minutes to Satish’s Company Operating Base. Night had fallen. The men put on a brave face, but their grief showed.


We reviewed the operation from launch to Satish’s evacuation and the column’s return. The team achieved surprise, setting a close cordon before the terrorists could react. Caught off guard, they tried to break out, firing in two directions. Two charged Satish and his buddy. A brief encounter followed—both terrorists were killed, but Satish was critically wounded. A small mound offered some cover, but it wasn’t enough. He died hours later. The third terrorist was shot by the cordon at the far side of the house.


Satish Dahiya’s men hadn’t rested or eaten since the previous afternoon. I told the senior JCO we’d join them for a meal to remember their commander. We agreed to gather in an hour.


Meanwhile, the CO and I sat quietly in Satish’s room, reflecting on his sacrifice. When we rejoined the men, the usual langar dal, sabzi, and roti felt tasteless—a meal hard to swallow, a loss harder to accept.


A few days later, I visited the encounter site. Standing with the CO at the very spot where Major Satish Dahiya gunned down the terrorists before collapsing, never to rise again, brought a sense of closure. We stood silently, paying tribute to a brave officer who was posthumously awarded the Shaurya Chakra on 15 August 2017.

 

Jai Hind!! Jai Hind Ki Sena!

 

(The writer is an Indian Army veteran and Vice President CRM, ANSEC HR services Ltd. He is a skydiver and a specialist in Security and Risk management. Views personal.)

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